Something isn't right here. I know exactly what I should be thinking and feeling because I know vaguely that I have felt it before, a long time ago, in a life so far away that I can't even remember it. Oddly, rather than disturb me, I find that fact quite comforting; at least, I would if there wasn't a tiny niggling thought trying to fight its way through to the front of my mind. I try to ignore it and enjoy the moment for what it is right now.
It has been a wonderful evening and a long time since I felt so relaxed. I know that, in many ways, Jaffen and I have moved too fast. We must look irresponsible to many of our colleagues but we've just connected. I feel like I know Jaffen so well, we may as well have been together for years. He's so calm, so tranquil, so at peace with himself that I was swept off my feet the moment he first saved me from a telling off by the supervisor. I didn't really have a chance. He's a perfect antidote to my highly strung nature and he's so kind, thoughtful and handsome to boot. I almost feel comfortable in saying that I could spend the rest of my life with him. Almost comfortable.
Because while I can sit here and enjoy a wonderful meal and a glass of wine with Jaffen and talk and laugh, that tiny niggling thought hasn't gone away. It has in fact got stronger. It's getting through, slowly but surely. Desperately, I try to fight it off. I know somehow that if it gets through, it will ruin my time with him. If I concentrate on his face and voice and not the thought, it stops but if I give it even a minute then I am practically battling to get it back under control.
Jaffen is watching me. I don't feel uncomfortable because I know that he likes to just look sometimes. He tilts his head to the side and rests his chin on his hand, his eyes half closed against the bright candlelight. Slowly, I reach up towards his face, cupping his left cheek in my hand. My mind and senses are filled with him but the thought that I had under control doesn't want to be ignored. Eventually, I notice what I am doing. My thumb and forefinger are gently stroking the side of his forehead. I don't know why but I am drawn to that part of his face; I realise that my eyes have been drawn to the obscure place for most of the night and before as well. It's almost as though I can't believe he's real. I have to keep checking that there is something underneath my hands. The thought is still there but subdued now, as though I have lulled it. It's an odd sensation; if I didn't know better, I would say that something is missing, but something that has been there before. Jaffen hasn't changed since I met him. It must just be in my head.