𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 || j. daniel atlas

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Alena hesitated before knocking on Daniel's door. He had buzzed her into the building only a moment before, so the longer she waited, the more suspicious he would get that something was wrong. Or perhaps that was just the paranoia that seemed to have been following her ever since her mother had called. As if she were the one having to look over her shoulder every time she made even the slightest error.

She was glad that Daniel had moved apartments shortly after she had started coming over. With the frequency of her visits came a higher risk that she would run into that landlord again, no matter how careful she was. Alena wasn't sure if he'd ever gotten that spare key back.

Daniel opened the door almost immediately after she had finally brought her knuckles to the wood. "Are you alright?" he asked, brows slightly furrowed.

"Yes, fine," Alena answered quickly. "Why?"

"You don't knock very often, just walk in as if you own the place."

Alena had to smile at his attitude.

"You look really nice tonight," Daniel said, closing the door behind her.

Though this compliment was far more reserved than usual, Alena knew that it was, in fact, true. She had spent most of the day drawing out the process of getting ready, focusing on every curl of her hair, the angle of her eyeliner, any tiny detail that would take her eyes away from her phone and her mind away from her mother. But she thanked Daniel politely anyway, and noted that he had also put a little more effort into his appearance, sporting a shirt and jumper, rather than just a t-shirt with his jeans.

As she slipped off her jacket and hung it up with her bag on the hat stand next to the door, Daniel moved to the kitchen. "I bought some champagne," he said, opening the fridge and producing a large bottle. "I know you said you like the cheap stuff, but I figured that was a you-and-Merritt thing, and since your big day went so well, I picked out something a little more expensive." He said all this with a nervous pace, something so unusual for him that it made Alena even more anxious to struggle through what she wanted to say next.

"Danny," Alena said, softly, unable to look him in the eye. "I know we have our...arrangement, but I don't really feel-"

"No, that's fine," he interrupted, hastily putting the bottle back and closing the fridge door. "We don't have to drink. We can just get to it," then added, in a mutter so it was hard for her to hear, "It was a stupid idea anyway."

"No, that's not what I mean. It's just..." Alena swallowed, her tongue feeling as if it had swollen to twice its usual size. She rested her palms flat on the worktop, allowing the cold metal to draw the anxious heat from her hands. "I'm sorry, I should have called before coming over."

Daniel frowned, walking around the kitchen island to where Alena had straightened up and was now wringing her hands, her eyes focused on a dint in the worktop. He gently took hold of her wrists and pulled her hands apart. With one hand, he held hers, slowly running the pad over his thumb back and forth over her palm, the other he used to lift her chin to capture her gaze. "What's wrong?"

Alena swallowed, an unfamiliar heat rushing to her cheeks. "I'm just...I'm just not in the mood for sex tonight. I know I should have called earlier but I wanted to see you," she added before she could bite her tongue.

Daniel brushed aside a stray hair that had caught in her eyelashes. "And you were nervous about telling me that?"

"Well, I mean, we have our arrangement."