[At the motionless silence, Chuck opens his eyes. He opens his eyes, and they settle immediately on Mike's, suddenly all too aware of the distance, or lack thereof, between them. They always kept close in many ways, but this was a different kind of physical closeness, a new step in the progressive way they seemed to invade each other's personal space without even thinking about it. And Chuck knows, because he's not that naive or that oblivious, what this distance, and this pause meant. Mike's sudden approach and his breath suddenly settling against his own skin, that quiet hitch that Chuck could swear matched up with the noise his heart makes the exact moment it catches in his throat. And it stops beating - or maybe it's beating too fast, so fast he can't even tell it's still going anymore.
But he doesn't move. His breath shakes its way out of him, and his face burns like a curtain of fire rushing across his skin, but he doesn't move. Whether in a show of fear, courage or pure instinct, maybe all of them mashed together, he doesn't know, but he's there, and it's unaware and at the same time relentless the way he chooses not to move away.
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But he doesn't move. His breath shakes its way out of him, and his face burns like a curtain of fire rushing across his skin, but he doesn't move. Whether in a show of fear, courage or pure instinct, maybe all of them mashed together, he doesn't know, but he's there, and it's unaware and at the same time relentless the way he chooses not to move away.
And he waits.]