abri

out of all the millions of possibilities that could have occurred— from drunk fights leading to arrest, headaches from music much too loud, and stupid past situations.. like heidi, the girl who couldn't get enough of manon.. this wasn’t what you intended to turn things into. 

an argument. 

the worst part was that it wasn’t even something you were upset at to begin with, but that only lasted a few minutes. 

it was funny actually, how quickly words changed meaning from something serene to sharp, how one word could be taken the wrong way, shifting the tone and turning the atmosphere dark. 

you were sitting in manon's truck, the soft hum of the engine running had faded through your ears, the girl hadn't said a word for a while. 

rain trickled down the windshield in its unforgiving way. 

you two hadn't stayed, driving away from the party you were pretending to have fun at. “we didn’t have to leave.” manon said, eyes on the rain that slid down her window. “i wasn’t mad.” 

you exhaled a soft laugh, short and dry. “you were.” 

“i said i wasn’t.” her eyes narrowed, she didn’t want to drag it on. 

you sat up straighter, “and i said you were.” the words left in a mournful way, “you kept quiet all night. you were standing in the corner like you wished you hadn’t come at all.” 

manon took a deep breath, eyes focused on the windshield, “why do you always do that?” 

“do what?” you asked sharply, eyes not straying away from hers. 

she shook her head, “you start acting like you know what’s happening in my mind. like you know how i feel better than i know.” 

she wasn’t supposed to say it like that. 

you hesitated a moment, or two, gaze adverting because her words hurt more than you knew she intended them to. “i’m not trying to do that manon, i’m worried. i’ve been worried— god, for like, weeks now.” 

“you should stop worrying, there’s nothing to worry about.” she replied, almost instantly. “besides i know how to look after myself.” 

nothing was said for a while after that. 

rain scattered over the truck, the engine stilled quietly, your breathing sounded more silent. 

your hands lifted up to play with the gold chain wrapped around your neck, “yea, you don’t let anyone in. you don’t let anyone help. you don’t let anyone take care of you, not even me.” your voice was barely above a whisper, if you pushed even more you knew you wouldn’t be able to say anything else. your throat stung, your chest hurt. “that’s the whole point. the issue.” 

manon turned to you, glaring like you'd just said something awful. “that’s not an issue.” 

“no?” you faced her fully now, “i think it becomes one when i get pushed away. when you won’t let me in.” you bit back, ready to end whatever this was. you tried to cover up how shaky your voice sounded, but it was no use. 

“you tell me you're okay, and then you ghost me for days on end and i’m— i'm just supposed to act like it’s fine?”

she gripped onto the steering wheel, eyes flickering away from yours. she wasn’t sure why she continued to push you away, she just figured it was easier to pull away from things rather than figure something out. “you know we aren’t..” she trailed off, “we’re not dating.” 

you wanted to laugh. 

that was what she said when things started to feel too real. too close. 

“i know, trust me manon, i know exactly what we are.” 

manon continued looking away, she could hear the pain in your voice and didn’t think she’d be able to handle seeing your eyes all glossy and your lip quivering. 

“so why do you always expect me to explain?” 

you swallowed, of course she didn’t owe you any answers, but you liked to think you were more than just friends. 

“because i matter to you, and you matter to me.” 

“did i tell you that?” she regretted her words before they came out, it sounded like she was breaking things instead of rekindling them. 

“cool.” you opened the door, already stepping out, “that’s fine.” the door slammed shut before manon could protest, “y/n—” she followed after you, the rain seeping into her clothes. “don’t.. don’t do this.” 

you stood there, hands hugging yourself while the rain soaked you head to toe, her words hanging between you like they meant something, your eyes glued to the wet pavement. “what, hm? worry? care? listen to you when you shut me out?” 

you turned to look at her, clearly done. 

she hated it. all of it. the way you looked like you didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. she knew she was wrong, she just already did the damage. 

“look manon, i’m exhausted. i’m so so exhausted of being an almost. a maybe.” 

manon shook her head, none of this felt right— if it even ever was supposed to feel right. 

she wrapped her arms around you, secure in a way that made you feel safe, always safe. 

you spun around in her arms, forehead pressed against her shoulder, the rain soaking the both of you but none of that mattered now. 

manon kept you grounded, holding you like you meant more to her than anything ever would— and in that moment, where you two were tangled under the pouring rain, she realized nothing would ever be more important. and she was bound to fix things before she lost you entirely. 

“i’m sorry,” she whispered into your hair, not out of pity, not because she knew if she continued she wouldn’t have you for longer. 

but because she meant it. 

“i didn’t realize how much i was asking you to wait for me. to wait with me.” 

your arms held onto her tightly, scared to let her go. “you don’t have to have things figured out. no one ever does.” your voice trembled slightly, “but i need to know that you aren't walking away.” 

manon leaned back to look at you. with her face inches apart you could see just how real her expression was, how sincere. 

her walls were gone, her hiding had faded, this was just her. “i won’t.” she whispered, “i’ll never walk away, i’m here. right here.” 

you exhaled, “i thought you would’ve drove off.” 

her thumb moved to brush a tear from your cheek, soft, regardful. “i hate that you thought i would because leaving you would be the last thing i do.”

you two stood alone on the quiet and empty road, rain seeping through clothes that were once dry. the night and darkness surrounding you in a warm embrace. everything that needed to be said, had been. and the words that hadn't gotten the chance to slip out, the words that clung tight and waited in between you both, strong but delicate, were still there— just told with your eyes instead of your lips. 

you exhaled a soft laugh through your tears, “we suck at this, don't we?” 

manon pressed a kiss to your head, “maybe,” her eyes dipped to your mouth, lasting for a moment longer than usual. “but i’d rather suck at this with you and not with anyone else”

your pulse spiked, “you can't just put that out there and expect me to be normal about it.” 

manon's smile widened slightly, “then don’t be.” 

the gap between you two closed without either of you making a move to do so, one moment your breaths were mixing and the next your mouth was on manon's. 

the kiss was tentative at first, like you weren't sure if this was okay, but manon answered by pressing her lips against yours with even more ardour. 

weeks of ups and downs and almosts were spilling into the kiss, manon's hand slid to rest on the side of your cheek in order to tilt your head in the slightest to push the kiss deeper. 

you whined into the kiss, your fingers pulling her in impossibly closer, like you needed her more than air itself. 

and manon kissed back like she’d been holding off for years, weeks of going back and forth with the thoughts in her mind were over, now she wasn't afraid.

every touch of her lips spoke for her— silent and achingly sweet confessions spilling out without care. 

you pulled away to catch your breath, resting your forehead against hers. “i hate fighting with you,” she murmured, “i’m choosing you. even when i’m confused. even when i’m scared.” 

your heart skipped a few beats, “so don’t make me feel like i’m asking for something you can’t give,” 

the girl pulled back to look you in the eyes, “i won’t.” 

her lips touched yours once more, this time there wasn’t any hesitation at first— it was more heated, fervent, deliberate. her hands found your waist, dragging you in closer to her. 

you kissed back tenderly, nothing left clouding your mind, all the hurt switched for gentleness and promises manon would keep instead. 

manon pulled away this time, her smile lighting up her face. “can we go back into the truck? it’s freezing,” 

you laughed, “promise you'll stay this time? no more walking away?” 

“i’m done with leaving, i swear,” 

manon got that effortless pull.

people gravitate toward her without her even trying. her phone is always buzzing with group chats, invites, inside jokes from ten different friend circles.

she’s friends with the art kids, the music producers, the athletes, the international students, the baristas at three different coffee shops who all know her order by heart.

she never excludes anyone, never makes anyone feel small. she just exists loudly and warmly, and people want to be near her.

you, on the other hand… is you!

quiet in crowds, comfortable in corners, the one who shows up to things but leaves early.

you have a few close friends, a handful of people you text memes to, but you’re not part of the orbit.

you don’t mind.

you like watching from the edges sometimes. it’s easier.

so when manon throws one of her legendary ‘everyone’s invited’ parties at her loft downtown.

no guest list, just word of mouth and a single instagram story with the address.

you almost don’t go.

parties aren’t your scene. too loud, too many bodies, too easy to feel invisible.

but something about the way she worded the story ‘come to my AWESOME party 🤑’ made you pause.

maybe it was the emoji…

maybe it was the memory of her smiling at you once in the hallway last semester, eyes lingering like she actually saw you.

you decide to try.

just for an hour.

just to see.

you show up in jeans and a soft sweater, hair down, no makeup, feeling like you already stick out.

the loft is packed—music thumping low but heavy, people spilling onto the balcony, red cups everywhere, laughter bouncing off the exposed brick walls.

you step inside, immediately overwhelmed.

you hug the wall near the kitchen, clutching a soda you grabbed just to have something in your hands, eyes scanning for a familiar face and finding none.

then you see her.

manon’s in the middle of the living room, surrounded by maybe fifteen people, laughing so hard she has to hold onto someone’s shoulder to stay upright.

she’s in a black halter top and baggy cargo pants, silver rings glinting on every finger, hair loose and messy in that intentional way.

she looks like she belongs here. like she was born for this kind of night.

her eyes sweep the room mid laugh, casual, and then they land on you.

she stops completely.

the smile freezes on her face.

the person next to her keeps talking, but manon isn’t listening anymore. her eyes widen slightly, like she’s seeing something she didn’t expect.

then her whole expression softens—mouth parting just a little, head tilting, like she’s trying to make sure it’s really you.

she says something to the group then starts walking toward you.

you panic.

you’re not ready for her to look at you like that. not here.

not with all these people. you feel exposed, awkward, like you walked into a room you weren’t invited to even though she literally said everyone was.

so you turn. ( like a pussy )

you walk away fast, toward the hallway, toward the bathroom, toward anywhere that isn’t directly in her line of sight. your heart is hammering.

you feel stupid. childish.

why did you even come?

behind you, manon stops short.

“shit,” she mutters under her breath.

she watches your back disappear around the corner, the easy smile falling off her face.

her friends call her name, wave her back over, but she’s not listening. she’s staring at the empty space where you were standing two seconds ago.

she fucked up.

she knows it.

she always knows when she pushes too hard, when her energy overwhelms someone who isn’t used to it.

and you, you’re not used to it.

you’re quiet, careful, the kind of person who watches more than participates.

she’s been trying to pull you in gently for months. small smiles, lingering glances, casual ‘hey’s in passing but she never wanted to scare you off.

and now she might have.

she exhales hard through her nose, runs a hand through her hair.

“fuck,” she says again, quieter.

you push through the crowd in the hallway, heart still pounding from manon’s stare across the room.

the music feels louder back here, bodies pressing in from every side.

you’re not looking where you’re going—just trying to breathe, to find a quiet corner or the front door or anything that isn’t her eyes on you.

then you collide.

your shoulder slams into someone’s chest. you stumble back, phone almost slipping from your hand.

strong hands catch your elbows instantly—steady, gentle, keeping you upright.

“whoa—sorry, you okay?”

you look up.

he’s tall, maybe 6’1, broad-shouldered but not intimidating. dark hair messy from the humidity, kind brown eyes, a small concerned frown between his brows.

he’s wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans, nothing flashy, just… normal. the opposite of the people around you.

you blink, nod quickly. “yeah. sorry. i wasn’t looking.”

he lets go of your arms slowly, like he’s making sure you’re steady. “no worries. you good? you look a little… lost.”

you force a small laugh, tucking hair behind your ear. “yeah. just… needed air. or something.”

he nods, glancing around at the packed hallway. “this place is insane tonight. too many people.”

“yeah,” you agree, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

he tilts his head slightly, studying you—not in a creepy way, just gentle. “hey, do you want to get out of here? i can order a cab if you’re ready to head home. you seem like you could use a break from all this.”

you hesitate.

part of you wants to stay, wants to find manon again, wants to see if she’ll come looking, wants to figure out why her eyes on you feel like fire and safety at the same time.

but the bigger part, the tired, overwhelmed part wins.

you nod. “yeah. that… that would be nice. thank you.”

he smiles. “cool. give me two seconds.”

he pulls out his phone, opens the rideshare app, books it in under a minute. “five minutes. black toyota. it’ll meet you out front.”

you exhale, tension easing a little just from having a plan. “thanks. seriously.”

“anytime.” he pockets his phone, glances toward the living room where the party is loudest. “you know manon, right? i saw her looking for someone earlier. kept asking people if they’d seen you.”

your stomach flips. “yeah… we’re… friends.”

he nods, doesn’t pry. “she seemed worried. but if you want to head out, i got you.”

you manage a small smile. “i do. thanks.”

he walks with you to the front door, close enough to block the crowd a little.

the night air hits you as you step outside cool, salty, a relief after the stuffy house.

the cab pulls up almost immediately.

he opens the door for you, steps back.

“get home safe,” he says. “dm me if you need anything, okay? i’m jay, by the way.”

you nod, sliding into the backseat. “i’m y/n. thank you, jay.”

he smiles again, soft and genuine then closes the door.

the car pulls away.

inside the house, manon is still moving through the crowd like she’s on a mission.

“hey—have you seen y/n?” she asks a girl from her photography class.

the girl shakes her head. “not in a while. she was by the kitchen earlier.”

manon keeps going. asks three more people. gets shrugs.

“no,”

“haven’t seen her.”

her stomach starts to twist.

she checks the balcony. the bathroom line. the hallway. the front door area.

nothing.

she pulls out her phone, opens your chat. thumbs hover.

she types;

“hey where’d u go? u okay?”

sends it.

no reply.

she stares at the screen, heart sinking lower with every second that passes without the three dots.

“fuck,” she mutters to herself, running a hand through her hair. “i’m so fucking dumb.”

she fucked up.

she knows it.

she always knows when she pushes too hard, when her brightness blinds someone who’s not used to it.

and you—you’re not used to it. you’re quiet, careful, the kind of person who watches more than participates.

she’s been trying to pull you in gently for months, small smiles, lingering glances, casual ‘hey’s in passing—but tonight she overwhelmed you. she can feel it in the way you walked away.

she leans against the wall near the front door, eyes scanning the emptying crowd, hoping you’ll come back around the corner.

you don’t.

the cab is long gone.

and manon is left standing there, phone clutched too tight, heart heavy with the realization that she might have just scared away the one person she’s been quietly falling for since the day you bumped into her in the hallway and looked at her like she was worth seeing.

you’re lying on your bed at home, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slow circles.

it’s quiet except for the hum of the ac and the faint traffic noise from outside your window.

the party from the last hours keep replaying in your head like a bad loop—manon’s eyes finding you across the room, the way she stopped everything just to walk toward you, the way you panicked and bolted like a scared kid.

you roll onto your side, hug a pillow to your chest, and sigh.

why were you so scared?

it’s not like manon was mean.

she’s never been mean.

if anything, she’s the opposite—the kind of person who makes everyone feel like they belong. but that’s exactly the problem.

she belongs everywhere. she has friends in every corner of the city, people who light up when she enters a room, people who save her a spot at every table.

she’s popular without trying.

she’s out of your league without even knowing it.

lyou don’t pull people in. and manon? she pulls everyone.

so when she looked at you like that, like you were the only person in the room—your brain short-lcircuited.

because what if she gets bored?

what if she realizes you’re not interesting enough?

what if she sees how boring you are and walks away?

you bury your face in the pillow.

stupid. stupid. stupid.

one week later, manon throws another party.

this one’s bigger. word spreads fast—her loft downtown again.

she’s nervous.

she’s never nervous about parties. she loves them—the music, the people, the crazy stuff.

but tonight she’s pacing the kitchen at 8 p.m., checking her phone every thirty seconds, heart doing stupid little flips every time someone new walks through the door.

she’s waiting for you.

she told herself she wouldn’t.

told herself it’s fine if you don’t show up.

you’re shy. parties aren’t your thing.

she gets it. but she still hopes.

she still hopes so hard it hurts.

her best friend david finds her in the kitchen around 9:30, leaning against the counter, staring at the front door like it owes her money.

david raises an eyebrow, beer in hand. “dude. what are you waiting for? another chick?”

manon blinks, startled out of her trance. “what? ew, no. stop saying i’m some player, david.”

david laughs. “you’re literally standing here like a lost puppy staring at the door. who else could it be?”

manon sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “it’s… y/n.”

david’s eyebrows shoot up. “y/n? like y/n l/n? since when do you like her?”

manon’s cheeks heat up. she looks away, fiddles with her chain. “i don’t know. i just… do.”

david leans against the counter next to her, studying her face. “wait. is this the y/n you told me about when you were drunk that one time? the one from kindergarten?”

manon groans, covering her face with both hands. “i was drunk. you weren’t supposed to remember that.”

