The room stays quiet.
Almost too quiet.
And then—
You feel it.
Not his hand.
Not his breath.
But his ..
presence.
He's turned toward you.
And he's not pretending to sleep anymore.
"Can I ask you something?"
he says,
barely above a whisper.
You stay still.
"Why do you hate me?"
Your throat tightens.
Because the answer...
isn't simple.
"Because you were always so perfect,"
you finally mutter.
"So smug"
"So sure of yourself."
A pause.
"And..
because..
I always noticed you...
And I hated that I did."
The sheets rustle.
You feel his fingers ghost down your spine.
"So all that hate,"
he murmurs.
"Was just?
Wanting...?
In disguise?"
"Don't flatter yourself,"
you breathe.
"I'm not."
"I'm asking...
because I think...
I've been doing the..
Same.
Damn.
Thing."
Silence again.
Then—
He shifts closer.
Your back brushes against his chest.
And then
slowly,
carefully,
his hand finds your waist.
"Tell me to stop."
He breathes the words
into your back.
"I don't want to,"
you whisper.
He exhales—
shaky,
relieved.
You turn to face him.
No more games. No more tension. Just honesty... and HEAT...
His hand cups your jaw.
Yours slides up his chest.
"If we do this,"
you say,
"we can't go back."
His voice is gravel.
"Then let's make it worth it."
And then
his mouth
is on yours again—
Fierce, needy,
nothing like before.
This time?
This time he kisses you like he owns the night.
And you let him.
⸻
Your bodies entangled with each other,
your handsanchoring one another to this bed..
to this moment...
His name
falls from your lips
as he takes his time..
tasting you,
worshipping you...
just as he has longed for,
for so long.
The sky is pale when you open your eyes.
Not quite morning.
Not quite night.
Just that 'in-between hush' when the world is still deciding what to be.
You feel his arm before you see him.
Warm. Heavy.
Wrapped around your waist like it belongs there.
You don't move.
You just breathe.
Last night wasn't a mistake.
But it wasn't supposed to happen.
Not like this.
Not here.
He shifts behind you. You feel it—his body pressing closer, like his sleep
forgot the rules
your mouths had whispered.
You let it happen.
But when his voice cuts through the stillness?
It's quiet. Careful.
"You okay?"
You nod. Slowly.
Then turn to face him.
He looks different in the early light. Less sharp. Less smug.
"I meant it," he says suddenly.
"Last night. Every second of it."
You swallow.
"And now?"
"Now I want more."
You stare at him.
Because it's not just lust anymore.
It's want.
It's history.
It's something dangerously close
To NEED
⸻
You get up first.
You dress without looking at him.
He watches, but doesn't speak.
And when you reach the door, hand on the knob,
heart pounding—
You feel it.
His presence again.
Not behind you.
But IN you.
You pause.
"Last night doesn't change anything,"
you say,
mostly to yourself.
He laughs once.
Low. Sad.
"No," he replies.
"But it changes everything else."
You leave.
But not fast.
Not like someone escaping.
More like someone afraid.
Afraid of how much they want to Stay.