“It's this one!” Alicia exclaimed.

   I poured washing-up liquid onto the sponge while my hips moved on their own to the rhythm of Buttons, swaying in slow, sensual movements worthy of the song's introduction.

   I turned my back to the sink, running a hand over my chest and down my body.

   “Come on, Alicia!” I shouted, completely at the mercy of the music. “I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, baby!”

   “But you keep frotin’!”

   “Saying what you gon’ do with me!” Alicia got up from her chair and came over, standing beside me. “But I ain't seen nothin’!”

   “I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, baby!!!”

   I turned around, swaying from side to side as I ran the sponge over the plate before moving on to the others. Even though we had a dishwasher, there was nothing better than making the most of the last peaceful Saturday I'd have by cleaning up the mess Alicia and I had made the night before.

   Ayla had spent the afternoon sleeping, and by the time she woke up, Alicia and I were already making our little mess in the kitchen while preparing dinner. The lasagne wouldn't have been much trouble if Alicia hadn't decided to make fresh pasta, turning a simple lasagne with mashed potatoes and steak into a complete disaster — and, consequently, a mountain of dirty dishes.

   “Have you finished with the plates?” Ayla asked, appearing in the kitchen with a bin bag in one hand while skilfully balancing a small pile of glasses in the other. “And please, change this song.”

   Alicia stuck her tongue out at her. Ayla was perfect. Her only flaw was hating Buttons for no plausible reason. She simply hated one of the greatest songs ever made… I mean, in the category of “best songs to dance to”, Buttons was easily in the top five.

   I walked over to Ayla and took the glasses from her hand. And there was one of my flaws: taking things from the kitchen to the bedroom and then forgetting them there. I knew it annoyed her, and no matter how hard I tried to avoid it, most of the time I didn't even remember doing it.

   I kissed her cheek before Ayla stepped away to take the rubbish outside.

   “How about you two start paying someone to clean the house, hm? I'm tired of becoming your slave.”

   “How about we start cooking at your place?”

   Alicia draped the tea towel over her shoulders, staring into space for a moment.

   “Forget I said anything,” she said with a shrug, moving closer to pick up one of the plates I'd just rinsed.

   Amidst awkward dancing and songs that didn't follow any sort of conventional order — because after Buttons, Stone Cold by Demi Lovato started playing — we finished tidying everything up shortly before lunch.

   Almost two hours later, I was driving Ayla to the production company, where she worked as part of a team with eight other screenwriters. I tried to maintain the same infectious energy I'd had since dinner with Alicia at my cousin's restaurant, but it was proving difficult now.

   I'd been at peace for two days, as though there weren't less than forty-eight hours until my worst nightmare began.

   Ayla was in the passenger seat. We'd just dropped Alicia off at her house and were now heading towards central London, which would still take around forty minutes. The sky was overcast, nothing unusual, but the fine drizzle created such a cosy atmosphere that it felt as though everything was at peace.

   “So…” I drew out the word, massaging Ayla's thigh over her light-coloured jeans, a habit I'd missed during the drives we sometimes took together. “Is that dinner still happening tonight?”

   She stroked my hand, a sign that she was in a good mood.

   “Look, Aleh, I don't want to go out tonight,” she began, and a hint of disappointment settled over me. “But we could have dinner at home. Just the two of us. What do you think?”

   “You really want to do that?”

   “Ah, I think it'll be better. It's been ages since we've had a night like that.” She turned her attention towards the pavement, where a few shops looked as peaceful as the city itself that day. “We could just order a pizza and watch something.”

   Her fingers travelled up my arm, caressing the area above my elbow, where the jumper I was wearing concealed the tattoo that, according to Ayla, was her favourite. It was simply a piece of lettering combining my own initials with those of my parents, which I'd had done as a small tribute to their twentieth wedding anniversary.

