#serapphine

The tour bus is quieter than usual tonight.

Most of the lights are off, the only shine coming from the dim lamps above the seats and the passing streetlights sliding across the windows. The light sound of the road fills the silence as the bus moves steadily through the dark, somewhere between the cities passing by. A few people are asleep in the bunks. Someone left a half-empty water bottle rolling slowly on the table every time the bus shifts lanes. Another left a opened bag of chips, just lying there.

You sit near the back, awake, unable to sleep, phone in your hand, but not really looking at it.

A few seats ahead, Megan is there–but not really there. 

Her hood pulled up, headphones on, staring out the window as she had been for the start of the tour. Every time you try to catch her eye these days, she looks away first. Every time the group gathers somewhere, she somehow ends up on the opposite side of the room from you. And sometimes, even at most–she doesn’t show up at all.

It wasn’t like this before.

Before the tour, the two of you were always the last ones leaving rehearsals. Late nights in the studio, arguing about melodies, laughing over stupid things, sharing earbuds while listening back to demos. 

Now? She barely says a few words to you unless someone else is around.

Everyone else on the bus is asleep or dozing off. It only ever seems that the two of you stayed awake at this hour. When the night is dark and when the space is quiet, it feels like it’s just the two of you–even when you don’t force it.

Sometimes you feel like you’re burning up around her.

You watch her for a second longer than you mean to.

Something in your chest tightens.

You stand up.

You steady yourself on the floor as the bus moves, already walking towards her. A few steps closer, and the silence in between suddenly feels heavier than the whole bus.

You study her. The way you’ve caught yourself doing more and more lately. The way she sits slightly toward the window, like she’s trying to take up less space. The way she looks tired, not the kind that sleep can fix, something different.

Heavier even.

Megan used to be energetic. She used to be the one bringing the energy, the most vibes. She’d make everyone laugh just by being herself. Would talk all night until the sun came up, and everyone would listen to her without a complaint.

Now, the bus is filled with silence.

She doesn’t notice you right away.

Or maybe she does–and pretends not to.

The thought hurts more than you’d like to admit.

And then–she finally looks at you. Eyes impossible to ignore. Mouth hanging opened slightly as if she wasn’t expecting you. As if the two of you agreed to remain apart unless it was for the band. Act as if there was nothing between you–even your friendship.

You swallow, the lump in your throat catching like it’s trying to remind you of all the unspoken words. You watch Megan shift slightly, but it’s not toward you–just the faintest adjustment, as if to remind you that the boundary is still there–the boundary you were never informed of. Just there, hidden quietly, like she expects you to be okay with this.

You don’t speak right away. Just seeing her close up after what has felt like forever feels almost too much to handle.

Then again, she’s still her.

You’re still you.

You hated this tension. The way your nerves feel like it’s about to break when she’s near. How she wouldn’t even try to notice you unless you’re up this close. You hated the way things are now.

You don’t even know why.

Megan tries to look away from you. Still standing, still there. Her mouth hangs open as if she were about to say something, and then her lips form a thin line, like she were holding herself back. Her face tries to hide it, but you know her all too well not to notice it.

“You’re still awake,” You say. Quiet enough that she almost misses it, loud enough because it’s you who’s talking that wakes her up.

She swallows, her hesitancy clearer than the day itself.

Megan nods, struggling to hold your stare, “Yeah.” She keeps it short, taking out an earbud.

“Can I sit here?” You ask. Normally, you wouldn’t even have to ask, but that was before.

Her body physically freezes–the subtle act has your heart clenching. 

“Sure,” she says, voice soft, careful, still staring straight ahead. It’s not like she was going to say no. 

You knew she wouldn’t, when you knew that would just confirm the awkwardness that settles in between you.

You got into the seat next to her. It’s still quiet, perhaps even more awkward than before. Neither of you speaks, the silence settling into an uncomfortable quietness. It used to be comfortable. Sometimes words weren’t needed, but now, it felt like this silence needed saving.

Megan stares out the window once you sit down, as if she wasn’t bothered to even start a conversation. You exhaled quietly, trying to hide how tense you are. Maybe doing this was a mistake, no matter how simple it may seem.

You glance at her from the corner of your eye, careful not to make it obvious. She doesn’t glance at you, doesn’t move anymore, doesn’t give a single hint that she knows you’re there–though you know she does. Her face is lit in the soft glow of the passing streetlights, eyes staring into the dark road outside. 

Your fingers drum lightly against your leg, a nervous habit you hadn’t noticed until now. You wonder if she’s thinking about the same things you are, or if your presence is already fading into the background of her mind–maybe she’s trying to pretend you aren’t really there. You can’t read her as easily when she’s this quiet.