“bro, you cried. you literally cried into your beer telling me about the girl from kindergarten who shared her crayons with you and then moved you away and never saw her again. i thought you were being dramatic.”

manon peeks through her fingers. “i wasn’t. she was… she was my first friend. like, real friend. before everything got complicated. and then i saw her again last semester and she’s… she’s still her. still quiet and kind and… fuck, david, she’s so pretty and she doesn’t even know it.”

david’s expression softens. “so that’s why you threw this stupid ‘sudden’ party.”

manon nods miserably. “yeah. i thought… maybe if i invited everyone, she’d come. maybe she’d see i’m not scary. maybe she’d talk to me.”

david looks at her for a long second. “you think she remembers you? from kindergarten?”

manon’s voice is small. “yeah. that’s why i want her to be my friend again.”

david sighs, claps a hand on her shoulder. “you’re hopeless. but cute or whatever. go find her if she shows up. don’t just stand here like a weirdo.”

manon nods. “yeah. okay.”

but the night drags on.

10:30…

11:00…

11:45…

people come. people go. music gets louder. drinks get refilled.

manon smiles and laughs and plays host like always, but her eyes keep darting to the door.

you never walk through it.

around midnight she gives up.

she slips into her bedroom, closes the door on the party noise, sits on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands.

“this is useless,” she mutters to herself. “i’m so fuckin’ useless.”

she pulls out her phone, opens your chat.

types;

“hey. u didn’t come tonight. hope ur okay.”

deletes it.

types again.

“hope you can come :)”

deletes it.

finally she just locks her phone, tosses it on the bed, and lies back staring at the ceiling.

she doesn’t cry.

she just feels… empty.

and you show up at manon’s party anyway.

you spent the whole day telling yourself you wouldn’t go.

but at 11:55 you’re standing outside her loft building in a simple outift, heart hammering so loud you’re sure people on the street can hear it.

you almost turn around three times. but you step inside.

the place is packed—music loud but not deafening, bodies moving, red cups everywhere, laughter bouncing off the brick walls.

you hug the edge of the room like always, eyes scanning for an exit more than for manon.

you tell yourself you’ll stay ten minutes. just to prove to yourself you can be here.

just to see if she notices.

she doesn’t notice you at first.

she’s in the middle of the living room, surrounded by her usual crowd—girls with perfect eyeliner and sharp laughs, guys with expensive sneakers and louder voices.

she’s laughing at something one of them says, head thrown back, silver chain glinting under the lights.

she looks like she belongs here. like she was made for this kind of night.

you’re about to slip out when a group of girls—three of them, all glossy hair and matching smirks spot you near the kitchen.

they’re the kind of popular that doesn’t need to try.

the kind that notices outsiders immediately.

one of them is blonde, red lipstick, crop top, tilts her head. loud enough for people nearby to hear.

“wait… is that y/n? what are you doing here?”

the others laugh. another one, the dark hair, hoop earrings, steps closer, voice dripping with fake surprise.

“wow, you came to a party? didn’t think this was your scene. looking to fuck a dick or something?”

the third girl snorts. “seriously. thought you only came out for ‘me time.’”

the words land like slaps. your face burns. your throat closes. you feel small, stupid, exposed. you open your mouth but nothing comes out.

you just stand there, frozen, while they laugh and turn away like you’re not even worth a second look.

“y/n!”

manon’s voice cuts through the noise like a knife.

she’s pushing through the crowd fast—people part for her without thinking. her eyes are wide, worried, locked on you.

she doesn’t see the girls.

doesn’t hear what they said. she just sees you standing there alone, looking like you’re about to cry.

she reaches you in seconds, grabs your wrist gently but firmly, pulls you toward her.

“i was looking for you,” she says, voice soft but urgent. “where were you? i thought you weren’t coming—”

you can’t speak. your eyes are stinging. you shake your head once.

she cups your cheeks with both hands, thumbs brushing under your eyes like she’s wiping away tears that haven’t fallen yet.

“hey, hey… what’s wrong?” her voice drops lower, just for you. “is it me? i’m sorry, i—i don’t know what i did wrong—”

you shake your head harder. “no. not you.”

she searches your face, thumbs still stroking. “then what? talk to me.”

you swallow. voice barely above a whisper. “i wanna get out of here.”

manon nods immediately. “okay. let’s go.”

she doesn’t ask why. she just laces her fingers with yours, turns, and pulls you through the crowd.

people call her name and she ignores them.

she doesn’t stop until you’re at the stairwell door that leads to the roof.

she pushes it open. cool night air rushes in. the rooftop is empty—string lights still up from the last party, city skyline glittering below.

she leads you to the edge, away from the noise drifting up from the open windows.

you’re both breathing hard from the rush out. she lets go of your hand but stays close.

“better?” she asks quietly.

you nod, hugging your arms around yourself. “yeah. thanks.”

she watches you for a long second, then leans against the railing beside you. “you don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to. but… i’m here. okay?”

you look at her. she’s still in her party clothes; white halter top, silver chain, hair a little messy from dancing.

but her eyes are soft. worried.

like she’d burn the whole party down if it made you feel better.

you take a shaky breath. “why do you even care?”

she blinks. “what?”

“why do you want to see me so bad? why do you… help me? you have everything. friends. people who love you. you’re… you’re manon. you could have anyone. why me?”

she stares at you like you just asked something impossible.

“everything i want is you.”

you freeze.

she looks down at the city lights for a second, then back at you. her voice is quiet and raw.

“it’s stupid. but… you’re my first friend. like, real friend. kindergarten. you shared your crayons with me on the first day of school. i was the new kid, didn’t know anyone. you just… sat next to me and handed me the blue one without saying anything. i never forgot that.”

she chuckled at the ridiculous story.

your throat tightens. you do remember. a bit. a girl with pigtails and big eyes.

you didn’t think it mattered.

“i moved away after that year,” she continues. “then i saw you again last semester. same quiet smile. same way of looking at people like they matter. and i just… i wanted you back in my life.”

she steps closer. not touching. just close enough you feel her warmth.

“i don’t care about the parties. i don’t care about the friends. i care about you. that’s why i threw this stupid thing tonight. i hoped you’d come. i hoped you’d see i’m not scary. i hoped you’d talk to me.”

her voice cracks on the last word.

you stare at her. heart in your throat.

“i thought… i thought you were out of my league,” you whisper. “you have everything. i’m just…”

“you’re everything,” she says simply. “to me.”

then she reaches out—slow, careful—takes your hand.

“i’m not asking for anything tonight,” she says. “i just… i needed you to know. i’ve liked you since we were five. and i still do. a lot.”

manon looks… nervous. like she just handed you her entire heart and is waiting for you to drop it.

you don’t drop it.

instead, you step closer—slow, giving her time to pull away if she wants.

she doesn’t. of course.

you reach up, cup her face with both hands. her skin is soft, cheeks still a little flushed from the cold and from everything she just said.

her eyes search yours, wide and hopeful and terrified all at once.

you lean in.

your lips brush hers—soft, tentative, barely there. just a question.

manon freezes.

for half a heartbeat she doesn’t move, like her brain can’t process it.

then she melts.

a tiny, broken sound slips from her throat.

her hands fly to your waist, gripping like she’s afraid you’ll vanish.

she kisses you back, soft at first, mirroring you, careful, like she’s scared she’ll break something precious.

her lips are warm, a little chapped from the wind, tasting faintly of the strawberry soda she was drinking earlier.

you pull back just a fraction—barely an inch—ready to apologize, to say sorry if you read it wrong, if it was too much, too soon.

“sorry, i—”

manon cuts you off.

she surges forward, capturing your mouth again—deeper this time, more desperate. her hands slide to your waist, gripping hard like she’s afraid you’ll vanish.

she kisses you like she’s pouring everything into it—every moment of missing you, every time she almost said it, every moment she watched you from across a room and pretended it didn’t kill her.

you stumble back under the force of it. your calves hit the low ledge of the rooftop garden bed.

manon doesn’t stop, just follows, pressing you down until you’re lying back on the soft outdoor cushions, her body covering yours, one knee sliding between your thighs.

she’s hungry.

not aggressive, but… starving. like she’s been holding back for too damn long.

her lips move from your mouth to your jaw, your throat, back to your lips, kissing open-mouthed and needy.

she’s breathing hard against your lips, little sounds slipping out soft whimpers, shaky exhales.

her hands roam sliding under your clothes, palms warm on your bare waist, fingers splaying wide like she wants to touch every inch at once.

you’re dizzy and overwhelmed. your hands clutch her shoulder, pulling her closer even as your mind spins.

she realizes suddenly—feels the way you’re trembling, the way your breathing hitches.

she pulls back fast, eyes wide, panicked.

“shit—sorry—i’m sorry—” she scrambles off you, sitting back on her heels, hands hovering like she’s afraid to touch you again. “i didn’t mean to—fuck, i got carried away. are you okay? did i—did i scare you?”

you’re breathing hard, lips tingling, chest rising and falling fast.

and then, you laugh.

manon stares, confused. “what…?”

you cover your face with both hands, laughing into your palms. “it’s okay,” you manage, voice muffled. “it’s okay. i just… i didn’t expect that.”

she blinks. “you’re… laughing?”

you peek through your fingers, eyes bright. “yeah. because its kinda adorable when you panic.”

her cheeks flush deep red. she groans, drops her forehead to your stomach, mumbling into your sweater. “you’re killing me.”

you reach down, thread your fingers through her hair, stroke gently. “hey.”

she lifts her head, eyes soft, vulnerable.

“it’s okay. really. i… i liked it.”

she exhales, shaky. “yeah?”

you nod. “yeah.”

she crawls back up slowly, careful now, settling beside you instead of on top. she pulls you into her arms, tucking your head under her chin, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

“i’m sorry i scared you,” she whispers into your hair. “i just… i’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

you curl closer, hand resting over her heart. “me too.”

she kisses the top of your head. “we don’t have to rush. we can go slow. whatever you want.”

you nod against her chest. “slow sounds good.”

she holds you tighter. “slow it is.”

you stay like that. wrapped up in each other on the rooftop, city lights glittering below, wind cool on your skin.

just you and manon.

after all… her heart is for you.

The scorching midday sun beat down mercilessly on your skin, turning the white beach sand into a hot, shimmering carpet that stretched as far as the eye could see. You were lying face down on the colorful canga, the soft fabric clinging lightly to your sweat-dampened body from the heat. The bikini, a vibrant blue that matched the sea in the background, was simple but comfortable, allowing the sun to kiss your skin evenly, leaving it with that golden tone you loved so much.

You had arrived there only two days ago, but it already felt like an eternity of pure relaxation. Manon had summoned a small group of friends for this getaway. After months of intense touring with the band, she deserved this break, and you, as one of the lucky invited ones, didn’t think twice before accepting. It wasn’t every day you got an all-inclusive resort trip to a paradisiacal beach, everything paid for and no worries.

But peace never lasted long with Manon around.

You felt the weight before anything else: a hot, familiar body descending over you without warning, sitting directly on your ass as if it were the most comfortable seat on the beach. Her thighs pressed around your buttocks, the heat of her skin blending with yours, and the fabric of her bikini grazed your exposed flesh, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine.

She leaned down slowly, deliberately, her voluminous curly hair falling like a dark cascade around your face, the slightly damp tips from her earlier swim brushing your nape and shoulders. Her perfume invaded everything, sweet vanilla with a citrusy, salty touch, as if she had been made for this tropical setting. Her lips approached your ear, her hot, teasing breath making the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“You in that tiny bikini with your ass up like that is driving me crazy, you know that?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and low, loaded with a mischief you knew all too well.

The words came out slowly, as if she were savoring each syllable, and you felt the tip of her tongue lightly graze your earlobe at the end, a fleeting touch that was pure torment. An irritated grumble escaped your lips, louder than intended, your whole body tensing under her weight.

“It was taking too long… Get off me,” you murmured, voice muffled against your arms, but carrying genuine exasperation.

You were used to her silly flirting, those playful antics that seemed harmless but always left a trail of confusion in the air. It was infuriating how she managed to turn everything into a seduction game, as if the whole world were a stage for her clowning around.

“You never get tired of this? Same thing every day…”

She laughed, a guttural, provocative sound that vibrated through your entire body since she was still straddling you like a queen on her throne. Her laugh was like a wave, starting low and growing, echoing over the sound of the surf and making a few distant heads turn toward you both.

“Oh come on, love… You know you love it. Look at you, all exposed like this, begging for attention,” she shot back, leaning even closer, her chest lightly brushing your bare back as she traced a lazy finger along the curve of your spine, slowly descending to the edge of your bikini.

The touch was light but intentional, leaving a trail of fire on your skin. Before you could react, her hand came down in a full, sharp slap right in the center of your ass, hard enough to make the flesh jiggle and a hot tingling spread, but not enough to really hurt. The sound echoed like a slap on water, and you felt heat rise to your face, a mix of irritation and something else you preferred to ignore.

“Manon!” you grumbled in protest, lifting your hips hard to try to dislodge her, your body writhing beneath her. Your heart raced a little, not just from the impact, but from her audacity, always pushing boundaries, always testing. “I know what you’re trying to do and I’m telling you right now, give it up.”

Manon finally gave in, but not without one last triumphant laugh, rolling to the side with feline grace and throwing herself onto her back in the hot sand beside you. She stretched her arms above her head, arching her body dramatically, as if posing for an invisible photoshoot. The sand immediately stuck to her damp skin, her tanned shoulders, her firm thighs, but she didn’t even blink, just turned her face toward you with a crooked smile and half-closed eyes full of provocation.

“Cranky today, huh? But look… that only makes me want to keep going,” she said, slowly biting her lower lip, her gaze shamelessly traveling down your body, lingering on the blue bikini that barely covered the essentials.

You propped yourself up on your elbow with an exasperated sigh, your body still tingling where she had touched, and pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head, tucking the wind-messed strands of hair. You looked her up and down, trying to ignore how sinful her wine-colored bikini was: the top was minimal, with straps that barely held her breasts, revealing the delicate tattoo just below them. Lower down, the bottoms exposed the recent tattoo on her hip, the ink still vivid and dark against her tan.

She was also wearing that thin golden chain around her sculpted waist, swaying gently with each breath, catching the sun and throwing reflections. Her natural curly hair fell voluminous to her shoulders, some curls stuck to her forehead and neck, the rest loose and wild, framing her face like a messy crown. She was beautiful, irritatingly beautiful, and she knew it, wielding it like a weapon.

But you pushed the thoughts away with an exaggerated eye roll, feeling irritation bubble in your chest.

“Got tired of bothering Sophie? Because if you came here to torment me with these idiotic antics, you can go back there,” you said, voice sleepy but sharp. “Go play in the water or whatever.”

