Jan. Week 3: Thursday Afternoon--Bypass (Suspicion: -5)

Jonathan was in the kitchen when she walked in, humming tunelessly as he fumbled with a to-go box of Olive Garden pasta he had picked up on his way home for them. He greeted her with a bear hug, pressing his chin into her hair, and murmured, "Long day?"

"You have no idea," she groaned, letting her bags thump to the floor. She let herself get pulled against his chest, inhaling the mix of laundry detergent and his barely-there after shave. It was a scent she associated with comfort, safety, and the particular kind of stability she craved after a day of adolescent drama and **** cheer. They stood like that for maybe thirty seconds, neither speaking, just sharing the warmth.

Eventually, he stepped back and grinned, holding up the pasta.

"Hungry?" He smiled and added, "Carbonara and chill?"

The prospect of creamy carbs and Jonathan in soft sweatpants was almost enough to erase the stress of the day.

"God yes," she said, and meant it.

They ate at the coffee table, knees touching, watching reruns of The Office on perpetual loop. Leah barely touched her wine, but she sipped it just to feel the warmth in her belly. Jonathan reached over now and then to squeeze her thigh, an absentminded gesture that was somehow more intimate than outright groping. The outside world—parents, students, the school, all its dark corners—was locked away for a precious evening.

She was glad that tomorrow was Friday and meant only one day before the weekend...