Freya leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter, the afternoon sunlight catching in her hair as she swirled her coffee absentmindedly. She wore a soft, fitted cardigan over a tank top, the fabric clinging just enough to emphasize the curves she never quite managed to hide. Across from her, Nick stood barefoot, scrolling on his phone while trying not to look too long. But his gaze kept drifting back to her.
Living with Freya again, even for just a few weeks, was turning into a test of self-control.
"You're quiet today," she said, her voice low and warm, always tinged with that calm, nurturing quality that made everything she said feel like a secret.
Nick looked up and grinned. "Just trying not to think about how small this place is."
Freya chuckled. "Small? It's bigger than the dorms you were in last year."
"Yeah, but I didn't have you walking around in a tank top in the dorms," he said before he could stop himself.
Her eyes lifted to meet his, and for a second too long, the silence stretched between them. She tilted her head, a sly little smile playing at her lips. "Is that your polite way of asking me to cover up?"
Nick felt heat rush to his face, but he held his ground. "No. Not at all."
Freya stepped closer, just a few inches. "Good. Because it's my house. And you'll just have to deal with it."
The way she said it—casual, teasing, yet just barely edged with something more—made the air feel thick. She passed him, brushing against his side slightly, and headed into the living room. He watched her go, watched the sway of her hips, the casual way she plopped down onto the couch like she owned every corner of the space.
And she did. She owned the air, the rhythm, the mood.
"Nick," she called from the couch, "come here for a second?"
He obeyed, sitting down beside her. She'd stretched out, legs tucked under her, and she gave him just enough room to settle next to her on the cushion.
"I've been meaning to ask," she said, "are you seeing anyone?"
He blinked. "Uh, no. Not really."
"Not really?" She tilted her head, arching a brow.
"I mean, there were people. But nothing serious."
She reached over, brushing a bit of lint off his shirt. Her fingers lingered just a second too long. "You've grown up a lot, you know. Filled out." Her eyes drifted to his chest, then back to his face. "You were always cute, but now you're… well, let's just say you're turning heads."
Nick swallowed hard. He knew the game now. This wasn't just banter anymore. It was something else.
Freya leaned back, crossing her legs slowly, her calf brushing his thigh. "You've been looking at me differently too."
He laughed softly, nervously. "What do you mean?"
She didn't blink. "Like you're wondering what I'd do if you touched me. Like you're thinking about things you probably shouldn't be thinking."
He tried to answer, but nothing came out.
Freya smiled, amused. "It's okay. I don't mind."
He looked at her, heat rising in his chest. "You don't?"
"I'd rather know you were curious than pretend it's not happening." Her hand reached out and gently rested on his forearm. "You're not a kid anymore, Nick. You don't have to hide what you feel."
The air was charged now, heavier than ever. The distance between them shrunk, their bodies angling toward one another.
She adjusted herself slightly, and her thigh pressed flush against his. Her fingers, feather-light, trailed down his arm. "So... are you curious?"
Nick didn't move. Didn't breathe. "Very."
Freya exhaled slowly, a warm, pleased sound. "Then I guess we've got time to explore that… carefully."
She leaned back then, giving him a second to gather himself, as if she knew he needed it. They sat in silence for a moment, bodies still touching, breathing slower than normal.
Then she stood.
"I'm going to shower," she said over her shoulder. "Try not to think about me too much while I'm in there."
He didn't respond. Couldn't. His brain was on fire, and every part of him felt alive, tingling, sensitive to the memory of her touch, the smell of her skin, the sound of her voice saying carefully.
Nick knew what was happening. He didn't know where it would lead—but he wasn't going to stop it.