She turned onto her side in the sand, propping her head on her hand, elbow sinking into the soft ground, and brought her face closer to yours, too close, as always, her breath mingling with yours. The chain at her waist gave a soft jingle with the movement, and she stretched her bare foot, slowly brushing her toes along your calf, up and down as if it were casual.

“Ah, but where’s the fun in playing alone? Admit you like it, come on. Otherwise I’ll keep going until you beg for mercy,” she whispered, eyes locked on yours, her voice dropping to something deeper, more seductive, as if daring you to react.

“You’re unbearable, you know that?” But even as you spoke, you didn’t move, your body caught in that irritating limbo between anger and fascination, her laugh echoing like a dangerous invitation.

Finally, Manon seemed to catch the tone in your voice, or maybe she just got tired of her own clowning. She let out a dramatic sigh, falling onto her back in the sand again with arms spread wide, curls fanning out like a dark halo.

“You’re boring today, huh? But okay, I get it, the sun melts your sense of humor.” She turned her face toward you, the smile now softer, less provocative, as if she were switching back to “normal friend” mode.

“Where are the others, why don’t you go bother them?” you grumbled, lowering your head onto your arms again and letting your eyes close.

“Sophie’s at the bar, shamelessly flirting with the barista. She’s laughing at everything he says, ordering drinks that don’t even exist just to keep the conversation going. Probably on her third pineapple juice with rum by now.” Manon grumbled, kicking sand into the air with her bare feet. “I got embarrassed for her and bailed.”

“You’re awful.” You opened your eyes again, laughing softly.

“I’m not awful, I just protect myself from humiliation.” She sat up again, hugging her knees, the chain at her waist jingling softly. “David, Laroi and the girlfriend went to try to bribe some guy who has a speedboat at the marina. Like, offering an Instagram post in exchange for renting it for a few hours.”

“Those assholes have money and they’re trying to pay with publicity?” you grumbled, rolling your eyes.

You weren’t a big fan of Manon’s current friends, Sophie being the only one who escaped that feeling. It wasn’t hatred, nothing that dramatic. It was more a constant irritation, a discomfort that settled in your stomach every time their names came up in conversation. Especially David.

He had that way of acting like he owned the air he breathed, smiling as if he knew something the others didn’t, and always seeming one step away from putting a hand on someone’s waist just to mark territory. You hated it. Hated it even more because Manon allowed it.

She knew. She knew very well that you rolled your eyes every time David showed up with that too-loud laugh, with those jokes only he found hilarious. She knew you got quieter when he approached, that your smile turned polite and distant. But Manon never commented on it directly. She just gave that crooked half-smile, as if to say “relax, it’s just David being David,” and moved on.

And the worst part: it wasn’t just David.

Manon was someone who accumulated ex-hookups who became friends. It was almost a supernatural talent of hers. As if, after kissing someone, sleeping with someone, she simply decided that person was too good to discard. So she tucked them into the friendship pocket, like someone keeping a pretty keychain they no longer use but don’t want to throw away.

With Laroi it had been like that. A quick fling, the kind that lasts two weeks and no one talks about. Then it became friendship. Then it became “Laroi,” the guy who always brought the right playlist, who always had an absurd story to tell, and who was now there with his new girlfriend trying to bribe someone for a speedboat as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

With Sophie too. Everyone knew. But everyone pretended they didn’t. Sophie and Manon had had that fun period, full of nights that started with drinks and ended in bed. Then came the “best friends forever” phase, and now the two of them laughed as if nothing had ever happened.

And David… David was the current one. Or the most recent. Or the one in line. You never quite knew where the line between “fling” and “friendship” began or ended with him. You only knew that when he appeared, Manon changed a little. She became looser, louder, more giggly. And you hated that. Hated it because it felt like, in his presence, you became an extra in your own friendship.

And then there was you.

You, who didn’t fit into that neat list of “ex-hookups turned friends.” You were the opposite of all that. Manon didn’t collect you the way she did the others; she chased you. For years. Since the first flirts disguised as jokes, since the late-night messages that started innocent and ended with a “what if…?”, since the times she looked at you a little longer when she thought you weren’t noticing.

She had made it clear, so many times, that if you wanted it, she wouldn’t resist. Always flirting, always poking, always waiting for the moment you got too tipsy, after a few drinks, after a long night, after a show that left her euphoric, to finally drop the stubbornness and give in.

Because the damn woman knew.

She knew you wanted it. She knew each “no” of yours wasn’t real rejection; it was fear. And every time you refused, instead of hurting her pride, it only made her want you more. As if your resistance were fuel, as if the waiting were part of the game she loved to play.

But you, from the very beginning of this dangerous dance, saw the pattern. Manon was never 100% alone. There was always a David in line, or a Laroi showing up out of nowhere, or a Sophie who was “just friends now, I swear.” Always a warm body beside her when the sun rose. And that was exactly what kept you from crossing the line.

You didn’t want to share Manon.

You didn’t want to taste her knowing there would be someone else afterward. You didn’t want to feel the taste of another mouth on hers, the smell of another perfume clinging to her skin, the mark of another hand on her back. You didn’t want to be just another one in the collection, because you knew with you it wouldn’t be any different.

And the biggest fear of all: you didn’t want to ruin everything by not containing your feelings.

Because Manon was someone casual. She floated, she experimented, she kept people as good memories and moved on without looking back. You didn’t. You were intense. When you liked, you liked completely. When it hurt, it hurt to the bone. If you gave in, if you really let her in, you wouldn’t be able to get out afterward. You would want exclusivity, you would want promises, you would want to be the only one who stayed. And Manon… Manon didn’t promise that. She never promised.

You snap out of the small trance with her voice pulling you back, soft but insistent, like someone nudging a half-open door.

“Hey… did you fall asleep?”

You blink slowly, only now realizing your eyes had closed again without you noticing. The world returns little by little: the heat clinging to your skin, the distant sound of the waves, the smell of salt and sunscreen mixed with her sweet perfume still lingering in the air. Manon is on her side, propped on her elbow, looking at you with a mix of amusement and something softer, almost concerned. Her curls fall sideways across her face, and the late-afternoon light has already begun to gild everything, making the tattoo below her breasts more visible.

You smile without meaning to, a small, tired smile, the kind that escapes before you can control it.

“I didn’t sleep. I just… drifted a little.”

She laughs quietly, shaking her head. You adjust yourself on the canga, stretching your legs a bit, feeling the hot sand stick to the backs of your thighs.

“And the plan for tonight?”

Manon shrugs, the movement making the chain at her waist jingle softly again, a delicate sound that feels like music against the noise of the sea.

“Was thinking we could stay at the resort today. There’s that private infinity pool we haven’t even stepped in yet, you can see the whole ocean from there, looks like something out of a movie. The boys talked about doing a barbecue, having some drinks, just talking… nothing too crazy. Just relaxing, you know? After all the chaos of the tour, I need a night with no schedule.”

You nod slowly, picturing the scene: low lights, smell of meat on the grill, loose laughter, the gentle lapping of pool water. It sounds good. It sounds safe.

“Sounds good,” you murmur, turning your face toward her. “Now come get a tan with me. You’re pale.”

Manon widens her eyes, pretending absolute indignation. She places her hand on her chest as if she’d been punched.

“Are you serious? Look at me!”

She sits up straighter, stretches her arms out to the sides, slowly twists her torso as if posing for an imaginary photo. Her tan is impeccable, her golden skin shining under the sun that’s already starting to soften, but she makes drama anyway.

“Me? Pale? I’m practically melted chocolate, love.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t hold back the laugh.

“Come on, before I drag you.”

She huffs, pretending reluctance, but she’s already moving. She lies face down beside you on the canga, mimicking your position: ass up, arms crossed under her head, face turned toward you, and she lets out a long, satisfied sigh as the sun hits her back directly.

“There. Happy?”

You turn your face to the side, looking at her up close. Her brown eyes are half-closed against the light, long lashes casting shadows, that crooked smile still there, as if she knew she had won this round just by being there, close, without forcing anything.

“For now,” you reply, voice low, almost a whisper.

“I think I deserve a kiss for my obedience.” She teases, and you turn your face to the other side, hiding the blush show on your cheeks.

“Shut up and sleep.”

The last thing you hear is her soft laugh, before a comfortable silence settles between you.

[...]

Time had slipped away like water through your fingers, and the hot, lazy day at the beach melted into a warm, starry night. The commotion at the resort’s private pool had lasted until the sun had completely set, painting the sky in shades of red and purple before giving way to deep darkness. You had thrown yourselves into the water as if there were no tomorrow, but now, hours later, the resort felt like a silent cocoon, wrapped in the soft sound of distant waves and the occasional hum of nocturnal insects.

You had decided to withdraw a little earlier than the others, feeling tiredness settle into your bones after an entire day of sun and excitement. Your room was a spacious, luxurious suite with an ocean view, a welcome refuge. In the private bathroom, the hot shower water cascaded over your still-tanned skin, washing away the salt and chlorine, leaving your damp hair falling down your back like a heavy curtain.

You chose something comfortable for the night: a white silk button-up shirt with long sleeves rolled slightly at the cuffs, the soft, cool fabric against your sun-sensitive skin. Underneath, a short, simple pajama shorts, though the length of the shirt completely hid it. Barefoot, your feet feeling the cold marble floor, you left the bedroom, your hair still dripping lightly and leaving wet marks on the ground.

The spacious living room opened before you, lit only by a soft corner lamp and the bluish glow of the moon coming through the panoramic windows. The space was elegant, with cream leather sofas, fluffy rugs, and a coffee table still cluttered with empty glasses, beer bottles, and plates of dried-out snacks from the improvised barbecue.

David was sprawled in a reclining armchair, his body slumped as if he had collapsed there without ceremony. A beer bottle dangled loosely from his hand, the remaining liquid almost spilling onto the rug, and a low snore escaped his parted lips. He was still wearing the wet swim trunks from the pool, his T-shirt wrinkled and twisted, his hair disheveled, his face relaxed in deep sleep, the kind of sleep only alcohol and exhaustion bring.

You passed by him in silence, feeling a familiar pang of irritation as you remembered how he had hung all over Manon earlier, laughing too loudly and touching her with a familiarity that bothered you.

On the larger sofa, Sophie was practically cocooned in pillows and light blankets, her eyes half-closed in imminent sleep. She had drunk who-knows-how-many drinks that night, first at the bar with the barista, then at the pool, mixing rum with tropical juices and shots of something stronger someone had brought.

You smiled faintly, feeling a protective affection for her. Sophie was the only one who escaped your list of irritations, always light and genuine, even in her romantic adventures that rarely worked out.

Laroi and his girlfriend were nowhere to be seen, and you didn’t need to think hard to imagine where they had gone. The memory of the pool came fresh: the two of them clinging to the edge of the water, muffled laughter and kisses that completely ignored the rest of the group, his hands roaming her back as if the whole world didn’t exist. They had probably slipped away to one of the rooms. The silence in the living room only reinforced the feeling that the night had emptied out, leaving only traces of dissipated energy.

But something was missing. Someone was missing.

Manon.

The thought of her washed over you like a wave, warming your chest despite the cool night air. You missed her immediately. Where was she? You began looking for her, your bare feet stepping slowly across the cold floor, passing through the open kitchen where dirty dishes piled up in the sink, and then out to the veranda that led to the private pool. The all-inclusive resort had gone all out here: the infinity pool stretched like a black mirror under the night sky, reflecting the stars and the full moon that hung high, round and silver, illuminating everything with an ethereal, almost magical glow. The dark horizon blended with the calm sea, only the gentle sound of distant waves breaking the quiet.

And there she was. Manon, still in the water, with her back to you. Her curly, voluminous hair, already without definition after a full day of sun and chlorine, was tied in a messy high bun on top of her head, a few rebellious strands escaping and sticking to her damp neck. She was still wearing the same wine-colored bikini from earlier, that sinful scrap of minimal fabric that accentuated every curve of her athletic body.

Her arms rested on the infinity edge of the pool, shoulders relaxed, her body floating lightly in the warm water that still bubbled gently from the heating system. She gazed at the dark horizon, the sea stretching infinitely ahead, as if lost in thought, her face turned away, silhouetted against the night.

Straining your eyes against the dimness, you noticed the smoke. A hazy white trail rising lazily from the cigarette between her fingers, dancing in the night air before dissolving in the light breeze. The smell reached you seconds later, a subtle aroma of tobacco mixed with something herbal, perhaps one of those light cigarettes she smoked sporadically when her mind was too restless to sleep.

She took a slow drag, the orange glow of the tip briefly illuminating the outline of her face, and exhaled the smoke slowly, as if she were releasing not just the tobacco but all the accumulated thoughts of the day. The silence was absolute, broken only by the gentle bubbling of the water and the distant chirping of crickets in the vegetation around the resort.

You stopped at the edge of the veranda, your feet cold against the damp wooden deck, watching her for a moment longer than you intended.

The night was deep now, the air heavy with sea salt and silence punctuated only by the soft bubbling of the heated water and the occasional song of distant waves. The full moon hung like a silver lantern in the cloudless sky, pouring its ghostly light over the infinity pool, making the water’s surface shimmer like a rippling sheet of mercury.

You decided to approach, your silent steps echoing lightly on the deck.

“I thought you had quit smoking,” you said, your voice low but clear enough to cut through the silence, carrying a gentle tone of reproach, as if catching a child in mischief.

Manon startled slightly, her body stiffening for a fraction of a second, shoulders rising as if an electric shiver had run through her. She turned her head quickly, brown eyes wide in the dimness, cigarette frozen halfway to her mouth. But upon recognizing you, the familiar silhouette at the edge, the white silk shirt gleaming under the moon, the tension dissolved into immediate relief.

A lazy laugh escaped her lips, a hoarse, sleepy sound that echoed across the water, vibrating in the night air like a low note from a forgotten instrument.

“Oh shit… it’s you,” she murmured, the smile spreading slowly, lazily, as she shook her head. “This view deserves a drag.”

She jerked her chin toward the vista beyond the infinity edge, the dark sea stretching to the horizon where the stars seemed to dive into the black water, an infinite tapestry of silver and blackness that turned the whole world into a private dream.

You smiled back, despite the concern, and approached the pool’s edge. The deck gave way to cold, damp tile, and you sat slowly, folding your legs and dipping your feet into the warm water, savoring the delicious contrast with the cool night air. The water wrapped around your ankles like a gentle hug, small ripples spreading around you, and you adjusted your silk shirt, the long sleeves brushing lightly against your knees as you watched Manon.

“Manon, come out of that water… it’s late, you’ll catch a cold,” you said, your tone half-serious, half-playful, like a scolding from someone who cares too much to be truly harsh.

She grumbled something incoherent, a guttural, lazy sound, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“Oh come on… the water’s nice and warm, mommy,” she shot back, her voice hoarse from smoke and the night, but she began moving anyway, walking through the pool with her arms raised, her body cutting through the water like a fluid shadow.

She reached your side, arms resting on the edge beside your legs, face tilted up toward you, droplets running down her neck and into the cleavage of her wine-colored bikini, which now looked even darker under the moonlight. She took another drag, the cigarette nearly finished, blowing out one last cloud of smoke that danced in the air before dissolving.

“This place,” she said, circling her finger around you, “…wrecked my credit card, so I’m going to enjoy every single bit of it.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you looked down at her. The night air was cool enough to raise goosebumps on exposed skin, but the pool’s warmth rose in subtle steam, creating a thin mist around you both, as if the whole world had become a private bath.

“Enjoying it at the risk of pneumonia? Great plan. But seriously, Manon, you’ve been wet for hours. Get out of there.”

