Night, again.
It was a night bound to be swimming with that weakest part of her mind. Or not even her mind, as emotion is surely not a matter of the mind but of the heart. It was emotion that brought about her engagement, though her mind told her it was entirely wrong. Her mind didn't matter tonight, this lukewarm night, as she stood precariously under scalding water, as she dragged a beige towel haphazardly about her back, as she wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out of the vapor-obscured bathroom. The lucidity of the room outside was a bit of a shock, and she had to blink to be sure what she saw was real. She was more used to reality being distorted than not, and perhaps she preferred it that way.
But he was real.
Her hands began to tremble, which was unfortunate because the rest of her body was already shivering from the sudden temperature change. For a few seconds she struggled to keep the towel about her, before that necessity was eliminated as the man simply locked her in breathtaking embrace. Yes, quite literally breathtaking, and burning, burning so as to remove all the oxygen around her. He felt very hot against her bare flesh, but somehow he was only hot, in a way that kept the warmth part of the deal out of her reach. His muscles were hard with tension, and sheer breathlessness pressed her thoughts into incoherent urges of running away. After seven years apart, he only caused her the exact same unsettling reactions. But this was no longer a party of cool breezes and easy goodbyes. The air was calm, and he wasn't letting her leave again.
As cliché as it was, she did indeed believe that a century had passed before he let go. Her tenacious towel still hung about her body, the soft warrior that defied her greatest expectations. But she did not notice. Observation was the mind's responsibility.
"I was hoping your boyfriend might be back while I did that." His bland expression made him look entirely irrelevant to the words coming out of his mouth.
"Oh," she replied, more coolly than she thought possible, "yes, how very like you. I suppose you never did learn a good way to greet old friends."
"You're right. The last time I met the man, I shoved him off a cliff. Which made it really hard to find him again."
Suddenly she realized what he must have been thinking, and she was almost too embarrassed to tell him she meant herself. But she did so anyway. "You know, I'm really not flattered that when referring to friendship, you think of my fiancé before you ever think of me." It would likely have been best to stop at that. If he would continue to misunderstand, then let him. It wasn't the first time she got slammed with the conniving image. The image connoted intelligence, which was better than letting him know she was surprised.
...or was it? "Actually, how do you know him?"
He laughed at her. Of course he would. "You think you could really pull that one on me? After spying for him, after being his damned bedmate, you want to feign ignorance of the nature of my relationship with him? Not flattering? This is what's not flattering to my intelligence here."
"I'm sorry, did I miss something? Or are you two a pair of estranged lovers? Is he hiding that from me? Because although you were wrong about the bedmate part, tonight was going to be... the first time." She blanched at her own honesty. "And he never told me anything about you. Nor you about him, actually, though I had imagined some proximity between us back when we knew each other. So you two are quite even, and I assure you I'm quite ignorant."
At that he reacted with disbelief in his eyes, but the coldness of those eyes was unlike him. She hoped it was only an act, that he was holding back some other more gracious sentiment. But his next move revealed only a cold so barefaced that she could almost believe again that all his moves were calculated and mechanical. He brushed his lips against her moist forehead. "First time?" He smirked. "Why not have it from me, then, old friend, dear."
And then it was over.
"Sorry I've used you," whispered a voice behind her, very suddenly. For a conspirator, he was surely the worst whisperer she'd ever heard. Which clearly meant the audibility was intentional. She swiveled to look the graying latecomer in the eye.