“It’s late,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Megan doesn’t respond, just hums softly beneath her breath, a sound too faint to register as words. The small noise makes your eye heavy, and you realize how much you’ve been missing these tiny, unnoticed moments–the little pieces of her that existed before the distance grew between you.

She’s still staring out the window, jaw tight, fingers curled loosely in her lap. A faint sigh escapes her, though you don’t dare to look at her. You wonder if she even notices your hand resting close to hers, the small, meaningless distance between that feels huge right now.

You don’t bother to try talking to her again when you know she’ll just give you a short answer. You thought of getting up and going back to your old seat, but not until she suddenly grabs your hand.

Your heart clenches.

Megan turns to you, a small–almost sad smile appears.

It doesn’t help the ache in your chest.

She doesn’t say anything, her hand gentle on yours. She turns back to stare into the window without a word, your face away from hers.

You don’t move, don’t pull your hand away, even though every instinct in you wants to, and the other part of you begs to hold her hand even tighter. It’s almost unbearable how normal it feels and how impossible it is at the same time.

“Don’t say anything.” She mutters, head still turned away from your own, her hand clenching tighter around yours.

You exhale shakily with a nod, almost without thinking, because saying anything feels wrong. Instead, without words, your thumb brushes lightly over hers, careful–slow even.

Her hand nearly twitches at the contact. You can even feel her shudder just by the subtle act. You don’t question it, you don’t say anything. Just as she asked.

When minutes turn into hours, Megan still won’t let go of your hand.

Even when your eyes begin to feel heavy, you eventually fall asleep.

You don’t even feel the way she gently pushed your head onto her shoulder, letting you sleep on her, no matter how much the ache in her shoulder will hurt by the morning.

You fell asleep, believing that things were finally going to get better.

You were wrong.

The rehearsal room is already loud when you walk in. The amps humming, cables messily scattered across the floor, someone testing the drums in uneven bursts. It smells like coffee and dust.

Megan is already there.

She’s sitting on a stool near her amp, guitar resting against her leg, fingers slowly picking through a melody while she looks down at the fretboard. She’s focused, prepared, even. Like she always gets during rehearsals

Maybe she’ll look up. Maybe she’ll remember last night. Maybe there’ll be some small sign–something only the two of you would understand.

And yet, nothing.

She doesn’t glance over. Doesn’t pause. Doesn’t even seem to notice you walked in.

You try not to let it affect you.

You keep telling yourself that it doesn’t.

Or at least, try to.

You walk towards your microphone anyway, standing in front–someone laughs across the room, the sound of a guitar being plugged in, and everything seemed normal.

“Are we running the bridge first?” Lara asks, fixing her bass. 

“Yeah, that part’s still messy,” Daniela’s voice answers shortly after.

It wasn’t until Megan began to speak that you woke up. “We should start from the chorus instead. It’s easier.”

And even then, she doesn’t look at you.

She busies herself with fixing the tune of her guitar or keeps her head low unless someone other than you speaks out to her.

You grip the microphone a little tighter, copying her as you stare at the floor for a second before lifting your head.

“Okay.” You say after a while, “Whenever you’re ready.”

And when Megan finally plays the first chord, she still doesn’t look at you.

Your voice comes in a few seconds. You’re steady, the lyrics flow out with ease. You’re used to this, being professional. This is what you loved doing the most.

But you’re distracted.

Megan’s guitar cuts through the rehearsal. It goes smoothly for the first part. Having played the song a thousand times now, it should be easy–until a sour note snaps through the chord.

You keep singing, assuming she’ll correct it.

Then it happens again. The second time.

Her fingers tremble across the strings of her guitar, the rhythm breaks through with an ugly sound before she immediately stops playing. She lowers her guitar, adjusting it awkwardly.

You lower the microphone slightly as the room falls quiet for a moment.

“Again,” someone from the couch says.

Megan nods once and starts the chord over. It lasts longer this time. The first half of the song plays out. Your voice begins to slip back in, your eyes closing, feeling the music, the melody building again–

Then another mistake.

The guitar stutters awkwardly, the chord breaking halfway through.

This time, the music stops completely.

You open your eyes.

One of the producers leans forward, hand rubbing his forehead, staring at Megan with an obvious frown. “Meg, that’s the third time.”

She freezes. Humiliation and shame slowly creep up.

“I know,” she mutters.

“That part isn’t even complicated,” He continued, not yelling, but clearly annoyed. “You literally wrote the riff.”

Awkwardness seems into the atmosphere.

Your grip on the microphone tightens as you glance over at her. You watch the way Megan’s jaw clenches, her fingers pressing harder against the fretboard like she’s trying to keep them steady. Or more so–herself.