She huffed, but didn’t argue further, leaning a little closer, elbows resting on the edge, her body floating lightly in the shallow part of the pool.

“Okay, but one last thing.” Her brown eyes reflected the moon, shining with a mix of tiredness and mischief, looking up at you with a crooked smile.

Manon tilted her head slightly, the messy bun of dark curls swaying lightly, a rebellious strand falling over her wet forehead.

“You need to learn to hide it better, you know?”

You blinked, confused for a second, your fingers drumming distractedly on the pool’s edge, feeling the cold tile under your palms.

“Hide what?” you asked, voice low, echoing in the quiet night air.

She laughed softly, a hoarse, provocative sound that vibrated through the water, sending small ripples spreading around her body.

“Your expressions, love. Every time David touched me earlier… your face was priceless. Like a mix of ‘I’m going to kill you’ and ‘get away from her right now.’” She imitated an exaggerated grimace, squinting her eyes and pursing her lips in a fake mask of irritation, before bursting into laughter again, the sound echoing like a soft ripple across the starry night.

You rolled your eyes hard, feeling a subtle heat rise up your neck despite the cool air raising goosebumps on your exposed legs.

“Oh please… you’re delusional. I just think he’s… inconvenient. With that grabby hand and everything.”

Manon raised an eyebrow, her gaze fixed on yours, mischief dancing in her brown eyes like moonlight reflections on water.

“Inconvenient? Or are you jealous?” The accusation came in a low, seductive tone, almost a purr, loaded with provocation that made the air between you feel thicker, as if the pool’s mist were condensing right there.

“Jealous? Me? Don’t be ridiculous, Manon,” you denied automatically, as you always did, your voice coming out a little more defensive than intended, your eyes darting to the dark horizon where the sea merged with the sky.

But your heart beat a little faster, a rhythmic thump echoing in your chest, and you crossed your arms over your chest, pretending indifference while your feet splashed in the water.

She didn’t back off, never backed off. With a fluid, graceful movement, Manon slid through the shallow water, positioning herself right between your legs, her hands now resting on the edge on either side of your thighs, her body rising in the shallowest part of the pool. There, with the water reaching only to her waist, she was practically at the same height as you sitting, faces level, her eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made the surrounding steam feel hotter, more intimate.

The smell of chlorine mixed with tobacco and her vanilla scent invaded your senses, and you felt the air grow thin, as if the entire night were conspiring to bring you closer.

“You wouldn’t have to go through this if you stopped being a coward and grabbed me already,” she murmured, her voice hoarse and laden with seduction. “I’m right here, waiting for you to make a move. What’s holding you back, huh? Scared you’ll like it too much?”

You huffed, but the sound came out weak, betrayed by the slight tremor in your voice, your hands instinctively moving to her shoulders, feeling the wet, warm skin under your fingers, the firm muscles flexing slightly.

“You’re ridiculous, Manon. I’m not falling for your smooth talk. I’m not one of your easy conquests.” You pushed her shoulders, moving her away from you before returning your hands to your lap.

She bit her lower lip slowly, her eyes darkening in the dimness, one hand rising to trace a light line along your exposed thigh beneath the silk shirt, her water-cooled fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps.

“Easy conquests? Oh please… you know I love the challenge. But seriously, stop resisting. I see how you look at me when you think I’m not watching.” The tone was pure flirtation, seductive, her body pressing lightly against the insides of your legs, the water rippling around you like an accomplice, the steam rising and blurring your peripheral vision.

You laughed softly, but it was a nervous, teasing laugh, leaning back a little to gain more space, yet without really pushing her away. You let her stay there, between your legs, feeling that you held the control.

“Do you have some kind of dream of collecting all your friends like a Pokémon trainer?” you asked, your tone light but sharp, rolling your eyes again while trying to shift the focus, your feet stopping their splashing in the water, your heart beating harder against your ribs.

Manon threw her head back and laughed loudly, a guttural, genuine sound that echoed across the pool, vibrating through the water and the empty deck, the curls of her bun swaying as if they had a life of their own.

“Maybe,” she shot back, still laughing, her eyes gleaming with mischievous amusement as she straightened up, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from her. “And you’re the rarest one, because you’re giving me so much trouble.”

You huffed again, crossing your arms tighter, playing hard to get just to tease her, tilting your head to the side with a crooked smile.

“Oh, really? Then keep trying. I’m not easy to catch. What if you get tired and go after someone more obedient?”

Manon shook her head, her smile turning more predatory, eyes fixed on yours as she reached to the side, picking up the pack of cigarettes abandoned on the pool’s edge, damp but intact, next to a silver lighter that gleamed under the moonlight.

“You’re stubborn as hell,” she murmured, opening the pack with one hand, fishing out a new cigarette with her teeth, the movement slow and deliberate, as if prolonging the moment. “Grab the lighter for me? Light it here.”

You hesitated for a second, but picked up the lighter anyway, the cold metal against your palm, and flicked it on with a soft click, the flame dancing in the night breeze as you brought it to the tip of the cigarette between her lips. Manon took a slow drag, eyes never leaving yours, the ember flaring with an orange glow that illuminated her face for a moment, highlighting the light freckles on her nose and the outline of her full lips.

She took a deep first drag, turning her face to the side to blow the smoke away, the wind carrying the white cloud toward the dark horizon, blending into the pool’s mist.

“Thanks,” she murmured, voice hoarse from the smoke, before turning back to you, eyes half-closed in pleasure.

But then, without warning, her free hand rose slowly, wet fingers gripping your chin firmly, her thumb tracing a slow, provocative line across your lower lip, the touch light but insistent, sending a shiver down your spine.

Her brown eyes, darkened by the silver moonlight and by undisguised desire, didn’t blink, fixed on yours, commanding without needing words.

“Open…” her voice was a hoarse whisper that seemed to coil in the rising mist from the pool.

You froze for a second. Your heart pounded harder, a heavy beat echoing in your temples. Your mouth was already slightly parted, but you hesitated, your lips trembling subtly against her thumb. The night air entered cold through the tiny gap, contrasting with the humid heat radiating from her body so close.

“Manon…” you murmured, your voice low, almost a weak protest. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head a little more, her nose brushing yours lightly, her hot breath mingling with yours. The ember of the cigarette still glowed between her fingers, the closeness revealing even more of the light freckles on her nose, her long lashes, the smile beginning to form at the corners of her mouth.

“Come on, open for me…” she whispered, coy, her voice dragging like honey. “We’ve done this before… I know you like it.”

The words fell like a caress and a provocation at the same time. You felt heat rise up your neck, your cheeks burning despite the cool night air. You remembered the other times, the playful moments that started innocently, the “accidental” smoke in your face, the laughter that always ended with a look that lasted too long. And yes, part of you liked it. Liked the intimacy, the risk, the way she looked at you as if you were the only person in the world that mattered in that moment.

But still, you hesitated another second. Your lips trembled against her thumb, your whole body tense, your toes curling in the warm pool water as if trying to anchor themselves to something.

“Manon…” you began, your voice weak, almost a whisper.

She laughed softly, a hoarse, lazy sound that vibrated against your mouth. Her thumb pressed a little more, opening your mouth with gentle insistence.

You swallowed hard. Your heart was beating so strongly you swore she could feel the pulse through your skin. And then, slowly, almost against your own will, you gave in. Your lips parted further. The cool night air entered your open mouth, contrasting with the heat rising from your throat. Your eyes locked on hers, and you saw the glint of victory there, subtle but undeniable.

Manon took another deep drag from the cigarette. The ember flared bright orange, and she closed her eyes for long seconds. She held the smoke in her lungs for a long moment, savoring, then opened her eyes again, never leaving yours.

Then she leaned in even closer.

Her nose brushed yours lightly again. Her lips touched yours, not a kiss, but a superficial graze, so light you barely felt it. You felt her subtle tremor, the hot breath escaping in small puffs against your open mouth.

And she blew.

The smoke came out slowly, dense and warm, invading your mouth in a cloud. The taste was bitter, burnt tobacco, residual mint, the heat sliding down your throat, burning slightly but in a way that made your whole body react. A shiver ran up your spine, your toes curled harder in the water, your nipples hardened against the damp silk of your shirt. Your eyes instinctively half-closed, the whole world shrinking to that single point of contact: your open mouth, the smoke filling you, her eyes fixed on yours as if recording every reaction.

Manon kept her hand on your chin, fingers now firmer, holding you in place. When she finished, she didn’t pull back immediately. She stayed there, lips grazing yours, thumb still pressing your lower lip, as if wanting to seal the moment.

“Good girl,” she whispered, voice hoarse and coy, almost a purr. “See? It didn’t hurt.”

Then, slowly, she moved her face back just enough to break the graze of lips, but not enough to break the contact. Her thumb slid from your lower lip to the center of your mouth, pressing with gentle insistence, and her other fingers joined, closing your lips as one seals an envelope. The movement was slow, almost reverent, the wet, warm touch of her skin against yours, keeping the smoke trapped inside your mouth.

You felt the soft pressure of her fingers, the residual heat of the cigarette still lingering between you, and a shiver ran up your spine, making your nipples harden further against the damp silk of your shirt. She smiled, a cocky, slow, satisfied smile, eyes gleaming with victory and raw desire.

You didn’t resist. You tilted your head slowly to the side, letting the weight fall against her open palm, your damp hair spilling cold drops down your nape and shoulder. The movement was lazy, almost feline, a subtle surrender that said more than any words. Your eyes met hers again, and you saw the glint there, triumph mixed with something deeper, hungrier.

Then you blew.

The smoke escaped in a slow, controlled exhale, streaming from your parted lips and rising straight into her face. Manon closed her eyes instantly, as if receiving a gift, her smile widening as the white cloud enveloped her features, dancing across her lashes, brushing her cheeks, disappearing into the damp curls of her undone bun. She inhaled deeply, as if wanting to keep your air inside her, and when she opened her eyes again, the gleam there was pure delight.

“You’re a sin,” the words came out low, almost a purr, echoing in the silence of the pool.

Manon was so close you could feel the heat radiating from her wet body, the pool’s steam rising in thin spirals around her thighs, mingling with the scent of chlorine, tobacco, and the vanilla that always seemed to cling to her skin. Your lips still tingled from the superficial graze, her thumb had left a warm, damp mark on your chin, and the silence that followed was so thick you could hear your own heart beating against your ribs.

You said nothing. You didn’t need to. Her cocky smile was still there, but now it had a new layer, something rawer, more urgent. Manon couldn’t resist.

She went all in.

With a slow, almost painfully deliberate movement, she rose a little higher in the shallow water, arms flexing as she propelled herself forward, closing the remaining distance. Lips parted, gaze fixed on your mouth, as if praying that this time you wouldn’t turn the tables. It was a calculated risk, but also desperate; you could see in her eyes the subtle fear mixed with courage.

She leaned in, her face so close you felt the heat of her breath, the smell of tobacco, vanilla, chlorine, and raw desire invading everything. Her lips grazed yours lightly, a suspended promise…

…and you turned your face.

Her lips met your cheek instead. A soft, warm, almost reverent kiss that left an invisible, damp mark on your skin. Manon froze for a second, eyes still closed, long lashes casting delicate shadows under the moonlight. Your cheek tingled where she touched, and for a second you almost gave in, almost turned your face back and met those lips for real.

But you didn’t turn.

Manon pulled back slowly, eyes still closed, brows furrowed in an expression that mixed disappointment and acceptance. A small, resigned yet amused smile curved the corners of her mouth, the kind of smile from someone who already expected this, who knows the script by heart.

You couldn’t hold back the laugh. It came out low, nervous, almost a muffled giggle, as you looked at her expressions: eyes now half-open, a frustrated pout forming on her full lips, cheeks slightly flushed beneath the tan, messy bun with rebellious curls sticking to her neck. She looked like a spoiled child and a dangerous woman at the same time.

“You’re the strongest woman I know,” she said finally, voice hoarse, low, almost a defeated murmur. But there was genuine admiration there, mixed with frustration. She shook her head slowly, as if surrendering to her own stubbornness.

You bit your lower lip hard, tasting the residual smoke and the almost-kiss, and leaned back, bracing your open hands on the cold pool edge. The movement created more space between you, giving you a better view of her down there: her body half-submerged in the shallow water, the golden chain still against her wet skin, arms flexed resting on the edge, defined muscles gleaming with droplets that slid slowly.

“Think you’re that irresistible?” you asked, your voice coming out hoarser than intended, with a teasing tone that didn’t hide the subtle tremor.

Manon huffed a frustrated laugh, but didn’t back away. Instead, she stubbed out the half-lit cigarette on the pool’s edge and slowly lowered her hands until they found your thighs. Her fingers touched the bare skin just below the hem of your shirt, cold from the water but warm with intent. She didn’t go any higher, didn’t cross any invisible line, just rested there, palms open against the outer sides of your thighs, thumbs tracing slow, almost distracted circles, as if anchoring herself to you to keep from sinking.

“I don’t know what to do with you anymore,” she admitted, her voice coming out in a long, frustrated sigh. She lowered her gaze for a second, then raised it again, brown eyes almost pleading. “Like, I think I’ve tried everything.”

You looked at Manon and felt something twist inside you at that scene: her between your legs, her body still half-submerged in the warm pool water, large brown eyes almost vulnerable as they looked up at you. She seemed needy for you in a way that squeezed your chest, but you had seen this scene more times than you cared to admit.

The same expression, the same sigh, the same “I don’t know what to do with you anymore” said in different rooms, different cities, different nights. And you had never given in. Never truly.

You laughed. It was a low, somewhat hoarse laugh that came out almost unintentionally, laced with disbelief and an old affection that had no name.

“And yet you don’t give up.”

The tone was knowing, almost affectionate in its exasperation. Like looking at a stubborn dog that keeps coming back with the same stick in its mouth, even knowing you’ll throw it again. You tilted your head slightly, damp hair falling to one side, and continued, your voice lower now, almost intimate.

“Sometimes I wonder: am I really worth all this… or do you just like teasing me?”

Manon didn’t answer right away. She just stared at you for long seconds, as if deciding whether to answer with truth or with another armed flirt. The tips of her fingers still traced lazy circles on the outer sides of your thighs, but the movement slowed, became more conscious, heavier.

“Both,” she said finally, voice hoarse from everything caught in her throat. “But mostly the first one.”

You laughed again, softly. A gentle sound that dissolved into the night. And then you fell silent. Looking at her. Really looking. Her brown eyes didn’t waver, but there was a subtle tremor in her eyelids, a vulnerability she rarely let slip. You let your gaze slide slowly over her shoulders, to the dark sea stretching beyond the infinity edge of the pool. The horizon was just an indistinct line, a blur of black against black, dotted with stars that seemed cold and distant. Something inside your chest quieted. It wasn’t surrender. It was exhaustion from resisting the inevitable.

You took a deep breath, feeling the night air enter your lungs cool and fresh.

“Okay.”

The word fell low, almost swallowed by the silence.

Manon gave a small start. Her whole body reacted before her mind: fingers gripped the pool edge harder, shoulders stiffened, eyes widened a millimeter. She shifted restlessly between your legs, the water rippling around her waist.

“Okay what?” Her voice came out higher than normal, suspicious, almost childish in its urgency. She leaned her torso forward, face tilted up, searching your eyes.

You smiled. A slow, lazy smile that started at the corners of your mouth and spread gradually, like honey dripping. You lowered your eyelids slightly, letting your gaze grow heavy.

“Okay… I’ll let you taste.”

Her eyes widened further. For a whole second she didn’t breathe. Her chest rose quickly. You saw the disbelief dancing in her gaze, but beneath it was an excitement she couldn’t hide: dilated pupils, parted lips, her whole body leaning toward you as if pulled by an invisible magnet.

