It was a quiet Saturday night when Shelly, returning from the office, stopped by a small store to grab a bottle of soda and some snacks. She sat outside on a bench, nibbling casually, when she noticed a familiar figure driving past.
Denial.
The moment his eyes caught her, his car slowed, then came to a halt. Without a word, he stepped out and walked up behind her, calling her name suddenly.
Shelly jumped, startled, her heart racing. Instinctively, she spun around and smacked his arm.
"Who does that!? Do you want to give me a heart attack?"
Denial chuckled, a warm, deep laugh. "Sorry… I couldn't resist. I was just teasing you."
"Teasing? I almost died here!" she huffed, crossing her arms.
But soon, their conversation shifted. Shelly's smile faded as she spoke softly.
"Lately… my dad's health hasn't been great. He doesn't say much, but I can tell."
Denial's expression grew serious. "What do you want to do about it?"
"I… don't know," she admitted, looking down. "That's why I'm asking you."
He tilted his head, and after a pause, said with an oddly intense look, "Then marry me."
Shelly blinked. "What? Are you seriously making jokes right now? I'm talking about my dad."
"I'm serious," he murmured, but when she ignored that, he sighed and offered a more practical suggestion. "Then… spend more time with him. Take him for check-ups. Keep him happy, take him on small trips. That will help him more than you think."
Shelly's heart softened. Without thinking, she stepped forward and hugged him tightly.
"Thanks, buddy. You're the best friend I could ever have."
Denial smiled faintly, though something inside him ached at the word friend. He stroked her hair.
"There's no need to thank me. If you need help, you know where to find me."
After a long hug, Shelly finally stepped back. "Alright, I should head home now."
But Denial's voice stopped her. "Stay with me tonight."
She blinked. "What?"
"I promise, I won't touch you. I just… want to talk." His voice was low, almost vulnerable.
After a pause, she nodded slowly. "Alright… but only tonight."
They each drove their own cars to his place. Shelly, still in her office outfit, asked if he had something more comfortable to wear. Denial brought her one of his oversized shirts.
By the time she freshened up and changed, Denial had prepared chicken soup, fried eggs, and rice for her. The warm aroma filled the air.
But as Shelly stepped out, hair still damp, wearing his shirt loosely buttoned, Denial froze. The sight hit him harder than he expected — the casual intimacy of her in his clothes, the way the light caught in her damp hair. He felt heat rise in his chest and quickly excused himself to the bathroom, trying to steady his breathing.
From the table, Shelly called out, "Are you okay? You look… flushed."
"I'm fine!" his voice came back. "Just washing my face. Eat before it gets cold."
When he finally returned, she was smiling at him over her bowl.
"This is amazing, Denial. You cook like a professional chef."
"Then maybe I should cook for you every day," he replied softly, his gaze lingering on her a moment too long.
The air between them was warm, charged, but unspoken. Neither crossed the line… yet both felt the tension pressing closer.
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