Short Stories: Accidentally Spilled Coffee [Isaac Version]

You suppress a sigh.

The department buzzes with its usual chaotic energy as you make your way back to your office, holding your early morning brew.

It doesn't matter if you're a coffee drinker or not; almost everyone in the department drinks coffee not because they like it, but because its lousy taste is sometimes the only way to stay awake.

As you stare at the dark liquid in your cardboard cup, seeing your tired reflection, you know it's something you desperately need after the restless nights you've had. You can already feel its bitter taste on your tongue, knowing it's just the way it is...

A necessary evil.

Drinking it now risks burning your tongue, so you carefully hold the cardboard cup in your hand, trying to avoid bumping into anyone on the way back. Turning down a more spacious hallway, you involuntarily shrug your shoulders.

You aren't used to walking this way, now that you've relocated to Klemens's office. You know you'll get used to it eventually, just like everything else, but this... Given how many sudden changes you've experienced, you're slow to accept anything new.

And speaking of new changes...

It's been a few days since the CID team's first visit, and you haven't seen them since. The morgue should be sending the reports soon, and you're eager to review them before the CID shows up again, assuming they do.

Considering the coroner's information is typically the most anticipated and reliable in your line of work, you really want to read the reports about the victim's body and the additional examination Isaac requested.

As the agent's name flashes through your mind, you find yourself drawn back to the mere memory of the sensation evoked by his half-lidded, thoughtful gaze.

It's not the first time your thoughts have wandered to him, and each time, you push these feelings aside, only to find them resurfacing again and again.

You can't quite grasp what it is about him, but this curiosity, this attraction—everything his presence stirs—it's too palpable to ignore, and secretly, you hope to see Agent Brailsford again.

Preferably alone, without his team.

To talk about work, you try to convince yourself, ignoring the other reason behind your interest. Still, judging by his demeanor, who knows? Maybe he will help you understand something more, especially when you have a chance to speak alone.

Or maybe...

You shake your head slightly, suppressing all tempting thoughts as you finally reach to open the door. Just as you turn the keys, focusing on the sound of the locking mechanism rotating—

"Good morning, Detective."

The measured voice of the very person you were thinking about comes from behind you, startling you.

You turn sharply, and the sudden movement causes your coffee to spill out of the cup, splattering hot liquid onto your fingers. You bite back a hiss, but the pain is forgotten when you see Isaac's shirt, the white fabric stained with your coffee.

"Hell! I'm so sorry," you blurt out, immediately regretting your hasty movement. "I didn't burn you, did I? Are you okay?"

Isaac's gaze shifts from his shirt to your drenched hand. "I'm alright, Detective. Your hand—"

"I'm really sorry. Let me help clean that up," you say again, opening the door and quickly stepping inside toward your desk. Pulling a pack of napkins from it and taking out one from the stack, you place the half-empty cup of coffee on it. Then, grabbing the rest of the package, you turn to Isaac, who has already followed you inside.

Seeing all the damage on his white shirt you caused makes you feel even worse as you step closer to him.

"Here," you say, pulling out a couple of napkins and handing them to him. Isaac accepts them slowly.

"Please don't worry about it. I know it was an accident," he says, with something distant yet warm and calm in his gaze. "What about you? Are you alright?"

Even though you can't fully understand the emotions hidden so perfectly well in his gaze, for some reason, what you see now is enough to make you avert your gaze.

It's not something unpleasant—quite the opposite, despite the current situation.

"Please wait here," you say quickly, ignoring his question as you brush past him to the restroom to wet the napkins.

This is so embarrassing...

You try to ignore all the awkward feelings the whole situation causes you to experience, knowing all you can do is make sure to minimize the damage you have caused, even if unintentionally.

Intentions... They don't matter. The result does, and it's the only bitter truth you learned to accept during your work.

Pushing all unnecessary thoughts aside, you quicken your steps back to the office. Upon your return, you find Isaac trying to rub the stain out with the dry napkins.

