They reach her place. Their gaze shifts from the front door to each other's eyes. Thinking, pondering the implications of them going past that door.
This is not the first time she sees desires in his eyes; speaking what his mouth can't. They know they can't. They wouldn't. It's their rule. Her rule.
They fall into silence. There's too much sparkles and the smoothest touch can lead them to combust.
She doesn't know if it's the alcohol speaking or if it's the sense of they haven't any excuses. There's no Paula. There's no one in Donna's life.
But tonight the sparks are intense, almost palpable. They spend most of the night in denial, avoiding it.
They had drank; they had flirted. During all night, they walked on the verge of what they want and what they can do. Now they reach the spot of the possibility. They have to decide: go upstairs together or part ways.
The building entry, for obvious reasons, can't go anywhere and neither of them want to go elsewhere than to go up to her place. Not because they want to fuck. It's beyond that.
She sees it on his face. There's longing, desire, but also the feeling of home, peace and ease. Not that they wouldn't want to fuck. They want to. She wants to.
Without saying a word, she opens the glass door and he understands the invitation. As they usually do, there's no need for words for them to communicate.
But he refuses. He can't torn to temptation. There's too much to lose. He's not ready to mess up another relationship. Not tonight.
He says goodbye, wishes her good night and says they meet tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow he can ask her to stay forever. While tonight he almost do, tomorrow can bring the courage for him to do it.