“You’re messing with me. I know you.” She spoke low, but her voice trembled at the end, betraying the hope she was trying hard to suffocate.

You laughed again, this time hoarser, closer. You shook your head slowly, damp hair whipping lightly against your neck.

“No, I’m not…”

Then you raised your right hand to her face. Your fingers slid along her jawline with deliberate slowness, tracing the curve of her cheek, rising to her temple. You tucked a wet strand that had escaped the bun, wrapping it around your finger before letting go. When your eyes met hers again, you let your expression change. You let your gaze grow heavy, seductive, eyelids half-dropped, lips parted, a dangerous glint that promised everything and nothing at the same time. That look you knew always unraveled her, that made the air around her grow denser.

Manon melted. You watched it happen in slow motion: shoulders relaxing, body softening in the water, lips parting a little more as if she were already tasting the air you breathed. A trembling sigh escaped her, almost inaudible.

With your free hand, you brought your index finger to your own lips. You tapped twice lightly, a small, provocative, almost childish gesture.

“Take it.” It was almost a whisper. But it carried the weight of years of waiting, of almost-kisses, of “not yet.”

She hesitated only a second. A second in which you saw the inner battle written on her face: disbelief screaming “it’s a trap,” hope screaming louder “what if it’s real this time?” Then she gave in.

She approached slowly. Her body rose a little higher in the shallow water, arms flexing as she propelled herself forward. Her eyes never left yours. Her nose brushed yours lightly, a touch so subtle it felt like static electricity. Her lips were millimeters away. You could already feel the humid heat of her breath on your mouth, the smell of tobacco, chlorine, vanilla, and raw desire invading everything. The pool’s steam rose in thin spirals around you, blurring the air, making the moment even more intimate, more claustrophobic.

And then you acted.

Your open hand covered her entire face, palm pressing against her nose, fingers spread covering her eyes and forehead. With a firm but not cruel push, you shoved her backward.

Manon lost her balance instantly. Her arms flailed instinctively, hands trying to grab the edge, but it was too late. She fell backward into the water with a loud, clumsy splash, her body disappearing beneath the surface in an explosion of white bubbles and violent ripples that spread across the entire pool.

Before sinking completely, you heard her muffled scream, triumphant and indignant at the same time:

“I KNEW IT!”

You burst into laughter. Loud, genuine laughter that made your stomach hurt and your eyes water from laughing so hard. You threw your head back, hands braced on the cold pool edge, your whole body shaking as you watched the bubbles rise frantically where she had fallen.

Seconds later, Manon broke the surface like an irritated sea creature. The bun now completely undone, curls stuck to her face and neck like dark seaweed. She wiped her face hard with both hands, throwing water in silver arcs to the sides, and emerged closer to the edge, forearms braced again, chin resting on the tile. She looked up at you with half-closed eyes in a mix of disbelief, fake fury, and something much more dangerous.

But the smile… oh, the smile was lethal. Slow. Predatory. The kind of smile that says “you won this round, but the game isn’t over. And now I know you like playing too.”

She ran her tongue across her wet lips, catching a drop that had been sliding from the corner of her mouth.

“You’re evil,” she said, voice hoarse from holding back so much laughter. “Evil, evil, evil.”

You looked at her with pure, undisguised victory, corners of your mouth curved in a satisfied smile, eyes half-closed in an expression that said “yes, I know” without needing a single word. The laughter still danced in the back of your throat, but now it was more contained, more triumphant. Manon noticed immediately. She narrowed her eyes at you, as if trying to decide whether she truly hated you or just wanted to kiss you until you both lost your breath.

Obviously the second option.

Then, slowly, she closed her eyes. She rested her wet cheek on her crossed arms over the pool edge, her face sinking slightly into her forearm as if surrendering to a sweet defeat. Water still dripped from her undone curls, running down her neck and pooling on the tile. She let out a long, dramatic grumble, the kind that seemed to come from the depths of her soul.

“I hate you, seriously.”

The voice came out muffled against her own arm, hoarse from water and contained laughter, but carried a childish tone you knew all too well, the same tone she used when she lost at video games, when the food delivery was late, when you teased her and she pretended to be mad.

You laughed again, low and warm, and leaned slowly forward. Your damp hair fell to the side, lightly brushing her shoulder. You brought your mouth close to her ear, close enough for your warm breath to touch her goosebumped skin.

“I know you don’t.”

The words came out in a slow whisper, almost a purr, laden with complicity. You felt her body shudder slightly with the air escaping your mouth, a shiver that ran down her nape and made her shoulders tense for a second. Manon didn’t reply. She just let out a resigned sigh, lips curving into an almost invisible pout.

You pulled away completely, standing up and straightening your body with a lazy movement. The silk shirt, now damp at the sleeves and hem from the steam and splashed drops, clung lightly to your skin. You crossed your arms over your chest and spoke with a practical tone, but still laced with amusement:

“Alright, now seriously. Get out of that pool and straight to the shower.”

Manon grumbled something incoherent, a guttural sound, half “hmph,” half petulant child protest. She lifted her head slowly, resting her chin on the edge again, and stared at you with half-closed eyes.

“You don’t boss me around.”

The sentence came out defiant, but the tone was pure make-believe. She lifted her chin, trying to regain some of her provocative queen pose, but the effect was ruined by the curls stuck to her forehead.

You raised one eyebrow slowly, saying nothing. The gesture was enough. It was the same look you gave when she tried to stall leaving a party, when she pretended she wasn’t hungry but had already eaten half your plate. A calm, patient look that said “say that again, go ahead.”

Manon huffed loudly. An exaggerated, theatrical huff, the kind that made the air burst out her nose in an irritated puff. She rolled her eyes dramatically, throwing her head back as if the entire universe were against her.

“Ugh, fine, mom.”

She muttered the last word under her breath, but loud enough for you to hear. Then, with deliberate slowness, because even in surrender she needed to keep the drama, she turned in the water. Her muscular arms flexed as she swam toward the shallow steps in the corner of the pool.

When she reached them, she climbed slowly, step by step. Water poured in thick rivers down her back, her thighs, her long legs. The wine-colored bikini clung to her body like a second skin, outlining every curve with almost indecent precision.

You turned slowly, your bare feet leaving small wet marks on the wooden deck that led back to the veranda. The night breeze blew cooler now, carrying the salty smell of the sea and the distant scent of the plants lining the path. The sound of the waves continued below, constant, like a metronome marking the time you two had just spent playing at almost.

You crossed the veranda with light steps, the silk shirt clinging a little more to your back from the lingering steam, but before crossing the threshold into the dark living room, your gaze crossed the reclining armchair in the corner.

David was still there, exactly as you had left him earlier: body slumped, legs spread, head lolling to the side, but the beer bottle had now fallen completely, resting on the fluffy rug. His low, rhythmic snoring cut through the suite’s silence like a distant engine.

You stopped. Turned. And went back.

Outside, at the pool’s edge, Manon had her back to the veranda. She had bent down to gather the things scattered under the low glass table: the crumpled, damp pack of cigarettes, the silver lighter that reflected the moon like a tiny mirror, a forgotten glass with remnants of something that had already evaporated. The white fluffy towel was draped over her shoulders like an improvised cape, the ends dripping drops that formed small puddles on the tile.

She had an irritated pout, full lips pursed in the grimace of a child who didn’t get the promised candy, while she wrapped the towel better around her body, covering the wine-colored bikini that now seemed glued to her skin like a second skin. She muttered something under her breath, probably cursing you, or her own stubbornness, or the entire universe.

“Manon?”

Your voice came out low, but firm enough to cross the distance and the silence.

She froze instantly. Her movements halted: the hand holding the lighter stayed suspended in the air, the towel slipped an inch off her right shoulder, revealing the tanned curve and the tattoo on her hip that the moonlight highlighted. She turned her face slowly, brown eyes meeting yours with a softness that hadn’t been there before.

No provocation. No game. Just genuine curiosity, a trace of cautious hope, and something that looked like relief disguised as surprise.

You took another deep breath. Your heart beat hard, but not from fear, from certainty. Before your courage slipped through your fingers like water, you said:

“I’m waiting for you in my room. Lock the door when you come in.”

The words fell clean, without embellishment, without a joking tone. Direct. Real. The kind of sentence that leaves no room for misinterpretation, that doesn’t allow backtracking with a quip.

Manon stood paralyzed.

The towel slipped a little further, falling to her elbow, but she didn’t even notice. Her eyes widened slowly, pupils dilating in the dimness. Her mouth parted as if to say something, anything, but nothing came out. The irritated pout vanished completely; in its place came an expression of pure shock, mixed with disbelief, panic, and a joy so great she didn’t know where to put it.

Her breathing sped up visibly, her chest rising and falling quickly under the loose towel. Her hands trembled slightly as she let go of the lighter, which fell onto the tile with a nearly inaudible metallic clink.

You didn’t wait for a reply. You didn’t give her time to process, doubt, turn it into a joke, or run back to the usual pattern. You turned again, bare feet stepping firmly on the deck, crossing the veranda lit only by the moon and the resort’s low lights. The sound of the waves grew more distant with each step, but the pulse in your chest seemed to echo louder than anything.

You entered the suite. The door closed behind you with a soft, definitive click.

The cold air-conditioning hit your face, your skin still warm at the edges of the shirt. You stopped in the middle of the dark bedroom, illuminated only by the bluish glow of the moon coming through the panoramic windows, reflecting on the marble floor like still water. The silence was absolute, the low hum of the air-conditioning.

Now all that remained was to wait.

[...]

The minutes dragged like honey dripping slowly from a spoon. You had changed out of the damp silk shirt and wet shorts into something simpler and more comfortable: a basic white tank top, thin enough to let your skin breathe in the cool air-conditioning of the room, and soft gray sweat shorts that hugged your thighs without squeezing.

You settled onto the king-size bed, back propped against the padded white leather headboard, legs crossed casually. In your hand was a book that had ended up in your suitcase by accident, probably forgotten from a previous trip, or maybe shoved in there during the rushed packing. It was a light romance, the kind with complicated characters and sharp dialogue. Ironically perfect for the moment.

You turned the pages slowly, eyes running over the lines, but your mind kept wandering to what might happen next. It had already been about forty minutes since you left Manon out there, shocked and frozen. Maybe she wouldn’t come. Maybe she had taken it as another tease. Maybe fear had won. The thought squeezed your chest, but you forced your focus back to the book, pretending it didn’t matter.

Then came the sound: a subtle creak of the bedroom door, as if someone were testing the latch with excessive care, almost shyly. Your heart jumped immediately, the book freezing in your hands. You raised your gaze slowly, feigning casualness, but inside everything accelerated. The door opened just enough for Manon’s head to appear, her curls still damp and now freshly washed, releasing a fresh shampoo scent that reached you even from a distance. Her brown eyes scanned the room quickly, landing on you with a mix of hesitation and curiosity, as if she were testing the waters of an unknown pool.

You exchanged a long, silent look. Hers was cautious, almost vulnerable, brows slightly furrowed as if bracing for rejection. Yours was calm, inviting, with a faint smile beginning to form at the corners of your mouth. Without saying anything, you closed the book with a soft sound, marking the page before carefully setting it on the nightstand. The gesture was simple, but loaded: come here.

Manon took a visible deep breath, her chest rising and falling under the fabric of the baby tee she now wore. She pushed the door a little further and stepped in hesitantly, bare feet stepping slowly across the cold marble floor, as if each step were a decision. The room felt smaller with her inside it, the air thicker.

She wore comfortable gray sweatpants, loose in the legs but fitted enough at the hips to accentuate the curves you knew so well. The baby tee was white, tight across her chest, with black ironic lettering: “don’t kill yourself, kiss women.” You smiled inwardly when you saw it; it was the gift you had given her during a trip to New York.

As she entered, you rose slowly from the bed, the soft sheets whispering against your legs. The movement was fluid, almost instinctive, as if your body knew what to do before your mind did. Manon paused for a second, eyes fixed on yours, before turning to lock the door as you had asked. The click of the latch echoed in the silent room, definitive, sealing the space just for the two of you. She turned back, opening her mouth to speak, but hesitating for a fraction of a second, nervous fingers playing with the hem of the baby tee.

“Look, I know you know I want this so badly,” she began, voice low and fast, as if the words had been piling up and needed to spill out at once. “But you don’t have to do this just because I’m a stubborn idiot. Like, I know I push boundaries, I know I flirt all the time, but… if you’re doing this out of pity or to shut me up, I’d rather we stop right now. I don’t want to force anything, you know? I’m stubborn, but I’m not stupid.”

By then you had already approached. Your steps were silent, deliberate, closing the distance between you with a calm that contrasted with the racing heart in your chest. Before she could finish the sentence, your hands went to her shoulders, firm but gentle, pushing her slowly backward toward the bed. Manon stumbled slightly, eyes widening in surprise, but she didn’t resist. Her body yielded to the touch, retreating step by step until her legs hit the edge of the bed.

“And I love you so much, so I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—” she tried to continue, voice rising now, almost a nervous protest, hands instinctively rising to brace against your arms.

She didn’t finish. With one final gentle push, she dropped sitting onto the bed, the mattress sinking under her weight with a soft sigh of sheets. Before she could react, you moved quickly, straddling her lap with your legs on either side of her thighs, your body fitting against hers as if it had always belonged there. Your hands went straight to her freshly washed, damp curls, fingers threading through the soft, curl-cream-scented strands, gripping with an urgency that left no room for more words.

“What are you…” Before the words could fully leave her mouth, you had already sealed her lips with yours.

It was an initial simple touch, almost chaste, a press of several seconds that felt eternal, lips pressed firmly but without movement, just the warm, soft contact that sent waves of electricity up your spine. The smell of her shampoo invaded your nostrils, mixed with the subtle vanilla perfume that always seemed to cling to her skin, even after the shower. You felt her body freeze for an instant beneath you, the muscles of her thighs tensing slightly against your legs, as if she were processing what was happening.

Then you pulled back minimally, just enough for your noses to still touch, her hot breath mingling with yours in short, quick puffs. Her eyes were locked on yours, wide and dark, pupils dilated as if the entire room had vanished. She stayed still, lips still parted from what she had been about to say, chest rising and falling fast as if the air had grown scarce.

“Shut up, Manon,” you grumbled, tone soft, almost a hoarse whisper that vibrated against her mouth.

The words came out slow, deliberate, and you saw the impact of them, her eyes narrowing slightly, a subtle tremor running through her entire body, as if you had flipped a switch she had waited years for.

Without giving her time to respond, you pressed your lips to hers again, slowly, intentionally. This time, you didn’t pull away. Your lips molded to hers with torturous slowness, parting gradually against hers to fit a real kiss. It was as if the entire world shrank to that single point of contact: the damp softness of her lips, the heat radiating from her mouth, the subtle mint taste of the toothpaste she must have used in the shower, mixed with something sweet and intoxicating that was purely Manon.

You tilted your head slightly to the side, deepening the fit, your tongue brushing hers experimentally, inviting her to respond.

And she responded. Oh, how she responded. Manon kissed with an expertise you had always imagined, but now, tasting it in practice, it was better than any rumor or whispered story from mutual friends. You had heard the comments, those casual remarks from Sophie or Laroi, or from ex-hookups who casually mentioned “her kiss is addictive” during drunken nights.

You had figured she knew what she was doing, with all that feline confidence she displayed, but finally experiencing it… was even better. It was as if she knew exactly the right rhythm, the perfect pressure, the balance between gentleness and urgency. Her tongue danced against yours with a precision that melted your thoughts: slow at first, exploring with soft touches that sent shivers down your nape, then more insistent, curling around yours in a way that made your stomach flip with pleasure.