   Her finger brushed over the area, a gesture I knew well, because Ayla had the good old habit of touching me there whenever she wanted much more than I could give her at that moment while driving.

   Even so, after days without sex, that alone was enough to make my heart race as warmth spread through my body.

   The lights changed, and I let my fingers move towards the inside of her thigh.

   “Just so we're clear, you're actually saying what I think you're saying, aren't you?”

   Ayla smiled, leaning towards me and sliding her hand down to my thigh. Her warm breath tickled my neck, making me hold my breath before I became completely hard right there.

   “We're off tomorrow, Alexei. We don't have to get out of bed early.”

   She reached for the back of my neck and stole a kiss, while her hand wandered over my stomach. We were exposed, I knew that perfectly well, but I loved it when Ayla decided to take the initiative.

   My body responded to her lips as though they were the missing spark that would set me alight right there. But I couldn't. As much as my desire for her body was pushing me towards throwing her over me and fucking her right there, I pulled away from her mouth when the car behind us honked.

   I settled back into my seat and drove on. The atmosphere inside the car felt far too warm, so I turned on the air conditioning while she kept that same smile on her face. Her cheeks were flushed beneath her make-up, and her eyes could have hypnotised me.

   However, Ayla soon turned her face away, her smile disappearing as her gaze fell towards the pavement.

   Her hand remained on my thigh, but the pressure of her fingers was nothing more than a gentle caress. I took a deep breath, trying not to lose control for the rest of the journey. The only time we spoke was when Ayla asked me to stop at a takeaway before we finally reached the production company.

   The office wasn't particularly striking. The entrance, framed by glass panels, reflected the cars passing along the street, while the silver logo stood above the doorway.

   Ayla picked up her bag from the back seat, while I couldn't stop watching her. Maybe it was her loose hair, the sweet perfume that filled everything, or simply the thought that I wanted to completely wipe that burgundy lipstick from her lips.

   I leaned towards her, gently stroking her chin so I wouldn't ruin her make-up.

   “Are you sure about what you said? If you want to cancel, that's fine, I—”

   Her hand touched my neck, her thumb brushing over the freshly trimmed hairs of my beard.

   “I'm not cancelling, okay? Let's enjoy our evening, Aleh.” In one calm movement, her lips touched mine in an almost restrained kiss, as though she too were trying not to lose control.

   At least, that's what I chose to believe as she got out of the car, waved goodbye and walked inside the building.

[...]

   I was seventeen when, for the first time, I realised I was sexually attracted to another bloke.

   At the time, the same rain falling over London now had been falling over Italy during the Christmas holidays. I made the most of the freedom I had to throw parties which, as far as my parents knew, were small gatherings with a few friends. In reality, they were little get-togethers fuelled by drinks stolen from my father's wine cellar, while he pretended not to notice the bottles of whisky and wine disappearing every week during those holidays.

   Teodoro was an acquaintance, a friend of a friend I'd made at an Italian club that year. I could have blamed it entirely on the alcohol, but by the end of the night, Teo and I were the only ones still sober.

   Lorenzo and Giulia were asleep side by side on the sofa, the couple of the group. Matteo, the young man with golden hair and grey clothes who was sprawled out on the floor behind the sofa, was Teo's friend. Teo himself sat opposite me, holding his cards as though he could possibly beat me.

   I knew he couldn't. I was only one card away from winning, and I was completely confident I'd manage it. I reached towards the deck, noticing Teo's lingering gaze on my hand before his eyes returned to mine.

   “So?” he asked. “Scared?”

   “I'm not afraid of winning,” I said confidently, drawing a card.

   Nine of Cups. I huffed, dropping the card onto the other pile.

   “Looks like luck isn't on your side, Carter,” he taunted with a quiet laugh.

   Teodoro raised his hand to eye level, studying his cards before looking at me again.

   His lingering gaze made my chest tighten, stirring something in me that I hadn't yet learned how to name.

   “You don't like losing, do you?”

