I pull him into a kiss. Not desperate this time, not frantic. Slow. Deep. A promise sealed with lips and breath and the press of his hand against the small of my back.
When we break apart, I keep my forehead against his. We breathe together in the quiet room.
"We're really doing this," I whisper.
"We're really doing this."
"We might crash and burn spectacularly."
"We might."
"Sterling might blacklist us from every institution on the East Coast."
"Also possible."
I laugh—a shaky, wet sound. "God. We're idiots."
"Brave idiots," Devan corrects. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek. "The bravest idiots I know."
"Flatterer."
"Realist."
I steal one more kiss—quick and fierce—then pull back. "Okay. We've got twenty-two hours and a lot of work to do."
"Then let's get started."
***
The next twelve hours are a blur.
We order pizza. We make coffee. We pull out laptops and notebooks and the whiteboard Devan keeps in his closet for "emergencies" (of course he has an emergency whiteboard, he's Devan).
I don't remember the details. I remember the feeling—frantic and terrifying and alive. I remember Devan's hand on my back at 2 AM when my eyes started burning. I remember laughing at something at 4 AM, delirious and exhausted, and not being able to stop.
I remember looking at him across the cluttered desk at 6 AM, both of us running on caffeine and adrenaline, and thinking:this is it. This is what I want.Not the internship, not the career, not the validation.
This. Him. Us, building something together.
By 7 AM, we have a proposal. Whether it's genius or suicide, I can't tell anymore.
By 8 AM, we're showered and dressed and standing at Devan's door, ready to walk into the lion's den.
"Hey," Devan says, catching my hand before I can reach for the handle. "Whatever happens in there—"
"I know." I squeeze his fingers. "Together."
"Together," he echoes.
We open the door.
Time to find out if we're brilliant or just really, really stupid.
Devan
Yesterday, we walked these halls like condemned men heading to the gallows. Today, Sam's hand is warm in mine, and there's something that feels almost like hope buzzing under my skin.
Or maybe that's just the four cups of coffee and zero hours of sleep.