Holy shit, I’m kissing my best friend, you thought, the realization flashing like a burst in your mind, mixed with a wave of disbelief and excitement. So this is how she kisses? Better than I imagined… better than they said. Her lips were soft as velvet, but firm enough to guide the kiss, nibbling lightly on your lower lip in a move that sent sparks up your spine.

The heat of her mouth spread through your entire body, a sensory sensation that went beyond touch: her scent filling everything, the low sound of ragged breaths, the taste deepening with every second, becoming more familiar, more addictive.

From her side, Manon felt an overwhelming relief, as if years of repressed desire were finally bursting free in a silent explosion. Finally… holy shit, finally, echoed in her mind, the thought repeating like a mantra while her tongue traced yours with innate skill, instinctively knowing when to speed up, when to slow down, when to apply that subtle pressure that made you moan softly into her mouth.

The relief was palpable in her body, shoulders relaxing under your hands, thighs spreading a little more to accommodate you better in her lap, her hands slowly sliding up your back beneath the tank top, tracing hot lines across your bare skin. It was as if a dam had broken: years of flirting, lingering looks, “almosts” that never became “now,” finally coming true in this kiss that was everything she had fantasized and more.

The kiss stretched on, growing deeper, hungrier. You felt heat rising through your body, nipples hardening against the thin fabric of the tank top, the tingling between your legs growing with every movement of her mouth. Manon moaned low in the back of her throat, a hoarse, guttural sound that vibrated through your joined lips, and you responded by tugging her curls harder, tilting your head to explore better, tongues intertwining in a rhythm that felt synchronized by years of unspoken chemistry.

Finally, you pulled apart for a second, just to breathe, lips swollen and wet, eyes meeting in an exchange that said everything without words. Manon smiled slowly, a crooked, satisfied smile, eyes shining with a mix of triumph and vulnerability.

But then, as if a bubble of reality had burst, the laughter came. It started with you, a low, bubbly sound that escaped without permission, as if the delicious absurdity of the situation had finally hit you full force.

“My God…” you murmured between laughs, body trembling slightly as you rolled sideways on the bed, scooting a little away from her, hands instinctively rising to cover your face.

The soft sheets crumpled under your weight, and you dragged yourself backward, feeling the mattress sink as you tried to process the whirlwind of emotions: excitement, embarrassment, an overwhelming relief that made everything feel hilarious and surreal at once.

“I can’t believe we did that…” you grumbled to yourself, palms pressed against your eyes, as if you could block out the entire world and pretend nothing had happened.

Manon, however, didn’t let the space grow. You felt the mattress shift again, her weight moving with feline determination. She crawled over your body slowly, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your thighs, her heat invading your personal space like an inescapable wave.

Your hands were captured with gentleness but firmness; she pulled your wrists away from your face, pinning them beside your head against the soft pillow. The movement was fluid, almost possessive, and you lifted your eyes to meet hers, now so close you could see the small freckles scattered across her nose, the mischievous gleam mixed with genuine confusion.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, voice low and hoarse, still breathless from the previous kiss. Her brows furrowed slightly, creating an adorable crease between them, as if she were genuinely worried. “Was it that bad?”

There was a playful tone there, but also a subtle vulnerability, as if part of her feared you might regret it. Her body hovered over yours, damp curls falling like a dark curtain around her face, the smell of shampoo and vanilla filling the air again. She straddled your lap naturally, thighs squeezing lightly against yours, her weight anchoring you in place, making escape impossible—not that you wanted to.

You groaned in embarrassment, a long, muffled sound escaping your lips, face burning as you shook your head, eyes darting away from hers for a second.

“No, it wasn’t bad…” you murmured, voice coming out lower than intended, laden with a mix of shyness and residual excitement.

Your heart was still pounding hard in your chest, echoing in your ears like a distant drum. Manon leaned even closer, her face hovering inches from yours, lips curved in a provocative smile that made your stomach flip. You felt the heat of her breath against your skin, a constant reminder of what had just happened.

You took a deep breath, trying to catch your breath and regain control, and then asked, voice hesitant but curious:

“And you? What did you think? I mean, I guess you had expectations…” The words hung in the air, laced with insecurity, as if you were fishing for confirmation that you hadn’t disappointed.

Your eyes finally returned to hers, searching for any sign of disappointment, but finding only an intense, almost predatory gleam. Manon laughed softly, a guttural, provocative sound that vibrated through her body and yours.

“Hm, I think I need another sample to be sure…” she murmured, voice low and seductive, like honey dripping slowly.

She began to approach your face again, lips parted, eyes half-closed in a silent promise. The movement was slow, deliberate, giving you time to react, but you turned your face to the side, an instinctive gesture of self-protection, heart racing even faster with the closeness.

Unlike the other times when she would pull back with a playful smile, Manon didn’t retreat. Instead, she followed the movement, lips brushing your cheek with a softness that sent shivers down your spine.

“Hey, don’t run from me now…” she whispered against your skin, voice hoarse and amused.

The kisses trailed slowly, tracing a warm line across your face. First the apple of your cheek, then the jaw, until reaching your neck. Each touch was light but intentional, soft lips pressing against sensitive skin, nibbling lightly at the spot where your pulse beat strong. You sighed involuntarily, a long, trembling sound escaping your lips, body arching slightly beneath her, betrayed by the pleasure spreading like slow fire.

Manon lifted her face for a second, eyes meeting yours once more, now with a triumphant gleam.

“I think you kiss so fucking good,” she said, voice low and confident, the words emphasized with a provocative “fucking” that made everything sound even more intense. “And you spent all this time depriving me of it… I’m devastated.”

There was a playful accusation in her tone, but also raw sincerity, as if she were admitting years of accumulated frustration. Her eyes danced with humor, but her body still pressed against yours told a different story, of unsatisfied desire, of more to come.

You laughed out loud this time, a genuine, liberating sound that filled the room, dissipating some of the tension.

“Oh, fuck off, Manon…” you muttered between laughs, hands now free and pushing her shoulders gently but firmly enough to make her roll to the side.

She fell onto the bed beside you with an exaggerated “oof,” body still glued to yours, one of her legs casually thrown over your hip, anchoring you together as if neither wanted to separate. The sheets tangled around your legs, the mattress still warm from the previous contact.

You turned slightly to face her, hand rising slowly to her face. Your fingers traced the damp curls falling over her eyes, carefully brushing them aside, revealing the brown gleam of those eyes that seemed to devour you. Then, with a tenderness that contrasted with the earlier intensity, you caressed her cheek, thumb brushing the soft, warm skin, feeling the faint tremor that still ran through her body.

Leaning forward, you pressed a kiss to her lips, this time softer, less urgent, a tender seal that lasted several seconds while your hand continued to stroke her cheek, as if wanting to memorize every contour.

When you pulled back minimally, you murmured, looking straight into her eyes, voice low and laced with provocation:

“Good enough to be better than David’s kiss?” The words came out with a tone of disguised but evident jealousy.

Manon laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the room like a victorious melody, eyes lighting up with recognition.

“I knew you were jealous!” she accused, pointing a playful finger at your chest, body shaking with laughter as she snuggled even closer, the leg over your hip squeezing lightly. “But yes, David never even came close to this.”

She winked, the crooked smile returning, and you felt another wave of heat rise to your face, but this time mixed with a sweet relief, as if everything was finally falling into place. The room felt lighter now, the air less thick, but your closeness promised that this was only the beginning.

Your hand still rested on her cheek, thumb tracing lazy circles on the soft skin, feeling the warmth rising there. Manon turned her face slowly, eyes meeting yours again, now darker, heavier with intention. Her crooked smile was still there, but it had changed tone, less playful, more hungry.

You leaned in first, movement slow, almost reverent. Your lips grazed hers without truly pressing, just a ghostly touch, and then you whispered, so softly the words seemed to come straight from your throat to her mouth.

“Yeah?”

Your nose brushed hers, a light, warm graze, while you kept your eyes half-closed, watching every microexpression cross her face. Manon melted visibly, shoulders relaxing, body softening against yours, a trembling sigh escaping between her parted lips.

“Yeah,” she answered in the same whispered, hoarse tone, almost a disguised moan. The word came out like sweet surrender.

And then she initiated the kiss.

It was different from the first, from the second, from all the previous ones. This one came with declared intention. Her lips parted against yours with deliberate slowness, inviting, demanding. Your hand instinctively slid to her waist, fingers slipping under the hem of the baby tee, pulling her body firmly against yours. The warm skin of her stomach met your palm, and you felt the muscles contract slightly under the touch.

Manon’s hand rose to your hair, fingers threading through the strands, tugging lightly to tilt your head at the perfect angle. The kiss deepened quickly: tongues meeting with more urgency, more raw desire. It was wet now, indecently noisy, the sound of lips parting and meeting again, of heavy breaths mingling, of the small bites she gave your lower lip before sucking lightly, drawing a low moan from your throat.

You couldn’t stay on your side any longer.

With a fluid movement, you rolled your body, pushing her onto her back against the mattress. Manon let out a surprised and delighted sound at the same time, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before narrowing in pure pleasure. You settled between her legs, her thighs opening naturally to receive you, hips lifting slightly to meet yours.

Your lips trailed slowly down her chin, along her jaw, until finding the sensitive skin of her neck. You kissed first, then licked lightly the curve where neck met shoulder, feeling the accelerated pulse there. Manon arched her neck, offering more space, a low moan escaping while her nails scratched lightly down your back over the tank top.

You chose the right spot, just below her ear, where the skin was thinner, more vulnerable. You sucked slowly, tongue tracing circles, teeth grazing lightly before increasing the suction. The hickey formed quickly, a red mark you knew would turn purple in a few hours.

Manon laughed amid a hoarse moan, the sound vibrating against your mouth.

“Marking territory, darling?” she teased, voice interrupted, full of amusement and arousal.

You growled low against her skin, teeth pressing lightly before answering, voice deep and possessive.

“So that idiot can stay alert.”

She laughed again, but this time the sound died in a sigh when you bit the same spot lightly, then licked to soothe. Her hands gripped your shoulders, nails digging deeper.

“So it looks like after all these years I’ve discovered something new about you…” she murmured, voice low and provocative, eyes gleaming as she lifted her face to look at you. “You like being on top?”

Before you could answer with words, she acted.

With surprising strength and a quick movement, Manon flipped the positions. In the blink of an eye you were on your back on the mattress, air escaping your lungs in a surprised “uf,” and she was straddling you again, this time with more authority. Her thighs pinned your hips, hands captured your wrists and pinned them above your head against the pillow. Her curls fell like a dark curtain around her face, and the smile she gave you was pure sin.

She leaned slowly, lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispered, voice hoarse and laden.

“So, we have a problem.… because I like it too.”

The whisper ended with a slow kiss on your earlobe, followed by a light bite that made your entire body arch against hers. Manon laughed softly against your skin, satisfied with the reaction, and then trailed her lips down your neck, tracing the same path you had done on her, only now with more provocation, more control.

You felt heat rise in waves, body responding to every touch, every whispered word. The entire room seemed to pulse in the same rhythm as your breaths, and what began as laughter and confession was now pure declared desire, with no more room for hesitation.

From dream academy to debuting in katseye, people just kind of assumed you and Manon were together.

Not because you said anything. Not because she did either. It was just… obvious.

Manon waited on you without even realizing she was doing it. If you mentioned needing water, she was already halfway to the cooler.

If you forgot something in the practice room, she’d grab it before you even stood up. You never had to ask twice. Half the time, you didn’t ask at all.

Physical touch came naturally to her. She always needed to be close, shoulder pressed to yours during breaks, legs tangled when you sat on the floor, her head ending up in your lap like it belonged there.

If she wasn’t touching you somehow, she looked uncomfortable, like she didn’t know what to do with herself.

What really gave her away was how she listened. When you talked, Manon paid attention. Like, actually paid attention.

She remembered things you said in passing, brought them up days later, checked in without making it a big deal.

Sophia noticed it first, the way Manon’s face softened whenever you walked into the room, the way her eyes followed you without trying to be subtle about it.

“You’re so obvious,” Lara muttered once, poking Manon’s side while you practiced across the room.

Manon didn’t even look away. “What?”

Lara just laughed. “You look like you’re watching your favorite person breathe.”

Daniela snorted from the floor. “She does.”

Manon finally glanced down, frowning. “I’m just… paying attention.”

“Sure,” Megan said. “To only one person.”

You, meanwhile, were completely unaware. You just thought Manon was affectionate. Friendly. Maybe a little clingy, but that was just how she was, right?

One day during a break, you leaned back against the wall, exhausted. Manon immediately slid down next to you, her arm hooking around yours like muscle memory.

“You good?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

She nodded and stayed there, thumb absentmindedly tracing over your knuckles. When you didn’t pull away, her grip tightened just a little, like she’d won something.

Sophia watched from across the room and shook her head. “I don’t know how they don’t see it.”

“See what?” you asked later, grabbing your water bottle.

Manon stiffened beside you.

“Nothing,” Sophia said quickly. “Just… vibes.”

Manon avoided your eyes after that, suddenly hyper-aware of every time she leaned in, every time her hand found yours. But the moment you laughed at something she said, she forgot all of it, smiling like she couldn’t help herself.

And that was the problem.

She really couldn’t.

Manon went live by herself, just to talk with fans for a bit.

“Tour’s been really fun,” she said, leaning closer to the camera. “I love meeting you guys. Soundcheck and barricade have probably been my favorite parts. And my mom’s been coming to some shows, which has been really nice.”

user01: we love you

user02: wish i could go 😭 tickets sold out

user03: say hi to your mom for me!!

Manon laughed. “I will, I promise.”

She glanced down at the screen again. “Also, why do so many of you keep giving me LA Dodgers hats? I swear I’ve gotten like five alrea—”

The door to her hotel room opened.

She looked up just as you dropped down beside her on the bed.

“Manon!” you said, way too excited. “I got my septum pierced. Look, now we match.”

You wrapped an arm around her waist without thinking, pressing into her side. Manon froze for half a second, then relaxed into you automatically.

“But, y/n,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady, “I left mine in LA.”

You pouted immediately. “You did?”

She nodded. You were close enough that she could feel your breath against her cheek, and she had to stop herself from doing anything stupid, like pinching your face or pulling you closer.

“Whatever,” you said. “When we get back, we’ll match for real.”

You leaned in, grinning, your noses almost touching. Manon’s eyes dropped to your mouth without meaning to. She forgot about the phone in front of her. Forgot about the comments exploding. For a split second, she thought you might actually—

Then you pulled back.

Manon blinked, heart racing, and only then remembered she was live.

“Oh,” she said quickly, clearing her throat. “Uh, guys. y/n is here….”

user04: ?????

user05: HELLO???

user06: why are they so close

user07: manon’s face 😭

You finally noticed the phone. “Wait, are you live?”

Manon nodded, trying not to look embarrassed. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” You laughed, not moving away at all. “Hi, guys.”

Manon could feel her ears getting warm.

“Anyway,” she rushed, “we were just, talking.”

Sophia’s voice suddenly called from the hallway, “Manon, are you done? We’re leaving in five.”

Manon groaned. “Yeah, yeah.”

She looked back at the camera. “I should go. Love you guys. Thank you for everything.”

She ended the live and let her phone drop onto the bed.

The silence that followed was… loud.

“You okay?” you asked, nudging her shoulder.

Manon swallowed, finally looking at you again. “Yeah. Just, surprised me, that’s all.”

You smiled, completely unaware. “You should’ve seen your face.”

She laughed weakly. “Yeah. Guess I need to work on that.”

What she didn’t say was that the comments weren’t wrong.

And neither was Lara.

