Short Stories: Accidentally Spilled Coffee [Iris 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 Iris requested.

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

It's not the first time your thoughts have wandered to her, 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 her, but this curiosity, this attraction—everything her presence stirs—it's too palpable to ignore, and secretly, you hope to see Agent Brailsford again.

Preferably alone, without her team.

To talk about work, you try to convince yourself, ignoring the other reason behind your interest. Still, judging by her demeanor, who knows? Maybe she 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 Iris' 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?"

Iris' gaze shifts from her 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 Iris, who has already followed you inside.

Seeing all the damage on her white shirt that you caused, and the visible outline of her bra, you quickly look away, stepping closer to her.

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

"Please don't worry about it. I know it was an accident," she says, and you meet her gaze that fills you with something distant yet warm and calm. "What about you? Are you alright?"

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

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

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

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 Iris 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 her hand. She pauses, meeting your gaze, so you explain. "Rubbing it will only make it worse. Here, let me..." Without waiting for her response, you guide her to settle on the couch.

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

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

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

Gently, you press the damp napkin against the coffee stain on Iris' chest, careful not to spread it further and ensuring your touch remains respectful. Still, you can feel the heat from her body through the material, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You can't help but notice how the wet fabric now emphasizes her contours, and it would be a lie to say it leaves you indifferent. However, you firmly remind yourself that this is not a moment to indulge in, focusing instead on the task at hand.

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

Distracted, your other hand moves lower, and you hear her small but sharp inhale. It breaks your focus, and you raise your eyes to meet hers, the intensity of her 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 her chest heave under your touch, you reluctantly mutter, "Sorry about this."

"It's... alright," Iris replies, her subdued tone and the brief brightness in her 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, Iris shifts slightly, her hand reaching out to grasp your wrist lightly.

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

You blink, taken aback by her 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 her touch sparks within you, absorbing them much like the fabric of her shirt absorbed the spilled coffee.

You feel her hesitation, as if she wants to say something, but instead, she 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.

Her touch lingers, and you watch her every move as her 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," she finally says, her tone growing quieter as she raises her gaze to meet yours again.

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

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

"I apologize, I didn't—"

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

"I... should get that," you mumble, holding the napkin she 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 Iris, and she nods slowly, averting her gaze as she tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, her 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, Iris 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, her thoughts have circled around the detective, and she keeps repeating to herself that it's because of the situation they're all in.

Not to mention, she 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 herself, her 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, she forces herself to look away before the detective catches her staring.

Her interest... She knows what it is: a foolish dream, a childish desire.

A waste of time.

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

Iris can almost hear Tess' teasing about her running away from the truth.

She 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 her resolve, yet her gaze involuntarily returns to the detective...

Focusing on what truly matters.