His gaze flicked to my mouth, back to my eyes—confirmation request.
Do it, the impulse whispered.Risk it.
Don’t, the discipline warned.You’ll lose everything.
I looked at him—messy hair, steady eyes, the guy who labeled my frozen vegetables and argued aboutDie Hard.
With a jolt of panic and clarity, I realized I didn’t care about the risk.I wanted the noise to stop, and he was the only thing that could make the noise stop.
I closed the gap.
I stopped an inch from his lips, giving him one last chance to shove me away, to tell me I’d misread the signals.
He didn’t shove.He exhaled, a soft, broken sound, and tilted his head.
Lips touched once, soft, experimental.
I pulled back a fraction, terrified I’d done it wrong, terrified I’d broken the friendship.
But Austen chased me.He leaned forward, closing the distance I’d tried to leave, and the second kiss wasn’t experimental.It was magnetic like the chess pieces, pulling until both sides clicked.
First kiss should have felt like fireworks; instead, it felt like life locking into place.In that one kiss, Austen solved a problem in me I didn’t even know existed.He exhaled against my mouth, the lime seltzer taste hung on his breath.
We broke apart a fraction, foreheads close, breath mixing.I expected awkward, got gravity.
“Still noisy?”he whispered.
“Only in a good way.”My hand found the hem of his T-shirt where it draped loose.I tugged.He shifted forward, answering.
A second kiss, deeper, and the mattress answered with a soft groan.Somewhere in the hallway a toilet flushed—thin walls, potential audience.He didn’t pull back; neither did I.The risk buzzed under my skin, adrenaline without the crash.
I slid my hand to the base of his neck, fingers threading the hair that never stayed down.He shivered—small, involuntary.His palm settled on my waist, light, like contact itself was the variable he was testing.
“Shoulder?”he asked between breaths.
“Fine.”Honest—pain drowned under chemistry.
Another kiss tipped us sideways until we lay parallel, his head on my arm, noses almost touching.I memorized the scene: his lashes, the furrow easing from his brow, the way his hand splayed over my ribs as if measuring distance.I laughed—quiet, but real.
“What?”he murmured.
“Ice melted all over your towel experiment.”
He huffed a soft chuckle.“Acceptable collateral.”
The pea bag had indeed warmed to lukewarm, leaking.I retrieved it, tossed it onto the desk tray, wiped stray droplets with the edge of the blanket.He watched, amusement flickering.
“Rule breach,” I said.“Produce misuse after 23:00.”
“We’ll amend the constitution.”His thumb stroked a slow arc at my waist.“Article six: exceptions for emergent variables.”
“Draft it tomorrow.”My eyelids felt heavy, weight surrendering.
He brushed hair off my forehead—not a grand gesture, tidying data noise.“Sleep, goalie.”
“Stay?”
His eyes softened, like the request surprised him; like leaving had never crossed his mind.“Planned on it.”
