Warmer

“I’ll be watching you,” he calls, eyes shining from across the room.

She smiles placatingly, smoothing invisible wrinkles in her skirt before stepping all the way out of the glass doors. It’s chilly, but not unusual for December and she wills herself not to shiver as her heels clack against the freshly paved asphalt, heading towards the interview.

It’s warmer that way.



“I’ll be watching you,” he says, eyes peeking over the rim of his wineglass.

She smiles a little, fiddling with the simple gold chain around her neck before murmuring some sort of nonsense reply. The ballroom is unusually cool given the crowd, but the windows are thrown wide open and the chilly January air helps with ventilation. This is a party, a celebration of the television station’s success under her, gatecrasher or not. She takes another sip of wine.

It’s warmer that way.



“I’ll be watching you,” he whispers, eyes half closed in determination despite the pain.

She smiles feebly, fingers ghosting over the now-empty canteen in her hand. It’s so cold, even late in February. It’s nothing like home, out here in the field. It’s her last day abroad, and she wills herself not to break down. She won’t volunteer for a job like this again, not where people like him are hurt because of it. She sits close beside him, watching him too.

It’s warmer that way.



“I’ve been watching you,” he offers, eyeing the television set.

She grins widely. It’s finally thawing outside, although the hospital room is climatized and it’s impossible to tell. The bandages over his torso must be stiflingly hot, but when she reaches out to grab his hand she finds his fingertips are freezing. She holds it anyways.

It’s warmer that way.

“I know,” she says. “I’ve been watching you too.”

(300 words; for Daily Flash Fiction contest; prompt: write a story using the line "I'll be watching you".)