“I said I know,” She repeats, firmer this time. Louder, clearly frustrated.

No one argues.

Just complete silence, unusual for a rehearsal like this.

Lara, just a step behind you, clears her throat, “How about a ten-minute break, yeah?” She suggests.

Not everyone notices, but you do when you hear a shaky inhale from behind. She finally looks up after an hour of shooting holes into the floor with her eyes, but not at you.

Her jaw tightens further, “No.” She exhales harshly, “I’m fine.”

She adjusts the strap on her guitar, her posture straightening. She stretches her arms for a bit like she’s trying to appear calm.

“From the top.”

Megan doesn’t look at anyone as she repositions her fingers on the guitar. Her fingers are still trembling, but she cannot afford to make yet another mistake. This rehearsal was important. It was only the first song.

“Ready?” Lara asks quietly from behind you. The microphone in your hand lifts.

She nods, and everyone starts playing.

The chord comes through with a sharper edginess this time. Your voice cuts through the rhythm a few seconds later, and the lyrics are implanted in your mind.

It was working for a while. The first verse passes, your voice and the music blending in well, then the next line comes out smoothly, too. The rhythm steadies, and you almost start to believe she’s gotten it under control.

Until the chorus hits.

The guitar slips again–just slightly, but enough.

A wrong note hits hard within the beat. Everyone catches it, but she doesn’t stop. Not this time.

However, your voice falters for half a second before you force yourself to keep going. She pushes through it, her playing a little too hard now, the chords a little off than they should be. As if she’s trying to outrun the mistake.

For the first time during the entire rehearsal, it’s then that she finally glances at you.

That’s when yet another mistake cuts in.

Harsher, more obvious than the last. One she can’t outrun.

Megan’s eyes become frantic.

Her eyes flicker across the room for a second, avoiding everyone until they land somewhere near the floor again. Her jaw tightens, fingers loosening their grip on the guitar neck.

She swallows.

“Can we take five?” she says quietly. “Just–” another swallow, “–five minutes.”

Your manager cuts in, “Yeah, of course.”

Megan doesn’t wait for anything else.

She slips the guitar strap off her shoulder, settling the guitar down and turns away, heading toward the hallway without looking at anyone–especially not at you.

Your first thought was to follow her.

You knew that would be the last thing she would want–assuming so from the way she’s acting towards you. 

But your feet move before you can talk yourself out of it.

The microphone sets back into place as you try to make it subtler than it seems. Everyone else was already shifting into the break, getting snacks, checking their phones, and having conversations.

You slip away without anyone noticing.

Your feet move fast.

You walk into the hallway, and it’s quiet, but a sound can easily be echoed.

Megan walks ahead of you. You’re already catching up to her when her movements quicken. Her shoulders are tense, her breath heaving in uneven rhythms.

She walks faster, and so do you.

“Don’t follow me.” She grunts, her hands forming a fist, still walking as her nails dig into her skin like she’s trying to stop herself from doing something she might regret.

You’re too stubborn. Without a word, you kept following her.

You thought there was no ending in this hallway–especially when she only keeps walking faster. You shouldn’t be doing this. You know she hates being followed like this. You know she hates confrontation. You know she’s shutting you out. You know she’s avoiding you.

But you can’t stop.

You finally speak, still following her. “Megan–”

She abruptly stops. So quick that you almost bump into her.

From behind, you see the way her shoulders move quickly, her breathing unsteady. Hands clenched so hard it almost looks like they’re about to burst. She lifts her head, staring at the ceiling, letting in a sharp inhale.

It’s all too quick. Too quick that even how slow she turned around to face you, wasn’t enough time to register what she did next.

Megan grabs hold of both of your arms, pushing you until your back hits the wall.

The impact knocks the air out of you for a moment, your back pressed too hard against the wall. Her hands are tight on your arms, fingers digging into your skin so that it could leave marks, and her chest heaves as she stares at you with eyes wide and frantic.

Her breath hits your lips. She’s so close. You’ve never been this up close to her. It takes all your breath away.

You don’t dare to say a word. Your mind goes blank, caught between the urge to reach for her and the other half to stay put.

Then, Megan says lowly, “Don’t–” a trembling exhale falls out, “Don’t follow me.”

She means it this time.

You feel the fear in her through the skin of her hands, the uneven rise and fall of her chest, the way her jaw is so tight it might burst. It’s not just anger–maybe it is. Or maybe it’s everything bottled up inside her. The frustration, fear, or exhaustion. You realize that, for all your stubbornness, she’s on the edge, and pushing her any further might end up being her breaking point.

She doesn’t say anything else. She just stays close, like she’s waiting for you to obey, or nod, or any confrontation that you won’t follow her any longer.

But you don’t move. You can’t.