It didn’t hit you all at once.

It started small.

At rehearsals, you noticed Manon was affectionate with everyone, sure. She hugged the girls, leaned on shoulders, linked arms when she laughed.

That was just her. But it was different when it came to you.

You caught it during a break one afternoon.

You were sitting on the floor, scrolling on your phone, when Manon dropped down next to you like she always did.

Her thigh pressed against yours, her arm automatically settling across your back.

A minute later, Lara came over and plopped down on Manon’s other side.

Manon didn’t move closer.

She didn’t lean into Lara, didn’t rest her head on her shoulder. She stayed exactly where she was against you.

You frowned slightly, not moving, just… noticing.

Later, Daniela asked Manon to help her with a part of the choreo.

Manon got up immediately, of course, but before she stood, her fingers brushed your wrist, lingering for half a second longer than necessary.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to you. Not to the group. To you.

That was new.

The real moment came a few days later, backstage before a show.

Everyone was tired. Loud in that way people get when they’re running on adrenaline and caffeine.

Megan was complaining about her boots, Sophia was fixing someone’s mic pack, and you were sitting on a folding chair, retying your laces.

Manon was standing behind you, hands resting on your shoulders, absentmindedly kneading like it was second nature.

“Manon,” Megan said, walking past. “Can you do that for me later? My shoulders are killing me.”

Manon smiled. “Yeah, later.”

But she didn’t move her hands.

Didn’t even look away from you.

You glanced up at her, confused. She met your eyes, soft smile already there, like that was where it lived.

A few minutes later, Lara tried to sit in the chair next to you.

Manon shifted before Lara even finished lowering herself, stepping closer to you instead, one knee brushing yours.

Lara paused.

Then slowly looked between the two of you.

“Oh,” she said under her breath.

You didn’t hear it, but you felt it. The way the air changed. The way Manon’s thumb traced a small circle on your shoulder, grounding, familiar.

That night, back at the hotel, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

You replayed things. Little things.

How Manon always saved the seat next to her for you.

How she waited for you before leaving rooms. How she checked in when you were quiet.

How she watched you when you weren’t looking, and looked away when you caught her.

She was affectionate with everyone.

But she was intentional with you.

The next morning, at breakfast, Manon slid into the chair beside you without asking. Her knee knocked into yours under the table and stayed there.

You didn’t move it away.

Instead, you leaned in slightly and asked, “Hey… do you do this with everyone?”

Manon stilled.

“What do you mean?”

You gestured vaguely between the two of you. The closeness. The touching. The way she hadn’t pulled back once.

She swallowed. “I—”

You looked at her then. Really looked.

And suddenly, it was clear.

“Oh,” you said quietly.

Manon’s eyes searched your face, nervous now, hopeful in a way that made your chest tighten.

“Oh,” you repeated.

Manon didn’t say anything right away.

She just stared at her hands on the table like they might give her the right words if she waited long enough.

The breakfast noise around you suddenly felt too loud, so she stood up abruptly.

“Can we—” she started, then stopped. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

You nodded immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She led you out to the hotel hallway, quiet this early in the morning.

She stopped near the window at the end, arms crossing over her chest like she didn’t know what to do with them if they were free.

There was a long pause.

“I’m bad at this,” Manon said finally, letting out a nervous laugh. “Like… really bad.”

You smiled a little. “Me too.”

She glanced at you, then away again. “I didn’t mean for it to be so obvious. I swear I tried to be normal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was you trying?”

She huffed. “See? This is what I mean.”

Another pause. She took a breath.

“I like you,” she said quickly, like ripping off a bandage.

“I’ve liked you for a long time. Probably longer than I should’ve. I kept telling myself it was just how I am, that I’m touchy and affectionate, and that it didn’t mean anything.”

Her voice dropped. “But it does. With you, it does.”

Your chest tightened.

“I don’t do that with everyone,” she continued, quieter now. “Not like that. I don’t notice everyone the way I notice you. I don’t wait for everyone. And I don’t… feel weird when they get close.”

She finally looked at you, eyes nervous but steady. “I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable. Or mess anything up. So I figured it was better to just be there. However you needed.”

You swallowed, heart racing. “Manon…”

“I know if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay,” she rushed.

“I really mean that. I just didn’t want you thinking I was pretending or messing with you or—”

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping closer. “It’s okay.”

She stopped talking immediately.

You took a breath, trying to organize your thoughts and failing a little.

“I didn’t realize it at first,” you admitted. “I just thought you were… you. And I liked being around you. A lot. I liked how safe it felt.”

Manon’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

“But then I started paying attention,” you continued. “And I realized you don’t look at other people the way you look at me. You don’t stay the way you stay.”

You laughed quietly, a little nervous. “And I think part of me knew before I let myself admit it.”

Her eyes softened.

“I like you too,” you said. “I just didn’t think it was allowed. Or smart. Or real.”

Manon blinked. “Wait really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Really.”

She let out a shaky breath, half laugh, half disbelief. “Wow. Okay. I… wow.”

For a second, neither of you moved. Then she asked, tentative, “Can I…?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

She reached out slowly, fingers brushing yours like she was making sure it was okay.

When you didn’t pull away, she laced them together, grip warm and a little tight.

“This is happening,” she said, stunned.

You squeezed her hand. “I think it is.”

There was another pause.

Not the heavy kind. Just the kind where neither of you knew what the next step was supposed to be.

Manon shifted her weight, still holding your hand. “So… um.”

“So,” you echoed.

She glanced at your joined hands, then back up at you.

“I don’t usually rush things,” she said, immediately contradicting her entire existence. “But I also don’t want to just… stand here.”

You smiled, nervous. “Yeah. Standing feels wrong.”

She laughed quietly, then went still. “Can I kiss you?”

The question came out rushed, like she’d been holding it in.

Your heart jumped. “Yeah. You can.”

Manon nodded once, like she was bracing herself, then leaned in

and stopped.

“Wait,” she said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“I—” she sighed. “I don’t want to make it weird.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. “I think it’s already weird.”

She smiled at that, relieved. “Okay. Good.”

This time she leaned in again, slower. You both tilted your heads the same way and bumped noses.

“Ow sorry,” she said immediately.

You laughed again. “It’s okay.”

She adjusted, hesitating just long enough for you to wonder if she’d back out, then she kissed you.

It was soft. Slightly off. Her lips pressed against yours like she was afraid of doing too much.

You kissed back, tentative, and she froze for half a second before relaxing into it.

When you pulled away, you were both smiling like idiots.

Manon pressed her forehead against yours. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It was really okay.”

She exhaled, laughing under her breath. “Thank god.”

Her thumb brushed your cheek, gentle, familiar already.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” she admitted.

You leaned in again, just barely. “You should’ve said something.”

She smiled, eyes soft. “I know.”

⏛ BUG #002 — PANIC

SYSTEM NOTE: External intervention required (lara detected and deployed).

you’re hanging back, keeping a little distance today, just to see how things go. not because you’re mad or anything. you’re just curious because manon’s been acting a bit quieter than usual, laughing less at the jokes, smiling less when you talk.

at first, you think maybe she just didn’t really feel that way about you after all. maybe the last time was just… banter. or maybe you’re overthinking everything.

at the hangout, you catch her suddenly stand up. you follow with your eyes as she shoves her phone in her pocket and storms toward lara, who’s already sitting on the couch flipping through something on her laptop.

“bro,” manon whispers the second she’s close enough, “i think she hates me.”

lara blinks. one eyebrow goes up. “what?”

“she like… she’s keeping distance. and i think i fucked up. and now she probably hates me and wants me to die and i—” manon’s words tumble out faster than she can catch them, hands flailing slightly.

“oh my god,” lara interrupts, holding up a hand like she’s trying to catch a runaway train. “okay first of all, yes, you’re an idiot. second, sit down, jesus.”

manon stares at her, a little shocked, still half panicking. “i… okay?”

lara doesn’t wait for her to process. she crosses her arms and leans back, eyes narrowing. “look at you manz, just calm the fuck down for one second,” she laughs/

“i can’t,” manon admits, sinking onto the edge of the couch. “i thought maybe—”

“she literally does not hate you,” lara cuts in. “you’re just… slow sometimes. slow on processing signals, slow on reading the room. that’s it.”

manon groans. “slow? wow, thank you.”

“yes, slow,” lara says firmly, waving a hand. “and kind of clueless, but you already knew that. the point is, she’s not mad. she just… expects you to function at the level of a normal human being, which, sorry, apparently is hard for you.”

“i am normal? i’m fine…”

lara tilts her head, unimpressed. “she likes you, you’re just overcomplicating it. it’s hilarious to watch honestly.”

“hilarious?” manon echoes, incredulous, leaning forward. “THIS IS FUNNY TO YOU?”

lara shrugs, laughing. “not in a mean way.”

manon blinks at her. “so… should i just… chill then?”

“yeah,” lara says. “just chill. trust me, you’re not ruining anything. she’s not mad. you just sit there and be slightly less panicked, okay?”

manon exhales slowly, sinking a little deeper into the couch. “slightly less panicked. got it.”

lara smirks. “good. now don’t fuck it up.”

Results: Subject partially stabilized. Status: ACTIVE BUG, MITIGATED.

⏛ BUG 003 — MIXED SIGNALS

SYSTEM NOTE: Label recognition disabled by user preference.

Results: Manual override required. Status: UNRESOLVED.

⏛ BUG 004 — JEALOUS?

SYSTEM NOTE: Protective responses activated without user consent. Subject monitors third party interaction excessively.

you’re all crowded around the table, pizza boxes stacked slightly crooked in the middle like nobody bothered to organize anything before digging in. it’s a little loud with all the overlapping conversations.

megan’s sitting next to you, shoulder pressed lightly against yours just because there’s not enough space. she slides a slice toward you without asking, the cheese melting off of the bread.

“you’re welcome,” she says, smug.

“wow,” you reply, taking it. “acts of service huh?”

she grins. “i’m a giver.”

“that’s crazy,” you say, deadpan, and she laughs, leaning closer like she’s in on the joke.

across the table, manon notices.

not immediately, but gradually, like something’s irritating her and she can’t tell why yet. she watches you take a bite, watches megan tilt her head toward you to say something, watches you laugh so easily.

she narrows her eyes.

“why are you sharing,” manon asks suddenly, pointing with the end of her slice.

megan looks up. “because she offered…?”

“i didn’t ask you,” manon says automatically, then blinks. “i mean—”

you look over. “it’s pizza.”

“yeah, i know,” manon says quickly. “i just—i thought everyone grabbed their own.”

megan shrugs. “community food.”

“it’s literally individual slices,” manon mutters.

you and megan exchange a look.

“do you want some?” you ask, holding the slice out a little.

manon scoffs. “no.”

then, two seconds later, “actually—”

she stops herself again and clears her throat. “no nevermind. i’m good.”

megan raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, just leans in again. “so,” she says to you casually, “you still owe me that rematch, by the way.”

“i beat you last time!” you say.

“yeah, like barely.”

“a win is a win megan.”

manon’s jaw tightens. “a rematch in what?”

“card game,” megan replies. “she got lucky.”

“i didn’t get lucky,” you say. “i’m just smarter.”

“that’s debatable,” megan says, smiling.

manon laughs, but it comes out wrong, almost too sharp. “okay, wow. the confidence…”

you glance at her for a minute before responding. “manon what is your problem?”

“my problem? nothing,” she says immediately. “why would there be a problem.”

“you look like there’s a problem,” lara says from the other end of the table, already entertained.

manon shoots her a look. “there isn’t.”

megan finishes her slice and casually reaches over to take another one, tearing it in half before handing part to you again. “you eat slow.”

“sorry,” you say. “i like enjoying things.”

manon leans forward abruptly. “you know there’s plates.”

megan pauses mid-bite. “are you the pizza police now?”

“i’m just saying,” manon says. “it’s kind of messy.”

“you’re literally dripping grease on your shirt,” yoonchae points out.

manon looks down. “…okay that’s different.”

you smile despite yourself, biting into the slice. megan bumps your knee lightly under the table, like she’s congratulating herself.

manon sees it.

“you’re staring,” lara says.

manon snaps, “i’m not.”

there’s a pause. it’s not awkward but it sure as hell is noticeable.

megan wipes her hands on a napkin. “anyway,” she says easily, “i’m gonna grab drinks. you wanna come?”

you nod. “yeah.”

manon stands up too fast, chair scraping. “i’ll—i’ll come too.”

megan blinks. “okay.”

manon immediately regrets it, standing there like she doesn’t know why she volunteered. “i mean, i was gonna get one anyway.”

“you said you were good earlier?” you say.

“plans change.”

lara snorts into her sleeve.

as you all move toward the kitchen, manon keeps finding reasons to be between you and megan, reaching for cups that don’t need grabbing, standing too close, bumping your arm like it’s accidental when it very clearly isn’t.

megan leans toward you and murmurs, just loud enough, “is she okay?”

you glance at manon, who’s aggressively opening the fridge. “i have no idea.”

manon slams the fridge door a little harder than necessary, turns around, and immediately freezes when she realizes both of you are looking at her.

“what,” she says.

“nothing,” you and megan say at the same time.

manon exhales, already unraveling, and for the first time all night, she looks genuinely unsettled, like she’s losing control of something she didn’t realize she was holding onto.

and lara, watching from the table, just shakes her head.

“oh,” she mutters. “this is bad.”

Results: Jealousy response successfully triggered. Status: CRITICAL.

⏛ BUG 005 — SYSTEM OVERLOAD

SYSTEM NOTE: Error.

it’s quieter now. everyone’s seem to have eaten too much and the energy sort of just dropped. the girls are scattered around, some cleaning, some lounging, there’s sound of someone rinsing plates in the kitchen bleeding into the background.

manon finds you near the hallway, leaning against the wall and scrolling on your phone like you’ve got somewhere else to be, even though you don’t. she stands there for a second like she’s debating it, then exhales and steps closer.

“can i talk to you?” she says, already sounding tired.

you look up. “you are talking.”

she presses her lips together. “alone.”

you hesitate, then nod toward the other end of the hallway. there’s a second where neither of you moves. then she goes first.

“what happened?” manon asks. not accusatory but not joking either, for once. just flatly. “like… after that day. you’ve been so off since then.”

“have i,” you say, sarcastically.

“yes?” she says immediately. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

she rubs a hand over her face. “the texts. the distance. you don’t talk to me the same.”

you finally put your phone away in your pocket. “maybe because i got tired of guessing.”

manon frowns. “guessing what.”

“where i stand,” you say. “what i’m allowed to be. what i’m supposed to act like so you don’t freak out.”

she tilts her head, narrowing her eyes slightly at you now. “i didn’t freak out.”

you let out a short laugh. “manon. come on.”

she opens her mouth, then closes it again, jaw tightening. “i just didn’t want things to get weird.”

“they were already weird,” you say. “you just didn’t want to name it.”

she shakes her head. “it’s not that simple.”

“it never is with you,” you reply. “but you can’t just leave everything on pause forever and expect nothing to change.”

manon looks away, staring at the wall like it might give her a better answer. “i didn’t ask you to change.”

“no,” you say, voice sharper now. “you just expected me to stay exactly where you left me, right?”

that gets her attention. she looks back at you. “that’s not fair.”

“what’s not fair is you acting like you care and then backing out the second it starts to mean something,” you say. “if you don’t move forward, you’re still making a choice.”

she just looks at you, not knowing what else to say to change your mind.

“i’m not trying to mess things up,” she says quietly.

“but you are,” you urge. “because you won’t commit to anything. not labels, not intentions, not even a conversation without turning it into a joke.”

her shoulders tense. “starting something feels like it’ll break everything,” she admits, the words coming out fast, like she didn’t mean to say them. “like if i name it, if i touch it too hard, it’s just gonna fall apart.”

you stare at her. “so your solution is… what? do nothing?”

