Her expression shifts. Then she lifts her hand halfway.
Stops.
A breath where she weighs what this costs, what it might reopen.
I don’t reach for her yet. I keep my hand loose at my side, palm open, holding the line the same way I did earlier, when staying still cost me the last ounce of restraint. My heart hammers so loud I’m sure she can hear it.
Seconds pass. Maybe more.
Then her fingersgraze mine.
The lightest touch. Intentional.
It’s a decision she’s making.
My jaw locks. Breath controlled. In for four. Out for four. Every instinct reined in.
I wait one beat, then close my hand around hers, firm and steady.
The contact hits like a circuit completing. Like muscle memory snapping awake after months of enforced stillness. I’m acutely aware of it, of how long it’s been since I was allowed this. Since I touched her instead of standing still and wanting.
Her thumb brushes my knuckle, testing.
I lift our joined hands slowly, giving her time to stop me if she wants to.
When she doesn’t, I press a quiet kiss into her palm, reverent as a vow.
Her breath leaves her in a long, shaky rush, like she’s been holding it all day. All season.
I feel it against my palm and have to close my eyes against the want.
“What am I going to do with you, Starboy?” she murmurs.
Her voice is soft. Tired. Fond in a way that guts me.
I lean closer, closing the space between us until our knees touch.
“I was hoping you’d keep me.”
Her eyes flick to my mouth. Back to my eyes. The space between us feels suddenly fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it—or seal it.
“We’re not a lost cause, are we?” she says finally.
“No,” I say quietly. “We’re not.”
She leansin first.
The kiss is slow. Careful. A question I’ve been waiting months to answer.
Her mouth moves against mine like she’s relearning the shape of me, testing whether this is real or just another thing that breaks when she gets too close. Tentative. Searching. Sweet in a way that makes my chest ache.
I give her three seconds to lead.
Then I take over.
My hand comes up, fingers threading into her hair at the base of her skull, holding her there—steady, unyielding. The other settles at her waist, spanning it, pulling her closer. She makes a small sound, surprised, and it goes straight through me.
I don’t push further. Don’t take more.
