WORST WAY | T. Thomas

14 | 'Subtle'

Mae turned toward the window, staring out at the calm morning, her thoughts a million miles away. Her stomach still churned with discomfort, and the sudden sense of unease only seemed to deepen as she continued to question what was happening to her. But she didn't want to voice it yet. She wasn't sure she was ready for that conversation.

Tanner went back to the counter, his mind still occupied with what he'd just witnessed, though he was trying not to make Mae feel self-conscious. The tension in the room was palpable, as though they were both waiting for something—waiting for her to tell him what was going on. But she hadn't said a word about how she was really feeling, and that left Tanner feeling restless, unsure.

"Maybe we should get you checked out," Tanner suggested, voice soft but full of concern, his hands still at his sides.

Mae turned to face him, eyes still slightly unfocused. "I'm fine," she said quickly, though it lacked conviction. "Really, I am."

Tanner gave her a look—one that she couldn't read fully, but one that made her feel like he was holding back something, too. She could see it in his eyes. He was just as uncertain as she was, and that uncertainty, that shared sense of vulnerability, was almost too much to bear.

"Well," Tanner said with a deep sigh, running a hand through his damp hair, "if you say so. But if it keeps up, you're seeing someone."

Mae didn't argue. She simply nodded, knowing he wouldn't let it slide if the discomfort persisted. And deep down, she felt a wave of gratitude for that. Tanner wasn't just looking out for her now; he was looking out for their future, whatever that might hold. And for a moment, just a brief moment, she let herself believe that maybe this wasn't as small a thing as she was pretending it was.

—

The late afternoon light filtered through the window, soft and golden, falling across the tiled floor in a gentle, lazy pattern. Dust motes floated lazily in the beams, drifting as though the apartment itself were breathing slowly. Mae stood barefoot at the sink, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hands submerged in warm, soapy water as she worked through a small pile of dishes. The scent of lemon soap mixed with the lingering aroma of something sweet from lunch, a faint reminder of cinnamon and vanilla that made the kitchen feel almost homey, almost cozy.

The apartment was quiet, except for the gentle hum of the water and the faint, crackling strains of music playing from the little speaker perched on the counter. A lo-fi playlist — one of those tracks Tanner always teased her about, saying it sounded like "background noise for a study montage," though she knew he secretly liked it. She hummed along softly, letting the rhythm anchor her, a simple, grounding motion that carried her through the task at hand.

Then, suddenly, a warmth curled around her waist from behind, soft and familiar.

"Hey, pretty girl," Tanner murmured, his voice low, close, brushing against the curve of her ear as he drew her into his arms. He'd just gotten back from patting practice.

Mae smiled instinctively, pressing her back into him, letting herself melt into the solid weight of him. But almost immediately, the scent of his cologne — so familiar, so safe — wrapped around her like smoke, clinging in a way that made her stomach twist.

At first, it was subtle. Just a flutter, like a small disturbance on the water's surface. Then it hit — sharp, undeniable, twisting through her in a wave that made her chest clench.

"Ugh—" she grimaced, stiffening in his arms. "Tanner, hang on—move—"

Startled, he stepped back instantly, eyes wide. "What? What's wrong?"