Fireflies flicker between branches like someone scattered sparks across the dark.
She leans against a real tree, still giggling, cheeks still flushed from the fire and the laughing — and God, she's beautifullike this. Unguarded. Warm. That sweater still hanging off her shoulder like it's been trying to fall all night.
"Okay, Tree," she says, breathless. "You win. That was funny."
I pull the mascot head off.
Her eyes go wide.
Then she bursts out laughing all over again — this time softer, more surprised, more real.
"It's you."
Leaves fall from my shoulders as I push the costume down. My hair is a disaster. I'm sweating. I look absolutely unhinged.
She's still laughing.
"You're ridiculous," she says.
"You liked it."
Her smile lingers. Shifts into something quieter.
That's the thing.
She did.
Because for a moment she saw something she didn't expect from me. Not the serious player. Not the guy in the headlines. Just someone willing to look completely, thoroughly stupid to make her laugh.
"You take yourself so seriously," she says softly, studying my face in the shadow and flickering light. "I didn't know you could be… this."
"Embarrassing?"
"Playful."
The word settles between us like something delicate.
The firelight from the party bleeds through the branches behind her, catching the loose strands of hair at her temples, the curve of her bare shoulder, the soft rise and fall of her chest.
Her eyes look darker out here.
Warmer.
Dangerous.
"I missed that laugh," I admit.
Her smile fades just a little — not gone, just changed. Tilted into something more honest.
"So did I."
The space between us vanishes like it was never there.
My hand finds her jaw before I've consciously decided to move — thumb grazing her cheekbone, slow and deliberate, asking without a single word. Her skin is warm and impossibly soft and I feel her exhale tremble just slightly under my touch.
She doesn't pull back.
She leans into it — eyes dropping half-shut, lips parting on a soft inhale that steals every coherent thought I have left.
