Page 53 of Isaac

My legs seem to have a brain of their own and they don’t listen and I almost lose my battle with gravity but Hawk’s there, holding me up with his uninjured arm.

"Don’t tell the rest of the guys." I chuckle as we reach the bank of elevators.

"You don’t want them to know you’re human," he jokes quietly while my fingers frantically jab at the elevator button.

"Bad for business. Bad for my reputation too."

"We don’t have to have our shit together all the time."

"I do," I mumble to Hawk, trying to keep my voice steady as we step into the elevator together.

The doors slide shut, trapping us in the confined space. I recline against one wall barely maintaining balance as reality seems skewed in direction and perspective.

Hawk leans against the wall opposite mine.

And while we stare at each other to the sound of our breaths and the distant hum of the motors, the elevator ascends.

"You don’t drink often, do you?" Hawk's voice filters through the haze, tentative and cautious.

I will my eyes to focus on him. Strong jawline. Broad shoulders. But not bulky. Illuminated by the harsh overheadlight, he looks different somehow. More vulnerable, maybe? Or is it just the liquor playing tricks on me? Or perhaps, the stubble covering the lower part of his face. Or the lack of complexion color. Or the scar on his cheek left by the knife recently.

"Alcohol makes things..." I pause, searching for the right words, then gesture at my disheveled appearance, half-jokingly adding, "Well, as you can see. The prime example is right in front of you."

"I get what you’re trying to say." The corner of his mouth tilts up, transforming his usually blank expression into something I can’t describe.

I nod, swallowing down the sudden urge to reach out across this void between us and touch him, to see if his skin feels as warm as it looks.

Fuck.

The elevator dings, signaling our arrival. The doors woosh open. I push away from the wall, stumbling slightly, and almost meet another wall.

Hawk with his predator-like reflexes he already demonstrated today steps in to catch my arm and steers me away from the collision. "Which way?" he asks as we enter the corridor.

I point in the direction of the secluded wing where rooms for the Thoreau people are located.

As we get to the one of the empty rooms, I fumble for the master key card in my pocket, my hands shaking as I swipe it through the lock and push open the door.

"This one is yours," I tell Hawk, willing my body to stay upright. "A spare key is on the desk in case you need to leave and come back."

He nods his understanding, but doesn't move to enter, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes me feel like I'mdrowning. And I do. I go down like a fucking plane that has just lost its engine.

But the floor never happens. Instead, Hawk happens. I’m pressed up to him, chest to chest, I realize. His hands grasp me by my shoulders, holding me upright.

The unexpected contact sends a jolt of electricity racing through me, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. Our bodies mold together, the heat of him searing through my shirt, and I wonder what it would be like to lose myself completely in his embrace.

"Isaac…" He doesn’t finish the thought. The aborted sentence is swallowed by the rustle of fabric and scuffle of boots as his own body loses its balance and his back meets the wall behind him.

We’re frozen in place like this for several heartbeats. He’s trapped. Our faces are dangerously close, noses almost touching. And I can smell him. The antiseptic. The sweat. The cigarettes.

And the parts of me where our skin connects through the clothes feel like fire and ice simultaneously.

A shiver rushes down my spine at the thought.

Why does this keep on happening when I’m with him?

My mind races, trying to make sense of the overwhelming desire that suddenly grips me. Desire to have something of my own for once.

"Stay still," I rasp out, carefully pushing myself off the wall.

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