Mamihlapinatapai (Yagán): A significant unspoken moment, a shared glance between two people. Both want something to happen, but neither dares to make the first move.

Jennifer

It’s been a couple of days since the… date? And Enzo is still lurking around.
I try to ignore the way my chest tightens when he lights a cigarette, the way the sharp scent of smoke clings to him. My knees weaken every time he passes by shirtless after sparring with Mark. I haven’t dared to watch them fight. I know the second I see it, my judgment will fly out the window. But I’ve thought about it. More than I’d like to. I know it’s wrong to get turned on by the brutality of it, but I can’t help it.
Fuck, I’ve even had to touch myself just to stop from acting on it.

We circle each other, pretending the tension isn’t thick enough to burn. I tease him, I push, I try to keep my distance, but he never leaves. He’s always close. Too close. Yet he never crosses the line. And I’m starting to grow impatient. What the hell is he waiting for?

I always know when he enters a room. His presence fills every inch of space.

I walk into my room. He’s already there.
“You don’t have another place to be? Or some throat to cut?” I ask. He looks too at home on my couch, sprawled out with that book like he belongs here.
“I don’t cut throats,” he replies without looking up. “Too messy.”
“You’re a pain,” I mutter.
He tenses for a moment. Then, slowly, looks at me.
“You’re the real pain here,” he says, steady, deliberate, eyes locked on mine. And there it is, that electricity behind the tease, in his voice, in his eyes. But I’m a coward. I break it first, drop my gaze to the floor, to anything but him.

The journal. Right. That’s why I came here. Something to focus on. Something safe.
“So… you got a girlfriend?” I ask, tone casual, though my pulse is anything but.
He looks at me, caught off guard.
“No,” he spits.
“A wife?”
“No.” His tone sharp.
“Boyfriend? Husband?”
“No.” He’s pissed. This is fun.
“Wow, you’re a delight.”
“Stop it.” His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away.
“Come on, you’ve never been in a relationship?”
I pull out a box from the closet, rummaging through old notes and messy doodles.
“None of your business.” His eyes flick up, a warning sharp enough to cut.
“Figures.” I hum, distracted, still digging.
“Why are you so dense?”
“You’re the one invading my space.” I finally retrieve it.
“So go find another one.” The audacity makes my jaw clench.
“Asshole.” I leave Enzo behind, shutting the door a little harder than necessary.

Outside, I glance through the living room. Rem is lingering in front of that damn painting again. When he notices me, he crooks his finger, beckoning me closer like he’s already decided I will obey.

“What you want?” I snap, my tone flat and impatient.

“Just come here, Jenny. I just want to tell you something.” His voice drips with mock sweetness, and that smug little smile already tells me it’s nothing good.
When I get close, a smug smile spreads across his face, like he just figured out something amusing and has no intention of keeping it to himself.
“So. You’re Nohr.” He savors it, like a punchline he’s been waiting to deliver. There’s no trace of doubt in his expression. Denying it would be pointless.
“When did you figure it out?” I ask.
“You’re not even denying it?”
“Why bother denying it? You’re not the type to waste a good secret.”
“Oh? And what makes you so sure?” he asks, smile curling, voice like a tease.
I let out a dry laugh.

“Because it’s more useful to you this way.”
“I won’t blackmail you, darling,” he purrs.
“But you could.” I turn to the painting, jaw tight. “So. How did you notice?”
He takes his time, enjoying the silence before he cuts. “I don’t look at what people show. I look at what slips. The signatures around this house all say Jennifer, but the work speaks the same way every time. Your edges. Your layering. Patterns don’t lie.”

He steps closer to the canvas, voice almost tender. “You own a small gallery that shows one artist only. No one looks at the discreet assistant. Convenient. Three years ago, Nohr appears. And your life suddenly doesn’t look like the life of a small gallery owner.”
He tilts his head, counting on his fingers like it’s a game. “Let’s be generous. Say a hundred thousand a year from the day job. Add ten percent commission. Fifteen paintings sold so far at roughly fifteen thousand each. That puts you near two twenty-five, give or take.”

His eyes slide over the room, then to me. “The house in this neighborhood. Your cars. The liquor that costs thousands a bottle. On the surface, you live low profile. Your tastes say otherwise.”
He smiles, soft and cruel. “People decided Nohr is a man. That helps. A ghost with a man’s name is easier to believe. Meanwhile the math does not add up, Jenny.”

I’m surprised, not just by how he got all that information, or how sharp he is, but because I’m not sure why he’s telling me all of this. Is it a threat? Does he want to win my trust? Or is he just bored? Either way, it makes me more wary of him. That level of observation and analysis is not accidental.
“That’s weird… did my sexy brain leave you without words?” Rem teases.
“That’s not the word I’d use… a plague is more fitting,” I shoot back.
“Why go through all that trouble?” he asks.
“You’ve got the audacity to ask me about my motives? If you want to know, figure it out yourself. I won’t hand you more information so you can twist it later.”
“Darling, if you haven’t noticed yet, there’s a guard dog in your room who’d cut off my favorite part if I ever tried to hurt you,” Rem purrs.
It shouldn’t feel flattering, but it does. Enough to make me bite back a smile.
“Well, just do it then. Maybe it would help you, you know?” I make scissors with my free hand. “Cut them off, like the cats. After that, they get quieter.”
“You’re evil.”
“Takes one to know one.” I turn, laughing quietly, done with the conversation.