Her stare bores into you, like she can see every fear, every truth that lies within your eyes.

The hallway feels impossibly small, the lights glaring over the two of you, and you know–you know–that following her any further isn’t about stubbornness anymore.

When you don't say a word, she pulls back. And you’re suddenly already missing the warmth, the pressure, the closeness–it all vanishes instantly. Your chest ached for the slightest of her presence, despite how nervous it made you.

Megan takes a step back, eyes never leaving your own.

Your throat tightens when she begins to walk away.

“Are you serious?” The words come out of your mouth faster than you could have prevented. It echoes against the walls of the hallway.

Megan pauses. She doesn’t turn around, not yet at least. Though her head turns to the side, like she’s thinking if it’s even worth answering you.

Your voice strains, trembling underneath your breath. You try to hide the tension beneath it, but it is too obvious that this is affecting you. “You can’t just keep doing this.”

Slowly, she turns back to face you. Her expression hardens instantly, eyes glaring into you with something sharper than a knife.

“And what am I exactly doing?” She spits, but the shakiness in her voice betrays her.

You push yourself off the wall, and frustration finally lashes out over you. “Acting like I’m not even here. Like we didn’t–” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “Like none of this matters.”

Megan turns back to face you. Her hands aren’t clenched like they were before, but they were trembling, if not–worse than before.

Her voice is low, “Because it doesn’t.”

Your chest tightens.

But you know she doesn’t mean it. 

Especially when she won’t even look into your eyes.

“That’s because it’s easy for you to say,” You bite back, “You’re avoiding me, and you won’t even tell me why.”

“I’m not–” Her voice rises, and then quiets down like she’s already given up, “I’m not avoiding you.”

You laugh, but nothing about this was funny. “Megan, you literally just told me not to follow you.”

You watch the way her shoulders begin to tense again, as if the sound of your laugh hits somewhere it shouldn’t. Somewhere she wasn’t meant to feel. The sound of her breathing is the only thing that fills the silence. You’re not sure if you can take it anymore.

“I didn’t mean–” She sighs, a hand combing through her strands, “I didn’t mean it like that.” She mutters, eyes looking everywhere but at you.

You knew that was complete bullshit.

“So what do you call it?” You step closer to her, and she takes a step back, as if it hurts being close to you. “Do you know how this even makes me feel? You won’t even talk to me, you don’t look at me, and when I try to fix it, you won’t even give me the chance.”

Her eyes finally lift to yours.

For a moment, she just stares–like she’s searching for something in your face. Something she can read from. And still, she just can’t.

“You think this is easy for me?” she says quietly.

You scoff. “You know I don’t mean it like that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Her voice shakes, and she presses her lips together in a thin line like she’s trying to stop it from trembling. “You think I’m just ignoring you for no reason.”

“Then give me a reason,” You tell her, your voice is softer now but no less desperate. “Megan, I’m asking you to talk to me.”

Megan pauses.

She looks away from you.

“I can’t.” Is all she says before she’s turning around you. You face her back again as she begins to leave.

This time you don’t follow. You can’t even bear to watch the back of her figure slowly becoming smaller as she descends into the halls.

And somewhere in the quiet, a small part of you just knew that this wasn’t over. That even though she pushed you away this time, it’s only a matter of time before you two will have to confront it.

You just don’t know when it’ll happen.

The tour finally begins. But right before your first concert starts, preparation–including interviews have already begun.

The room is crowded with cameras, lights, and all sorts of people moving around with clipboards. A producer adjusts the microphones clipped to each of your shirts while another person signals for everyone to sit closer together on the couch.

“Alright, we’re rolling in five,” Another producer says from behind the camera.

Your posture straightens, and you’re sitting at the end of the couch closest to the interviewer. You try to seem composed, even when your chest just can’t erase that ache inside of you.

Especially with everything that’s been going on. The music, the tour, the band. You’re put under so much pressure.

And what’s worse is that you can’t talk about it, not anymore. Not when the person you needed the most needed you to stay as far away as possible.

Megan sits on the other end of the couch.

Not right next to you. Not even close enough for your knees to accidentally bump as they used to during interviews. Your band members, Lara and Daniela, sit between you two. All of you are trying to display an image that no longer feels the same.

You flinch slightly when the red light on the camera turns on.

The interviewer smiles brightly. “We’re here with the band right before the start of their tour. First off–how are you all feeling ahead of the very first show?” He smiles, leaning against his desk, glancing at the crowd, then at the band.

Lara answers with an easy laugh, “Excited. Although we’re all nervous since this is our very first tour–” The crowd began to cheer loudly. “We’re grateful that we’re able to share our music with the world.”

