Walking on thin ice…I never liked that expression. To me, it made little sense for someone who is so impatient and so headstrong. Why walk on something so breakable? Why not avoid it? Or at the very least, why not run? Why not rush and just let the pieces fall as they may?

Of course, I know what the idiom really means, why it really exists. It means to tread carefully on a very precarious situation otherwise you'll have to face the repercussions if you fail. But even with the meaning so clear in my head, I still hate the expression.

Now, I hate it even more. Because it has become the defining maxim of my life as of late.

I have become a coward again. With Urahara-san's threat looming in my head, I have become so much of a coward that I have the lost the ability to touch her. The want is there as it always is. I still crave to have her hand in my own. I still want to feel her in my arms. I still want to fall into the routine of causal touching that we had grown accustomed to since we began dating, but I can't. Because like a coward, I am afraid that if I start, that if I start out with a simple caress, that I won't be able to stop. That I will be overcome with desire, that my restraints will break and crumble, so I avoid touching her as if it's the answer to the warning I was given.

It is not. I learn this the hard way.

When she and I meet at school after the incident, the atmosphere between us is charged with electricity. I am sure that some of it stems from embarrassment. That I know because when our eyes lock, we both quickly look away. She takes to staring at the ground while I take to the sky. Where Mizuiro's eyes land, I have no clue.

As we walk side by side to the entrance, I feel another component of that electricity: want. At least from my side. I want to continue where we left off, I want to feel the woman that I adore, but hearing my old mentor's recent words in my head, I refrain. What is weird, though, is that she makes no attempt to close the distance between us. She does not reach for my hand. She does not lean on me as she does sometimes when she's feeling especially affectionate. No, even her reiatsu hugs her close, not daring to seep over to me.

I should be grateful. I should be thanking her for giving me space. Not because I want it—no, I wanted no space between us—but because I needed it. For me to keep my cool, to keep my thoughts innocent, to keep my hands and my lips to myself, I needed space.

However, I am not thankful. In fact, I am an ingrate.

I want her to close this space between us. I want her to approach me. I want her to ask me, verbally or nonverbally, to lose my inhibitions. I want her, who is without burden by Urahara's word, to push me.

She never does. And the week passes in that kind of way. She and I keep to words. Physical contact between us is almost nonexistent. If there is any, it's nothing more than an accidental brush or a fleeting reaction, and it never lasts as long as I want it to.

But besides the lack of touch, she and I do not grow apart as I feared. Although I am unrightfully exasperated with her lack of physical affection, our relationship remains constant. Sure, there is that electricity that does not fade, that grows each second we are together, but even that does not make us awkward with each other. And for that, I am grateful. I could not stand it if my desire and lack of control hurt us, hurt her.

So even though I want to touch her, I don't, and I think I can restrain myself. I think I can continue to be that coward until that electricity subsides. I think I can be that coward until we can go back to how we were. I think I can walk on that thin ice.

But when a coward tries to walk on thin ice, walking slowly, shaking in trepidation, that poor fool is bound to crack.

And it takes me five days to finally to crack.

She and I have plans to go to a neighboring town's carnival. It's something she had mentioned when were walking to her apartment after work. I had poked fun at her, teasing her that it sounded awfully like she was coyly asking me on a date. She had blushed and protested, but in the end, I told her I would take her on the weekend.

That's the plan.

Yet that plan fades away as our eyes meet when she opens the door.

Again, I don't know who makes the first move, who latches onto who first. But the door closes behind us as I press her against the wall. Her moan fills the air between us as my lips latch onto her neck. Her hands are torn between massaging my head and pulling my hair. And that electricity between us sparks like lightning, and that heat is back. That damnable heat.

But I can't stop. I can't because she tries to pull me closer. She is struggling to keep me pressed against her. Her hands, her arms, her legs, all of her wants me closer. And her reiatsu that she kept close to her all week bursts around me. It surrounds me in a way that I didn't think was possible. So warm. So hot. It's like being kissed by an exploding star.

A part of me, a small part, expects an interruption. Interrupted by Urahara-san because I am sure my reiatsu is all over the place, but I can't tell if it is. I am burning all over, and I am not sure if it's caused by my spiritual pressure or if by her. Whichever it is, I am overheated beyond my imagination.

Or interrupted by her because my hands have started to wander, because I am trying to devour her, because I am trying to pull her so close that she fuses into me. She should stop me before I succeed.

But she's in that haze. She's enjoying my touch, my kiss, my want. And now, now she's trying to touch skin, and the heat between us flares dangerously.

How we end up in her room, I'll never know, but my shirt is gone. And her dress lays on the floor. And she's fumbling with the button on my jeans. And I am not helping because I keep pressing her closer to me, but once she unfastens it, my mind blanks. I am then led by passion, lust, and desire. Knowledge and caution be damned.

Her bra? Ripped in half. Her underwear? Worse for wear. Her throat? Kissed. Legs? Caressed. Butt? Squeezed. Breasts? Touched. Fondled. Sucked. Licked. Licked until my fingers and tongue drag lower and lower…

And her legs part for me.

And this should be awkward. Shouldn't it? There should be pause. Embarrassment. Hesitation. Something to make us stop. But there isn't. And maybe it'll come later. But right now, it's like she and I have done this all before. No reserves, just pleasure.

And when the moments come, when she and I are as close as possible, joined, that heat climbs and climbs. And it's urgent. And she's soon panting my name, and I am groaning hers. And there is so much heat that clings to me as she clings to me, as she tightens around me.

And I think this is how I'll die. I'll die in her arms, her hold, her embrace. Incinerated by this heat. Consumed in flames. And the flames, they only get higher as my hips eagerly meets hers, as her nails rake down my back, as her voice gets louder, as she begs, as my hands rub her everywhere, anywhere that my lips can't reach. And my whole world becomes engulfed in a blaze as she screams my name.

And me? I burn. And burn. And burn.