I need air, so I head to the garden. It is quiet except for Jace, sitting alone on the bench like a statue, draped in black, his hood still up. From here you can only see his face. A damn beautiful one, pale skin and platinum blond hair catching the faint light, but carved in tragedy. I see the weight of it in his eyes, in his silence.
I sit next to him, on the far end of the bench. As I’ve been doing the past days, in silence. Noticing how he tenses every time I make a slight movement. But he never speaks to me or even glances my way.

Today I’ll make my first approach. I follow his gaze toward the brown thrasher with a missing leg splashing in the fountain.
“That one’s been here a lot lately,” I say casually, as if to myself.
His fingers twitch against his knee, the smallest flicker, like he heard me but won’t give me more than that. Silence stretches.
“So you don’t talk to anyone, or is it just me?”
He turns, suspicious, but does not answer. The hood shadows part of his face.
“Don’t worry. I’m not here to take anything from you. Just curious.”
He lifts an eyebrow higher, platinum strands of hair slipping from beneath the hood.
“I’m being serious.” I lower my voice. “And I like Enzo. But it’s a secret. Don’t tell him, please.”
I press my lips together. I don’t say things like that. Saying it aloud feels strange, not in a bad way. It makes me feel at ease. Like a weight slipped off without me noticing.

He presses his lips together and gives me the smallest nod. Like the words weigh something, even if he won’t say them aloud.
He looks back at the fountain, where another little bird comes and shakes its feathers.
“A Cyanistes caeruleus. They’re not from this region. Must’ve escaped from somewhere.”
He looks at me, curiosity glinting in his pale golden eyes.
“You know, the blue tit… that’s its species name.”
The little bird hops to the edge, then flies away.
“I think I’ll put a feeder in case it comes back.”
The corner of his mouth twitches upward, then it is gone as fast as it came. A flicker of something boyish, almost innocent.

That’s when I decide. I reach for the journal.
“Here,” I say, and slide it to him. “It’s my bird journal. I had a lot of free time. My best friend Ines and I started it. We already filled this one up, so you can read it. If there’s a bird from the area you don’t know, it’s probably in here. We also listed the best spots for birdwatching in the state.”
He hesitates. His hand hovers over the journal, then pulls back a fraction, as if touching it might burn. Only after a pause does he finally pick it up.

I look at his hands. The skin is full of scars, and some parts still raw. Not freshly wounded. Just worn. Scratched. Like he rubs or digs his nails there when no one’s looking.
I can understand the need to erase something from the skin. Some memories stick. And you just want them off, no matter what it costs.
“If you don’t have a journal, maybe this will inspire you to start one. It’s fun. Just avoid our silly comments. We used to chat too much.”
He nods.

“I’ll go. This has been… refreshing. But I don’t want to bother you.” I stand to leave. “Oh, and your shoulder, move it while it heals, or it will mess with your mobility.”

He stares at me. Wary. Guarded. He doesn’t trust me. That’s okay. I don’t want him to trust me.
But he’s always lonely. Quiet. And I can’t help wanting to help him.
I was like that, years ago. Too tired. Everything felt meaningless. I was just existing. I don’t know where I’d be now if Gus hadn’t extended a hand.

I leave Jace with the journal, not sure if he’ll even bother opening it. The house feels too still when I step back inside. Rem is gone. Strange. And no Mark either. He is usually camped in the living room, silent but steady. He answers if spoken to, never rude, never prying. Out of all of them, he is the hardest to read. Too calm, too neutral. I never know how to place him.

I head straight to the kitchen for coffee. I reach for a mug, but two tattooed hands suddenly trap me against the counter.
Enzo.
His presence, so close, steals the air from my lungs. The scent of tobacco and cedar clings to him, sharp and addictive, wrapping around me before I can think.
“What are you up to?” His voice sounds… angry?
“Making myself some coffee,” I say matter-of-factly. “You want some?”
“Stay away from Jace,” he growls. His voice is rough, sharp, meant to intimidate. But I hear it, the edge underneath. Worry. He is trying to protect Jace.
“What if I don’t want to?” I look up at him, unflinching.
“I’m not joking.” His expression is hard, carved in stone.
“Me neither. I don’t have any hidden intention toward him. I just want to help.”
His features soften, barely, but it’s enough. And that’s all it takes for me to lean back, pressing against him. I hear him curse, breathless, when his erection pushes into my lower back.
God. He’s big.
“Cat got your tongue?” I whisper. His grip on the counter tightens until the wood creaks, and the heat rolling off him makes my skin prickle.
I try to glance away, my instinct as always to escape his stare. But his hand is faster, rough fingers catch my chin, thumb pressing against my jaw. He forces me back to him, storm-gray eyes locking me in place.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Fuck. He’s gorgeous. Compelling. Those storm-gray eyes are a cage I almost want to step inside, just to see what’s locked inside.
I want him. Not just the tension. Not just the game. I want everything of him. Raw and unrestrained.
“I’m fully conscious,” I murmur, forcing the words out as I roll my hips against him. His body betrays him, leaning harder, making me shiver.
He hisses through his teeth, eyes flicking down to my mouth. The conflict flashes in him, something between control and hunger.
For a heartbeat I think he’ll snap. I almost beg him to.
Then the sound of a door upstairs slams the spell apart.