All of you smiled, agreeing with her. The interview flows smoothly, with some adding quick comments about rehearsals, long nights, and finally being ready to perform again.

It isn’t until it’s your turn to speak, your back straightening. 

You force a smile, “It doesn’t feel real yet.” You made it short, your nerves beyond the roof.

The interviewer laughs. “That’s fair.” Then the question shifts down the couch.

“Megan? What about you?”

For a moment, she doesn’t answer.

Your eyes glance toward her before you can stop yourself.

Megan hasn’t said anything. Her hands are tight, clasping together, burning holes into them as if she hasn’t even realized it was her turn to answer the question. Lara nudges her by the elbow, urging her to quickly answer before it becomes awkward.

She finally looks up, the bright lights almost catching her off guard.

“Ready,” She says simply.

She stays professional. Unusually calm. Normally, she’d be the one to make mistakes to laugh off about, or say jokes here and there.

But there was nothing.

The interviewer smiles, but it seemed a little forced by the blatant answer. “Would you like to expand on that?” He asks politely.

Her fingers loosen slightly from that, shifting awkwardly on the couch.

“I mean,” Megan sighs, her voice steady but quieter than normal, “We’ve been preparing for this tour for months.” She glances briefly down the couch at the rest of the band. “So I think we’re all just really excited to finally perform again.”

Safe answer.

Normally, she’d be the one to almost spill out all the hints of new comebacks and songs they have been rehearsing.

But it was just simple. 

Nothing like the Megan everyone usually expects.

The interviewer nods, though you can still see the curiosity seeping into his expression. As if he and everyone else are noticing the difference, too.

“Well,” He says, “ your fans have been talking about this tour nonstop.” He laughs when the crowd wildly cheers again. “Especially after your last release. What can they expect from the shows?”

Lara leans forward instantly, hands gripping the edge of her dress like it’ll stop her excitement. She answers first. “Literally everything.” The crowd goes wild again.

Her grin widens, “I mean, we’re stepping it up now. New arrangements, new songs–”

“–so much more energy than last time,” Daniela adds, agreeing.

The conversation becomes more lively again. Just the cheers from the crowd, the laughter from the band, and the interviewer as the conversation leads into discussions of rehearsals, outfits, and more music release dates.

But through it all, you can still feel it.

The distance.

Even sitting only a few feet away, Megan still feels impossibly far.

You hated that.

At one point, the interviewer looks down the couch again.

“And you two,” He adds, pointing at you and Megan, leaning forward, “the fans always say your stage chemistry is insane. Does performing together feel different on tour?”

You freeze, the question you hadn’t expected.

Across the couch, Megan goes completely still.

And for the first time since the interview started, she finally looks directly at you.

You force a small laugh, leaning forward slightly so the hesitation doesn’t look as obvious on camera.

“Well,” You start, shrugging a little, “We’ve been performing together for a long time. So at this point it’s pretty natural to us.”

The interviewer hums thoughtfully, clearly expecting more from your answer.

Megan glances at the floor, unsure how to respond. For a moment, it looks like she might stay quiet again, maybe ignore the question and hope the interviewer moves on. 

Then she clears her throat.

“I think the tour makes us stronger,” Megan says.

Everyone turns to look at her–even you.

She still doesn’t look at you

“When you’re performing the same songs every night, you start to understand each other’s timing more. Little things. Like when someone’s about to move or change something on stage.”

Her fingers tap lightly against her knee as she talks, like she’s focusing on that instead of anything else.

“It just becomes instinct after a while.”

The interviewer nods, clearly pleased with the answer. “So it’s almost like a rhythm between you two.”

You swallow.

Megan gives a small shrug. “I guess you could say something like that.”

A few people laugh, the moment loosening again as the attention changes away from the two of you. You finally felt like breathing after being put in such an odd question, one that made you feel too nervous.

It doesn’t help that Megan glances towards you again.

Barely for a second, you almost miss it.

It doesn’t last, not before she turns back towards the cameras and the interviewer. Acting as if nothing happened. 

Acting as if her answer didn’t sound like a total lie to you.

Because what she had said might’ve been true in the past, but it’s not the way things are now. You knew it, she did too.

Your hands clasp together, trying to pull yourself. But it seems nothing is working to calm down your nerves. You fumble with the ends of your dress slightly, not before Daniela places a hand on top of your knee. She sees your struggle and gives you a small, assuring smile.

Your face turns back to the interviewer before you could’ve caught the glance Megan makes when Daniela’s hand was on your skin.

The interviewer flips his card over, scanning the next question.

“Okay,” He brings back the conversation, smiling at this new question on the card, “These questions are from the fans.”

“Uh oh.” Lara laughs.

He smiles, shaking his head. “It’s nothing bad, guys.” He laughs again, “The fans want to know what song you're most excited to perform on the tour?”

