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Flicker
by Nicola
Rating: PG
Wrong. It's tarred into every part of them: she feels it; the weight, the stickiness as he touches her. He laces his fingers through hers, and acts like he doesn't even notice he's doing it. It's just comfort, release, before he goes home to a wife who can't stop crying.
She doesn't remember when their casual meetings for coffee started to feel like dates. It was before he kissed her — before, when his mere presence was tiny sparks in the sunshine; a hum of excitement across her skin — but that experience makes it easier to pinpoint. It was in the early morning, and she was worn and peaceful from too little sleep and the milky kick of coffee. He kissed her quickly and suddenly, as if it weren't the first time at all. He tasted warm and rich, and she could feel the coffee cup burning the palms of her hands. Sinful. He looked down, and she saw his wedding ring glint in the sunshine (tiny sparks and her skin burned). The next day, he didn't wear the ring, and it was almost worse.
For them it is always mere fragments; broken bits that will never fit back together.
His eyes flicker when he's forced to look directly at her. She can see his vision of himself slowly crumbling as his eyes flash and drop. Adulterer. She doesn't want to be the one who has this effect on him. She can't be his downfall. But she can't help but love him.
August 2004
Note: For Jessica, who requested Joel/Teresa and the line, she couldn't help but love him.
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