Weren’t they?
He tilted his head slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows. “What is it?” he asked, quieter now. Concerned.
I could’ve told him the truth.
I could’ve said I woke to a dream I can still feel on my lips.
I’m not sure if you were the one who touched me, or if I’ve finally gone mad…
But instead, I smiled, small and false.
I stood there, silhouetted, staring up at him as the firelight from his room bathed the side of his face in soft gold. I didn’t know what I wanted. I only knew that I couldn’t let him walk away, not when my thoughts were unraveling thread by thread.
“Did you…” I began, my voice thinner than I intended, “when you came in… did you come into my room?”
His eyes moved over me with careful appraisal, as if he were trying to decipher something writtenbetween my words.
A long pause.
“No,” he explained slowly, searching my face. “I came straight into my room.”
I inhaled slowly.
There it was. Confirmation. A clean, sharp cut where the truth should have been soft. A dream, then. Only a dream. And yet… the weight of his hands still lingered like fingerprints on my hips. My lips still ached with phantom kisses. My skin burned with the memory of a touch that had never happened.
“I just thought…” I smiled faintly, the expression brittle. “I thought you did. It must’ve been a dream.”
He stepped forward, brows furrowing with concern. His eyes were clear now, sharper despite the early hour. He caressed my cheek and I leaned into his touch. “You’re not sleeping well?”
I shook my head. “I had a strange dream,” I admitted. “It felt so real.”
He tilted his head slightly, watching me with something unreadable in his expression. “That’s not uncommon,” he offered. “Especially in old places like this. The mind is a delicate thing. It weaves stories to make sense of the unknown.”
He pulled me close, my face resting against the warmth of his bare chest.
“What was the dream?” he asked, his voice quiet. Curious.
I hesitated. The words clawed at the back of my throat, half-formed and burning. I couldn’t say it. Not all of it. Not the truth.
“I don’t remember,” I lied, even as the memory of his lips on mine replayed through my mind.
“Try.”
I swallowed, glancing away as heat crept up to my cheeks. “It felt… like you were there.”
He didn’t move, but I felt his attention sharpen.
“You came into my room. You…” I exhaled slowly, heart pounding. “You touched me. You kissed me.”
I pulled back to look up at him, his lips curved.
“It felt real,” I whispered. “So real I can still feel it.”
His gaze dropped to my lips, before rising again to meet my eyes. “And did you enjoy it?”
The question unraveled me.
“Yes,” I breathed.