The question moves down the couch again.

One by one, everyone answers.

When the question leads to you, you answer almost instantly. Naming one of the popular tracks on the album that has the crowd cheering loudly.

It’s only when the interviewer turns to Megan again that she pauses.

She doesn’t look up right away, as if she were thinking hard for a perfect answer.

After a few long seconds, she looks up, glancing at the crowd.

“The last one,” Megan says.

Everyone turns their head towards her. “The last one?” the interviewer repeats.

She nods. “Yeah. The closing song.”

“And why that one?”

For the first time in the interview, Megan actually smiles.

“Because by then,” she says, “you can feel everything.”

“It’s the kind of song that hits everything all at once. Everyone feels it.” She adds, “The adrenaline in our energy, the crowd too.”

“It’s at that point that I truly feel free.”

Her voice stays calm, but there’s something quieter under it.

“By the end of the show, there’s nothing left to hide.”

Your chest aches again.

Because this time when she says it,

Megan’s already looking straight at you.

It’s the first concert of the tour.

You never thought this day would come so soon.

Backstage is complete chaos. Your staff members rush past with headsets, someone calls for a lighting check, and the distant scream of the crowd leaks through the thick curtains like a living thing.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

Not from nerves.

At least–not entirely.

Across the floor, Megan is stretching near one of the equipment cases. A guitar tech says something to her, but she barely reacts, only nodding once as she adjusts the guitar strap over her shoulder.

You haven’t talked since the time of the interview until now.

She avoided you like the plague. Whenever you try to catch up to her, she leaves the room as if she were never there. When you sit next to her for interviews or rehearsals, she’s immediately tensed without you having to do anything.

You hated how confusing she was.

You hate the way the two of you are now.

Your manager yells loudly that, even through the screams of the fans, you hear it. “Two minutes, everybody! I repeat, two minutes!”

The band began to gather near the entrance of the stage. Daniela fixes her chair in front of the drums. Lara, a step behind to your left, fixes her bass. The screams of the crowd grow louder, as if they knew the concert was going to start any second now.

Lara normally throws an arm around someone’s shoulder and yells something dumb like “don’t be stupid.”

It still happens, you still gather around, letting the adrenaline fill your veins.

But something about tonight feels off.

You feel it most when Megan steps into the circle.

For a moment, your shoulders almost brush. She pulls back before they can.

No one else seems to notice. Nobody but you.

Daniela begins with the pep talk. “Okay, guys,” She claps excitedly, “This is the first show of the tour.”

You all cheer.

“Try not to mess this up, yeah?”

Everyone laughs, smiling. Too excited to feel anything else but happiness.

The stage manager steps in quickly, “Alright, everyone, we’re good to go.”

Everyone gets into their positions. You stand in the front, the microphone stand within your reach.

You take a slow breath, trying to center yourself.

This moment has always felt the same before every show–the anticipation, the adrenaline, the rush right before everything begins.

But tonight something else sits underneath it.

You glance to your side without meaning to.

Megan stands a few feet away, her guitar resting against her hip as she rolls her shoulders back once. Her head is tilted slightly down, dark strands of hair falling into her face while she adjusts the strap.

She almost looks completely calm, but you know her well enough to know that she’s probably screaming in her mind right now.

She feels your stare, enough to make her look up. Your eyes meet hers. The act lasts barely a second.

Just long enough for something tight to twist your heart in your chest.

Megan looks away before the curtains open.

The show starts.

You step forward naturally, gripping the microphone as the first chords blast out behind you. The drummer counts in, the bass kicks under it, and suddenly the song is alive.

Your voice comes in right on time.

You’ve performed this song hundreds of times before–every movement rehearsed, every word sang perfectly in between the lines. The crowd screams the lyrics back almost immediately, hands raised, phones glowing like scattered stars across the arena.

It should feel normal. It should feel easy. And you believe it does.

Mostly.

But you’re still aware of her.

Her presence, her being. She as a whole.

Megan won’t look at you, not even once during the first song. But knowing her presence, knowing that she’s there but won’t even pretend to acknowledge you–still hurts.

You walk around at the front of the stage, feeding off the energy, pointing the microphone towards the audience so they can scream the lyrics back.

The crowd doesn’t hesitate.

You live for this. The music, the fans, this band of yours. You thought it would be enough.

And yet, you still couldn’t shake off the tightness in your chest.

They shout the words back at you, thousands of voices rising together until it almost drowns out the music behind you. The sound vibrates through your chest, through the floor beneath your boots.

Normally, this is the part that makes everything disappear. The stress. The exhaustion. Everything outside the stage lights.

Tonight, it doesn’t.

