Chapter Text
You reach for a cup on the top shelf without thinking.
You go up on your toes, stretching, fingers just brushing the bottom edge. You've done this your whole life. You don't even register it as a choice, just muscle memory. Your weight shifts forward slightly, balanced on the balls of your feet.
Behind you, Sam moves.
"Here…" he says, already leaning in.
Before you can react, he's right there.
Too close.
He reaches over you easily, the cup well within reach for someone who is six foot five and unfairly built. His body presses lightly against your back as he grabs it, casual and efficient, no hesitation. The warmth of him seeps through both layers of fabric. His chest solid against your shoulders. The long line of him bracketing you against the counter without trapping you.
Your brain short-circuits.
Oh.
Oh no.
Every nerve in your body lights up at once. The shock races through you, immediate, electric, devastating. His chest against your shoulders. The solid line of him at your back. Warm. Close. Real. You can feel him breathe.
You scream internally.
Your heart slams so hard it feels visible, like it might punch straight through your ribs. The beat stutters, drops, then hammers back with enough force to make your vision blur. You actually close your eyes for a second, just to keep yourself from making a sound, because whatever noise wants to escape your throat is absolutely not normal. Your fingers curl against the counter edge. Your knees feel uncertain.
He sets the cup down in front of you.
"There you go."
His voice sounds normal. Easy. Like this is fine.
You swallow. Hard.
You have to clear your throat before you can speak, praying your voice doesn't come out as a screech. Your pulse pounds in your ears.
"Th... thank you."
It's a miracle it sounds human.
You don't wait. You grab the cup, fill it with water as fast as you can manage without sprinting, and escape into the library under the pretense of needing nothing at all. Your hands shake slightly as you walk. You force them steady.
You sit down, hands wrapped around the cup, breathing like you just ran a mile.
Get it together.
That was nothing.
Normal. Helpful. Friendly.
Your heart disagrees. It keeps slamming against your ribs like it's trying to break free. Your skin still feels warm where he touched, where he didn't even really touch, just stood close enough that your body registered every inch of him.
You press your palms against your face.
This is a problem.