   “Nobody likes losing.” I shrugged.

   “In that case, would a bet make things more interesting?”

   Teodoro looked at my mouth, and in that moment, I understood exactly what was going through his mind.

   It was the first time I'd crossed that particular line, and the memory stayed with me long after that night had ended.

   But now, the rain hitting the window brought me no certainty whatsoever. Years ago, that night with Teodoro had simply confirmed what I'd already suspected. It had been a moment that made me believe there could be something between us.

   Now, all I had was uncertainty — and the hope that everything really was temporary.

   There was, indeed, a certain fear that the night wouldn't end the way I wanted it to. And I didn't want to sleep with Ayla simply for pleasure, but… perhaps it was a sign that there was still a chance for things to work out between us.

   I placed the box of chocolates on the little table in the living room and sat on the sofa, staring at my phone, afraid that the bloody call would come and, with it, the cancellation of our date.

   A faint pressure beneath my chest made me rub my hands together. I took two deep breaths. Over the past few years, ever since I'd realised I was falling for Ayla, I'd never had a problem spending days away from her because of work, like that time I'd spent a month in Los Angeles.

   Still, the longing had been there every moment. Our calls had been constant, not to mention the trip Ayla had made to Los Angeles after two weeks apart.

   Now, everything was… different.

   For the past three weeks, we'd been seeing each other almost every day. Ayla slept at my house, we shared the same bed, but there was something peculiar about it — and it wasn't simply the lack of sex.

   At the same time, the hope that it was only temporary brought me some comfort, as though we really could deal with the strange aura that had begun following us, and which had grown drastically worse over the past few weeks.

   There was conversation, but it all felt so automatic, leaving me with the impression that the end was right there — one step away from the edge of the abyss.

   “Fuck!” I shouted into the cushion, releasing some of the pressure in my chest.

   I wanted so badly to go back to teasing her, flirting with her as though we were two idiots incapable of keeping our tempers in check. I wanted to fall asleep with her in my arms again, curl up in bed because having her close was more comforting than facing the day. I wanted to plan trips again, change our plans so we could spend more time together, talk about things I wouldn't have the courage to tell anyone else.

   I wanted… so much.

   I heard footsteps by the front door, followed by the sound of the handle, making me stand.

   Ayla dropped her bag onto the floor before turning around, closing her umbrella and leaving it on the outside stand. Her cheeks were flushed when I approached, and a subtle laugh soon appeared on her face.

   “You're late,” I murmured, pulling her closer.

   I'd spent the entire afternoon thinking about the possibilities of that night — most of them involving everything that could go wrong — which had made the anxiety even harder to deal with.

   Ayla smiled at me and gave me a brief kiss.

   “Can I have a shower? I think…”

   “We could have one together,” I suggested, closing the door with my foot before placing my hand on her waist, ignoring the dampness of her coat.

   Her perfume wasn't as strong as it had been earlier, but it was still there when I lowered my nose to her neck and breathed deeply.

   Rose and honey.

   I looked into her eyes. There was something hidden there.

 

   “Is everything—”

   Ayla grabbed me by the back of the neck, pressing her lips against mine in an unexpected movement that I immediately welcomed.

   I pressed my groin against her waist, pulling her closer as my tongue slipped into her mouth. Her lips were calm, but there was a certain tension in them — the same tension I'd felt when I touched the skin of her waist.

   Ayla massaged the back of my neck. Her tongue moved against mine. Her breathing was uneven. Her chest rose and fell in an exhilarated rhythm.

   Everything seemed so normal...

   But it wasn't.

    The feelings I'd once sensed in every tiny movement seemed to have left her body. And, feeding my fear even further, my body did respond, but I didn't know whether it was for the right reason.

   It was probably the longing brought on by the absence of something more intimate and physical, but emotionally, neutrality was dominating every movement between our bodies.

   And then the realisation struck me like lightning in the middle of a storm.