Because every time you move across the stage, you know exactly where she is.

You don’t even have to look anymore.

Song after another. By the time you reached the fourteenth and final song. Your voice is a little sore, but it doesn’t stop the adrenaline you still have inside.

“Alright,” You yell at the crowd, your voice hoarse, “This is our last song for tonight, let’s make it the best. Yeah?”

The crowd screams, and the final song starts.

The opening notes flow out slowly, softer than the other songs before it. You bring the microphone closer to your lips as the first verse begins.

For the first part of the song, everything goes the way it always does. The band falls into the rhythm, the crowd is still energetic, even until the very end.

The crowd begins to jump crazily once the beat drops, your voice nearly straining from the pressure, but you keep going. Your hand clenches your chest as if the beat of the song moves you, knowing that it aches for an entirely different reason.

But then something shifts, you notice in the corner of your eye.

Megan.

She’s pacing around the stage with her guitar, feeling the music within her.

Her guitar hangs low, braced with her hip, the strap across her shoulder as her fingers keep playing like it’s second nature. Her steps grow closer to you. Subtle, but purposeful, like she knows exactly what she’s trying to do.

She moves towards you.

Your voice breaks in between a line. Thankfully, nobody notices but you.

But not Megan.

The crowd probably thinks it’s just part of the performance–something dramatic for the final song.

But when Megan finally stops in front of you, you realize tonight was different.

She’s closer than usual. Closer than she’s ever been with you that it nearly catches your breath.

Her head tilts up slightly as she keeps playing, the stage lights displaying her face beautifully. She’s still staring straight at you.

Not like the glances from earlier. Not the accidental looks you both pretended didn’t happen.

This time it’s direct. Intense. Something you can’t name.

Your fingers tremble around the microphone, your grip tightens against it.

You feel as if it were just the two of you on the stage.

Just you.

And her.

Megan’s fingers move across the strings, hitting every note perfectly, but her attention never leaves you. Her expression is unreadable, something hidden behind her eyes as the music swells around you.

Without you even realizing it, you take a step closer. And she doesn’t move away.

Neither of you wanted to look away.

You won’t look away.

She’s staring at you like you were the only one in the room. Her gaze is too emotional for you, like it’s tearing her apart from being so far, yet so close to you. It’s like her heart pulls and pushes whenever you’re near, and still, she won’t look away, even if it hurts to stare into your eyes for far too long.

You begin to break. You don’t think you can keep up this act. The act of pretending everything was okay.

Megan feels it too, lips trembling underneath the stage lights.

And when your breath hits the final lines of the song, you don’t register the audience screaming as loud as ever. You don’t realize that your other band members began to scream with the crowd from the excitement. You stay frozen, stayed silent after the song because even now, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from her eyes.

Megan’s guitar lowers. It takes you a few seconds when you realize tears were filling up in the corner of her eyes, mouth hanging open as if she had so much to say to you at that moment. Fingers trembling as if she was inching closer just to hold you.

And before the crowd could see the true expression on her face, the pain, the heartbreak, the stage lights cut and the curtains rolled back.

The staff began walking up to the stage, and the audience voices blurred in the background. Everyone began clapping for the band, telling praises of kind words, and instructions.

But for a second, none of it reaches you.

You’re still standing where you were.

Still looking at Megan.

Her guitar hangs loosely in her hands now, forgotten against her side. The tears are still there, caught along her lashes, though she blinks quickly like she’s trying to pull herself back together before anyone notices.

But then someone walks between you–one of the crew members dragging a monitor across the stage–and the moment breaks.

Just like that.

Megan steps back.

She wipes quickly under one eye with the back of her hand, turning slightly away from the lights as if that alone will hide everything.

This time, she looks away.

Before you could confess everything you’ve been feeling for the past couple of months. It’s even till now, that she still won’t give you the chance because she’s already turning around, dropping her guitar, and walking off stage.

Fast. Fast enough that you could feel your heart shattering before you could save it from the heartbreak.

“Where’s Megan?” You breathed unevenly, pushing through the crowd of staff members towards your other bandmates.

Daniela and Lara turn around, looking at each other with a knowing look, then back at you.

“Didn’t she tell you?” Daniela said, “She went back to the recording studio.”

“What?” You huffed, “She’s not coming with us for dinner?”

Lara shakes her head, “No, not this time.”

You blink, trying to process it.

“Back to the studio?” you repeat, your voice sharper than intended. “After that?”

Daniela shrugs, almost apologetically. “She said she needed to–” She pauses, taking another glance at Lara, “–sort some things out. Said it couldn’t wait.”

Without another word, you grab your jacket and leave the venue. The night hits your face as you hurry toward a car, ignoring the crowd still lingering and screaming your name once you set foot outside.