“i’m trying to protect it,” she snaps.

“you’re suffocating it!” you shoot back, trying not to be too loud. “and i’m done trying to decode your bullshit every time you get scared.”

manon’s breathing changes. it’s quicker now, her eyes are darting like she’s looking for a way out of the conversation. “you don’t get it.”

“then explain it,” you say. “explain it to me without dodging it. without joking.”

she opens her mouth.

but nothing comes out.

you watch it happen in real time—the way her defenses just… stop working. there’s no sarcasm. no comeback. no clever line to soften it. she looks overwhelmed, like too many windows are open at once and she doesn’t know which one to close.

“i can’t,” she finally mutters.

“then that’s your answer,” you say, exhausted more than angry now. “because i can’t keep doing this with you.”

she swallows, nodding once like she’s accepting a system error she can’t override. “okay.”

manon takes a step back, shutting down piece by piece, her face going unreadable in that familiar way you now recognize as retreat.

“i need a minute,” she says, already turning away.

you don’t stop her.

she walks off down the hallway, leaving you there with the hum of the house and the very clear feeling that something just powered off before either of you could fix it.

Results: Not found. Status: Error.

⏛ BUG 006 — LOW POWER MODE

SYSTEM NOTE: Communication frequency reduced. External monitoring advised.

a few days go by. you can’t really tell because everything feels slightly off, like time is still moving but nothing feels the same. everyone notices it, even if nobody says it out loud. the space between you and manon is louder than anything else in the room.

she’s quieter now, only laughing when someone talks to her, nods along, stays busy. you do the same thing from your side. remain functional, stay polite.

it’s exhausting.

you catch lara in the kitchen while she’s pouring herself a drink, leaning against the counter. she looks up when she hears you and immediately sighs, like she already knows.

“before you ask,” she says, “yes, i noticed.”

you snort lightly. “it’s that obvious?”

“painfully,” lara replies. “you two went from unbearable to even more unbearable.”

you hesitate, then lean back against the counter across from her. “is she… okay?”

lara doesn’t answer right away. she caps the bottle, sets it down, and looks at you fully now.

“in all honesty, y/n,” she says, voice calmer than usual, “no, she’s not.”

your stomach tightens a little. “mm, figures.”

“she’s going insane, but like, quietly,” lara continues. “which for her is worse. at least when she’s loud about it, you know where she’s at.”

you nod. “i didn’t mean to mess everything up.”

lara raises an eyebrow. “you didn’t. she did. repeatedly.”

you huff a laugh. “yeah, well. she’s good at that.”

“she is,” lara agrees. “but she really does like you too. i know she acts like an ass sometimes, and she pretends she’s above everything, but this isn’t nothing to her.”

you look down at the floor. “she’s been saying that without actually saying anything.”

“that’s her specialty,” lara says dryly.

you glance back up. “i mean, i’ve been patient. like, genuinely. for weeks.”

lara snorts. “i know. trust me. we all know. it’s kind of impressive.”

“i don’t want a trophy though,” you say. “i just don’t want to feel like i’m begging someone to meet me halfway.”

lara’s expression softens a little. “that’s fair. and you shouldn’t. but with her… she needs a minute after things get serious like that. it’s not because she doesn’t care, because she does, and she doesn’t know how to sit with that without panicking.”

you tilt your head. “so what, i just… wait again.”

“no no,” lara says. “but don’t chase. don’t fix it for her. but also don’t shut the door completely. let her come to you when she’s ready to talk without hiding behind anything.”

you scoff quietly. “lara that sounds like more patience.”

“oh. well, yeah maybe,” lara admits. “but intentional patience. not you killing yourself trying to interpret every move she makes.”

you think about that, your arms crossed. “and if she doesn’t?”

lara meets your eyes. “then at least you’ll know you weren’t the one who shut it down.”

you exhale slowly, nodding once. “great. love that for me.”

lara smirks faintly. “i didn’t say it was gonna be fun.”

Results: Avoidance behaviors observed. Status: RECOVERY PENDING.

SYSTEM UPDATE — FULL REBOOT

you find manon sitting on the couch alone, the living room empty and quiet except for the sound of the fridge in the kitchen and the soft tick of the clock on the wall. she’s slouched a little, arms resting on her knees, staring at the floor like she’s trying to figure something out without actually looking at anything. you pause in the doorway, unsure if you should just leave her be or…

“hey,” you say finally, your voice a little too casual, like you’re trying to act normal even though you feel anything but.

“hey,” she replies neutrally, not looking up.

you shuffle a little, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “so… uh… how’s it—” you pause. “how’s it going?”

manon snorts softly without looking, a tiny noise. “fantastic,” she says, voice flat but not angry. more like she’s testing you.

“yeah,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek. “me too! great.”

you hesitate before you sit down at the other end of the couch, leaving space, your knees almost bumping the edge. you’re suddenly painfully aware of how quiet it is. “so… uh… sorry if i’ve been… weird,” you mumble.

manon finally glances at you, one brow raised. “weird?”

you flush lightly. “okay. maybe a little more than weird.”

she laughs softly, but it’s quick, almost like she’s embarrassed to admit she’s amused. “no i’ve been a dick too,” she says. “not proud of it, but… yeah. that happened.”

you glance at her, surprise flickering across your face. “you just admitted that?”

“yeah,” she says, shrugging. “someone has to.”

“well,” you say slowly, “i… okay, i guess i should apologize for being a little ignorant too. not the easiest thing to deal with.”

“a little?” she says, eyebrows lifting, lips twitching in a tiny grin. “i mean, i made it pretty difficult.”

“well—yeah,” you admit, letting out a short laugh. “you really did. but hey, you owned up to it.”

manon nods, eyes softer now. “i did. finally.”

your hands are folded in your lap, your foot tapping just a little, like neither of you knows exactly how to make this less awkward.

“so,” she says finally, almost hesitant, “would you… i mean, would you still be willing to try again?”

you grin, a little teasing, leaning back. “well, would you be willing to try at all?”

she laughs at that, then gently shoves your shoulder. “i can try… especially if you keep looking at me like that.”

you blink at her. “like… what?”

she freezes for a second, eyes flicking away, and you notice the pink creeping up her neck and across her cheeks. she doesn’t realize she’s blushing, and it’s so obvious.

“nothing,” she mutters quickly, trying to cover it up with a scoff, but it’s not convincing at all.

you can’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “oh, sure,” you say, teasing.

she huffs, looking anywhere but at you. “shut up,” she mutters.

then, from somewhere behind the couch, you hear a barely audible… smooching noise? followed by a muffled snicker.

“what the—” you start, turning your head, and sure enough, daniela is crouched in the hallway, trying not to laugh, peeking around the corner like a little kid. behind her, you catch movement from lara, megan, yoonchae, and sophia, all leaning in, giggling, clearly having witnessed the entire conversation.

manon’s eyes widen, then she rolls them, groaning. “you guys!” she mutters.

you throw your head back back. “oh my god—”

lara leans in from behind the hallway, grinning. “finally! we thought you’d never get here!”

“we saw everything,” megan adds, laughing.

“everything,” sophia confirms, nudging yoonchae.

daniela peeks her head from the corner again. “this was worth the hiding.”

manon pinches the bridge of her nose, exasperated, but there’s a small smile tugging at her lips. “i can’t believe you all.”

“oh, you’re blushing,” lara teases, grinning.

“shut up,” she says again, but it’s playful, and you can see it on her.

“okay,” you say, standing and pointing at them, “seriously, get out. we’re not performing for you!”

“nope,” daniela says flatly, still grinning. “we’re here for commentary.”

“finally god,” megan adds.

“guys,” manon mutters again, sounding defeated but amused, “please.”

lara crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “this time… seriously, just be done with the drama and go be together.”

you groan, looking at manon, who’s trying not to smile, and both of you finally sink back onto the couch, shaking your heads at the lot of them.

Results: Subject and counterpart reached consensus on engagement protocol. Status: RESOLVED.

guys writers block hit me like a mfing semi truck this holiday szn so apologies for the mini drought 💔 this was the only decent thing i was able to write, hope u likeyy

You shove your hands into your jacket sleeves, the night air biting just enough to keep you awake. Every step gives you more time to think, which is the worst possible outcome. You replay her saying I love you in the park, her voice steady like it didn’t cost her anything, like it didn’t rearrange your entire ribcage.

By the time you reach her building, you’re out of breath and irrationally annoyed at the architecture.

You hesitate in front of the door anyway.

Then it opens.

Manon’s there in an oversized hoodie, curls loose around her face, socked feet peeking out under the hem. She looks… soft. Disarmingly so.

“You look like you fought the campus and lost,” she says.

“Your dorm is evil,” you reply. “I nearly turned back out of spite.”

She smiles, small and real, and steps aside. “But you didn’t.”

You shrug, like it doesn’t matter. Like your heart isn’t pounding. “You promised Twilight.”

She lets you in, the door clicking shut behind you, sealing the space, quiet, warm, charged.

“I did,” she says. Then, softer, like she’s afraid of scaring you off, “And I promised myself I wouldn’t mess this up.”

That does something to you. Something dangerous.

You kick off your shoes, following her inside, already knowing, this night is going to be worse than the walk.

Her dorm is dim, lit only by a desk lamp and the glow of her laptop already paused on the Twilight title screen. The room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, her. You clock everything instinctively, the neatly stacked books, the cardigan folded over her chair, the little mess she pretends not to have.

You hover near the door like you might bolt.

Manon notices. Of course she does.

“You can sit,” she says gently, patting the edge of her bed. “I’m not gonna bite. Unless you want me too.”

You snort despite yourself and sit, leaving a very intentional gap between you. She sits too, mirroring the space, like she’s respecting something unspoken.

For a moment, neither of you presses play.

“I meant what I said,” she starts, eyes fixed on the laptop like it’s safer than looking at you. “At the park.”

Your chest tightens. “Manon—”

“I know,” she cuts in quickly, then exhales. “I know I don’t get to just say it and expect to be okay. I’ve been… bad at this. At us. At you.”

You laugh under your breath, bitter. “Bad is one word.”

“I push when I’m scared,” she says. “And I get cruel when I care too much. Which is fucked up, I know.”

You finally look at her. Her hands are clasped tight in her lap, knuckles pale.

“I didn’t think you’d love me back,” she admits. “I thought if I kept you at arm’s length, I’d be the one with control.”

“And now?” you ask quietly.

She turns. Those stupid, devastating doe eyes meet yours. “Now I’m terrified because you know everything and you still showed up.”

You swallow. Hard.

“I showed up because you said Twilight,” you say weakly.

She huffs a soft laugh. “Liar.”

The silence stretches again, heavy but not sharp. The movie still hasn’t started.

“You don’t have to stay,” Manon says, voice barely above a whisper. “If this is too much. I’ll understand.”

That hurts worse than anything she’s said before.

You shake your head. “No. I’m just… scared you’ll wake up tomorrow and decide this was a mistake.”

She reaches out, hesitates, then lets her pinky brush yours.

“I wake up every day scared you’ll realize I’m not worth the trouble,” she says. “Guess we’re even.”

Your fingers curl around hers anyway.

“Play the movie,” you say. “Before I chicken out.”

She smiles, really smiles this time, and presses play. The opening music swells, cheesy and dramatic and perfectly timed.

Ten minutes in, neither of you is watching the screen.

Your shoulder touches hers.

And neither of you pulls away.

Edward is brooding on the screen, saying something impossibly serious, and you barely hear it.

Manon shifts first, slow, like she’s afraid of spooking you, and pulls the comforter up over both of your laps. The fabric brushes your thigh. You go still.

“Is this okay?” she asks quietly, not looking at you.

You nod. “Yeah.”

Five minutes pass. Then another. The tension doesn’t break so much as melt. Your breathing syncs without either of you noticing. When you finally lean back, your head tips just enough to rest against her shoulder.

Manon freezes.

You feel it. The way her body goes rigid like she doesn’t trust herself.

“…Manon,” you murmur, “if you’re gonna freak out, do it now.”

She exhales a shaky laugh. “I’m not freaking out. I’m internally screaming.”

Her shoulder relaxes under your cheek. She shifts again, just slightly, until your head fits better there, like she’s done this in her imagination a hundred times and is finally allowed to follow the muscle memory.

On screen, Bella trips over nothing.

Manon snorts, then immediately clamps a hand over her mouth like she can’t believe she just did that. The sound vibrates through you, warm and intimate.

“You’re laughing,” you say, teasing.

“Don’t get used to it.”

You tilt your head to look up at her. “Too late.”

Her smile falters, not in a bad way. In a soft way.

“I really hurt you,” she says suddenly.

The movie keeps playing. Neither of you pauses it.

“Yes,” you answer honestly.

She nods, swallowing. “I don’t know how to undo that.”

“You don’t have to undo it,” you say. “Just… don’t do it again.”

Her eyes shine in the low light. “I can try. I’m bad at promises, but I’m good at effort.”

“That’s all I want,” you say. Then, quieter, “I just want to feel chosen.”

Manon turns fully toward you now. The comforter shifts. Your knees bump.

“I choose you,” she says. No theatrics. No attitude. Just truth. “Even when I act like an asshole. Even when I’m scared. I choose you.”

Your throat tightens.

“You can’t say stuff like that and expect me to be normal,” you whisper.

She lifts her hand, hovering near your face like she’s asking permission without words. You lean in instead, closing the distance for her.

Your foreheads touch.

Her breath stutters. “You’re not drunk this time.”

“Unfortunately.”

She laughs softly, then grows serious again. “Can I…?”

You nod.

Her lips brush yours, barely there. A question more than a kiss. When you don’t pull away, she kisses you again, deeper this time, careful and reverent like she’s afraid you might break.

You melt anyway.

When you pull back, your nose bumps hers.

“Manon,” you whisper, “this is doomed, isn’t it?”

She smiles sadly. “Probably.”

You kiss her again anyway.

Behind you, Edward is still brooding.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of you feels alone.

Manon keeps her hands on your waist, steady, careful, like she’s anchoring herself there on purpose. She doesn’t let them wander, doesn’t tighten her grip, just rests them there like a promise she’s afraid to break.

You notice.

Of course you do.

It makes your chest ache in a way that’s almost unbearable.

Her kisses are soft, too soft for someone who’s always been all sharp edges and attitude. They’re slow, unhurried, like she’s giving you time to pull away if you want to. Like she’s saying I won’t take more than you give me.

You don’t pull away.

Instead, you melt into her without meaning to, your hands fisting lightly in the fabric of her hoodie. She hums quietly against your mouth at that, the sound so small and vulnerable it feels like a secret.

“Is this okay?” she murmurs between kisses, forehead resting against yours.

“Yes,” you breathe. “God, yes.”

Her thumbs brush your sides, barely there, and that’s all it takes for your knees to weaken. She feels it immediately and adjusts, guiding you back against the bed, still slow, still gentle, like she’s handling something precious.

“I don’t want to scare you,” she says softly.

You laugh, shaky. “You’re literally doing the opposite.”

That makes her smile, real this time.

She kisses you again, a little longer now, a little warmer, and you swear you could stay right here forever: her hands respectful on your waist, her lips moving like she’s afraid this might be the last time she’s allowed to touch you.

When you pull back, you rest your forehead against hers.

“You know,” you whisper, “this is the nicest you’ve ever been to me.”

She exhales a laugh through her nose. “Don’t tell anyone. Ruins my image.”

You smile, soft and tired and so in love it scares you.

And this time, when she kisses you again, she doesn’t hesitate at all.

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