Our hands are touching.
Fingers overlapping on a piece of paper neither of us is actually trying to pick up anymore.
We're both kneeling on his office floor. Surrounded by scattered research. The overhead fluorescents have been dimmed to a single desk lamp that casts long shadows across the room, turning everything amber and intimate. Outside the tall windows, campus is dark except for the security lights marking pathways between buildings. The heating system clicks and hums through the vents, filling the silence with white noise. The door is locked. The building empty.
Just us.
I should pull away. Should stand up. Should say something about tomorrow's meeting with the dean. But I don't move. The carpet scratches against my knees through my jeans. My other hand is pressed flat against the floor for balance, feeling the slight give of industrial carpeting over concrete.
Neither does he.
"Avery," he whispers.
"Yeah?"
"We should finish picking these up."
"Okay."