"Wait, don't do that," you say hastily, stepping closer as you take the napkins from his hand. He pauses, meeting your gaze, so you explain. "Rubbing it will only make it worse. Here, let me..." Without waiting for his response, you guide him to settle on the couch.

"Detective, you don't have to worry so much about it. It's just a shirt," he says as he pauses near the couch, only making you frown harder.

"Sit down," you order firmly, and for some reason, the corners of his lips twitch upward. You raise an eyebrow, not finding the situation amusing in the slightest.

Nevertheless, he complies, allowing you to take charge. As you lean closer, your fingers slide over the fabric of his shirt, adjusting it to better access the stain.

Gently, you press the damp napkin against the coffee stain on Isaac's chest, careful not to spread it further. You can feel the heat from his body through the material, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

As you dab at the stain in delicate, controlled motions, it takes you a moment to realize you can actually see the pattern of his tattoo under the wet fabric, your fingers pressing almost too close to touch it.

Distracted, your other hand moves lower, and you hear his small but sharp inhale. It breaks your focus, and you raise your eyes to meet his, the intensity of his gaze causing you to pause.

For a moment, you stare at each other in silence, feeling everything but the urge to look away.

When you feel his chest heave under your touch, you reluctantly mutter, "Sorry about this."

"It's... alright," Isaac replies, his husky tone and the brief brightness in his hazel eyes causing your heart to skip a heavy beat.

The air between you crackles with tension, but before it can escalate into something more, Isaac shifts slightly, his hand reaching out to grasp your wrist lightly.

"You should have treated this first, not my shirt," he says quietly, with a touch of something unspoken in his voice as he stares at your fingers where the hot coffee has spilled.

You blink, taken aback by his touch that burns more than the spilled coffee. But instead of pain, it brings only a pleasant sensation.

"It will heal, but your shirt might be ruined," you say, trying to grasp the feelings his touch sparks within you, absorbing them much like the fabric of his shirt absorbed the spilled coffee.

You feel his hesitation, as if he wants to say something, but instead, he silently takes one of the wet napkins and gently applies it to your fingers. You remain silent, feeling the coolness of the napkin soothing the slight burn from the hot liquid.

His touch lingers, and you watch his every move as his gaze flickers to a spot on your sleeve where a small trace of coffee has stained.

"Maybe I should help you clean yourself up as well," he finally says, his tone low as he raises his gaze to meet yours again.

The suggestion hangs in the air, his gaze intensifying the sensations pulsing through your body.

You part your lips to respond, but before you can, you notice Isaac's eyes flickering with a realization of the atmosphere between you.

"I apologize, I didn't—"

Suddenly, your phone rings, and both yours and his eyes widen slightly. His grip on your wrist loosens as you instinctively take a step back.

"I... should get that," you mumble, holding the napkin he pressed to your fingers, as if involuntarily refusing to let go of the moment, only now noticing the pain from the burn... is gone.

Your focus returns to Isaac, and he nods slowly, averting his gaze as he runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks slightly darkened.

You do your best to look away, your previous confusion forgotten as you hurry to answer the phone.

.

.

.

As the detective talks on the phone, Isaac tries to ignore the lingering heat of unspoken attraction, feeling it just as strongly despite the distance between them.

What am I doing?

From day one, his thoughts have circled around the detective, and he keeps repeating to himself that it's because of the situation they're all in.

Not to mention, he knows what will happen if it turns out that the detective is not at all what they seem... The thought brings an unpleasant pang of rejection, and, unable to help himself, his gaze shifts to the detective again.

There's no point in denying it—the interest that, for some reason, is so difficult to conceal around them.

For the umpteenth time, he forces himself to look away before the detective catches him staring.

His interest... He knows what it is: a foolish dream, a childish desire.

A waste of time.

He must be cautious and focus on what truly matters, not on—his gaze falls on the napkins—this.

Isaac can almost hear Theo's teasing about him running away from the truth.

He knows there's only one truth: whatever happens, this can never evolve into something more, even if time and circumstances permit it.

This steely, chilling certainty fills his resolve, yet his gaze involuntarily returns to the detective...

Focusing on what truly matters.