Thought I lost you...

⋆.˚ Simmering Tensions ⋆.˚

"Of course, chérie."

He gently rubbed her shoulder, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt. He had missed her more than he cared to admit.

"I made you breakfast already, it's on the stove. We have a long day ahead of us."

He nodded in acknowledgement, appreciating her thoughtfulness. He took a step back, letting his hand fall away from her shoulder, and made his way to the stove. Sure enough, there was a plate of food waiting for him, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Thanks," he said, glancing back at her. "You didn't have to do this, you know."

"Hm, well, consider it a gift for your hospitality."

He chuckled lightly, picking up the plate and bringing it to the table. He sat down and began to eat, the food tasting even more delicious thanks to her preparation. He noticed she wasn't eating herself, and he frowned in concern.

"You're not eating?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from him.

"Already ate. I was waiting on you."
She smugly smiled as she took a sip of her tea.

He rolled his eyes playfully, her smug expression eliciting a small huff of amusement from him.

"Well, aren't I lucky?"

He continued to eat, trying to focus on his food but finding his gaze continuously drifting back to her. There was something different about being alone with her like this, the domestic setting making him feel strangely comfortable.

She was reading a novel as she waited for him, cat eye reading glasses, with an almost black-red tint to them, perched on her nose.

As he ate, Rossi couldn't help but steal glances at her. She looked so elegant and composed, her reading glasses adding an air of sophistication. He remembered how she used to chastise him for not reading enough, always teasing him about his 'lowbrow' taste in entertainment. He found himself smiling, reminiscing on those old times.

"Whatcha reading there?"

"Mary Shelly."

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by her choice in literature.
"Frankenstein, huh? Classic."

Rossi finished the last of his breakfast and leaned back in his chair, studying her for a moment.

"You always did have an affinity for the dark and morbid."

"Hence my job. And clothing choice."

"True," he agreed, his gaze skimming over her outfit. "Still dress like a Victorian widow, I see."

"That statement wouldn't be half wrong."

"Oh?" he asked, tilting his head curiously.

"Don't tell me you're a wid-..."

He trailed off, suddenly realizing the implications of his words, and winced at his own insensitivity.

"Not exactly."

He let out a relieved sigh, thankful that he hadn't inadvertently stepped on a landmine. He could only imagine how painful it would be to discuss something like that, especially considering how close they used to be.

"Good." He paused, studying her for a moment. There was something in her expression that made him uneasy.

"So... what do you mean, not exactly?"