Silence enveloped us but it didn't feel awkward or heavy. More...charged, thick with unspoken words and a thousand jumbled emotions.
All of a sudden I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel his skin against mine, explore the bruises of his knuckles, the smoothness of his fingernails. I inched my fingers closer and his moved too, towards mine, as if we were two magnets drawn to each other. Finally we touched, just our pinkies, but it felt like a spark jolted through me on contact.
"Emily," he whispered. My name had never sounded so good, like the hush of a gentle breeze across a grassy meadow. "Tell me what you'd been about to say." His voice was buttery soft.
"What?"
"Why are you thanking me?"
"Oh. For caring about my health of course."
His fingers recoiled and curled into a fist as if I'd slapped them away. I felt the abrupt loss of his touch so keenly it hurt. "Don't," he said, desolate.
"Don't what?"
He stood and dragged a hand through his hair and took one step towards the fireplace, backtracked, then changed his mind again and stalked across the room. He picked up the coal scuttle and poured more coal onto the dwindling fire. "Let's discuss what you're going to say to convince my parents I'm dead." He set down the scuttle and, still crouching, watched the fire blaze to life. The dancing flames brightened his face and eyes but did nothing to brighten the dark mood that seemed to have descended upon him.
"Yes, er, very well." I tried to concentrate on the task at hand but it wasn't easy. My mind was still scrambled from when we'd touched and his rapid change of mood.
We spent the next little while going through some events from his childhood that only he and his parents could have known. I'd hoped to use our time together to learn more about him but he recounted the memories with little emotion and no invitation to discuss them in detail. He simply imparted the facts and ended the conversation abruptly.
"Whatever my parents say, don't take it to heart," he said on finishing. He stood by the fireplace, one elbow on the mantelpiece, having not sat down the entire time. I'd remained seated on the bed.
"What could they say that would have an affect on me?"
He studied the fire. "Just promise me you won't."
It seemed like an odd thing to warn me about but I shrugged instead of pressing him. "I promise."
"Good." He nodded and suddenly looked over at me. His gaze caught and held mine. "Take an umbrella with you this time." And then he was gone.