I lean into him and close my eyes and let myself have it.
The warmth of his hand on my jaw.
The way he exhales against my mouth like being here costs him something.
The way he holds me like I’m the most important thing he’s ever been careful with.
It feels like enough.
That tiny, fragile hope.
We lie back slowly.
His forehead against mine.
Our hands still tangled.
The room dark and quiet around us.
• • •
I don’t say anything.
Neither does he.
Because if we talk — it becomes real.
It has edges and weight and consequences.
So instead we just — stay.
Close.
Too close.
His breath warm against my face.
His hand in mine.
And I let myself have it.
Just for tonight.
Just this.
Because tomorrow —
I already know.
This is goodbye.
And I’m not ready.
Not yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SIXTEEN YEARS OLD
