The next few days blurred together — glances stolen between classes, kisses behind locker doors, whispered goodnights through text messages that left her heart aching.
It felt like a secret universe. One where time stopped every time he touched her hand or pressed his lips against her neck beneath the bleachers.
But nothing perfect stays hidden forever.
Lila found herself in the library that Friday afternoon, flipping through poetry books she didn't even read. She was waiting — not for a book, but for River.
When he arrived, he didn't smile. His jaw was tight, eyes stormy.
"What happened?" she whispered.
He didn't answer at first. He just slipped into the seat across from her and dropped his bag onto the floor like it carried the weight of the world.
"My uncle's back," he said finally. "And drunk. Again."
Lila's heart clenched. She'd never asked about River's home life. Something about the way he changed the subject or clammed up made her think he didn't want her to know.
But now he was telling her.
And she listened.
"He's not just drunk. He's mean when he drinks. Says things that make you feel like nothing." River's voice cracked, just barely. "Tried to hit me last night. Missed. This time."
Lila reached across the table and grabbed his hand.
He didn't let go.
"Come to my house," she said, eyes full of quiet strength. "Stay with me tonight."
"Lila—"
"No. I don't care what anyone says or thinks. You're not going back there."
River looked at her like she'd just handed him the only light in a dark tunnel.
---
That night, River curled up next to her on her twin bed, fully clothed. Her room was quiet. Safe. Pink fairy lights lit the walls. Her books lined the shelves in neat rows. Her world — so different from his.
"You don't have to pretend with me," she said softly.
"I'm not," he replied. "You just make me forget everything that hurts."
They talked until 2 a.m. About childhood fears. About music. About their dreams — hers of art school, his of leaving this place behind.
Then silence.
Then slow breathing.
Then his lips on hers.
The kiss was gentle at first — sleepy, soft. But it deepened, hands finding familiar paths again. Her skin warmed under his touch, her body curving into his as their breathing quickened.
River paused, forehead against hers. "You sure?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Always with you."
They made love slowly that night — not rushed, not reckless. Just real. Every movement was a conversation. Every moan, every gasp, every whispered name in the dark was another line in the story they were writing with their bodies.
And when they finished — breathless and tangled in sheets — he held her like she was the only thing that could keep him from falling apart.
---
She woke hours later to find him still awake, staring at the ceiling.
"Can't sleep?" she asked, fingers brushing his chest.
"I don't want this to end."
"It doesn't have to."
River turned to her, something broken in his expression.
"I've never had something this good, Lila. And that scares the hell out of me."
She kissed his shoulder, then looked him in the eye.
"Then hold on to it. Hold on to me."