The streets blur as you drive, and every red light and turn feels painfully long. You can’t bear waiting any longer. Your chest tightens with each passing block because you just couldn’t stop thinking about her–about the way she’d looked at you on stage, and then turned away as if it was nothing.

Finally, you reached the recording studio. The place you found the most comfort, a place you’d even call home, because you’re in here too often, knowing that a part of the reason why was already standing inside.

You park quickly, slamming the car door behind you, and walk toward the entrance, throat closing as soon as you open the door.

You stopped as soon as you saw her.

Megan’s back faces you, a normal sight to be faced with. 

She’s already in comfortable clothing–wearing a matching set of a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. Her hair is messier now, falling around her face while she leans over the desk.

She hasn’t registered your presence yet. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes tired, and yet, her fingers wouldn’t stop scribbling out lines and words in her notebook. The computer is on, as if she’s already creating a whole new set of songs, even right after the long and tiring concert you just had.

You watch her for another second. Then another.

She just keeps writing.

Something in you finally snaps.

The door slams behind you as you stomped over, making her flinch.

“Megan.” Your voice cuts sharply.

Megan’s hand stops instantly. The pen she’s holding against the paper halts at the sudden firmness of your voice. Clearly indicating you weren’t playing any games.

“You–” She starts, clearly caught off guard by your sudden burst.

But you don’t give her the chance to finish. You won’t

“You left,” You say, chest heaving, stepping further into the room. “You just walked off stage and disappeared.”

Megan pushes her chair back slightly, standing now, confusion mixing with the exhaustion on her face. “I didn’t think you’d–”

“No, of course you didn’t,” You cut her off again, frustrated. “Because apparently none of this matters enough for you to even say something first.”

Her face hardens from the accusation. “Stop.”

You don’t. “You were crying on stage, Megan.” Your voice rises despite yourself. “And then you just vanish and start writing songs like it didn’t happen?”

You take big steps towards her. Glancing at her, then at the notebook displayed on the table. You grab it before you–or Megan can stop you.

You showed the pages of lyrics, practically shoving them into her face, “You would rather write than talk to me? After all this time?”

Megan tries to take the notebook from your hands, but you lift it away before she can.

“Give it back.” She says lowly, firm, nearly furious.

Your breathing becomes uneven as you shake your head, glancing down at the pages. The lyrics are in messy handwriting, some scribbled, some crossed out as if they were rewritten, like she couldn’t get them right the first time.

The more you read the words, realization falls upon you.

You swallow hard.

And then anger slowly rises in your chest, mixed in with the ache she still left on your heart.

“You’re writing about someone standing across the stage,” You say, your voice trembling with each word. “About pretending nothing’s wrong while they’re singing to you.”

Megan’s jaw clenches.

“You think I wouldn’t recognize that?”

“Stop reading it,” She snaps.

But you flip another page. More lyrics. More lines. They were all clearly about you.

You let out a humorless laugh. “You wrote about tonight.”

“I said stop.”

“‘I keep my eyes on the strings so I don’t look at you.’” Your voice lowers as you read the line aloud. “You’re not even trying to hide it.”

Megan starts pacing around the small space of the room. Not before trying to grab the book from you the second time, only for you to pull it back into your chest.

“I can’t do this,” She breaks, rushing out the door.

You step in front of her instantly, “Then when?” Your voice raises, “If not now, then when?”

She doesn’t answer. Just stares at you. She’s finally looking at you after all this time, but the feeling doesn’t feel as pleasant as you thought it would be.

“You keep doing this to me.” You laugh, tearing up, “You run away from me right when I finally reach out to you. You run every time.”

“Because what is there to talk about–” She matches your laugh, neither of you thought this was funny. “You already read it–you already know.”

Your grip on the notebook tightens.

“Yeah,” You say simply. “And all it tells me is that you’d rather write songs about me than actually talk to me.”

Megan stares at you, eyes tearing up again, matching you. The sight breaking something in your heart.

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is this!” You scream, the words echoing slightly off the studio walls. “You stand there on stage looking like you’re about to fall apart just by looking at me, then you disappear, and the only way I find out what you’re feeling is through lyrics you never planned on showing me?”

“Fuck this.” She tries to push past you, but you won’t let her.

“No–” You hold her arms tightly. She tries to get out of your grip, but you won’t let her.

“I’m not going to talk about this with you–” She screams back. 

“And you’re the one saying this isn’t fair?” You say, “I’m the one trying to understand how you’re feeling, and you won’t even look at me–”

“I’m not fucking doing this–”

“So you’re going to leave, like you always do. That’s how you apparently work now.”

You laugh bitterly, “Go ahead, leave. I don’t care anymore, I don’t–”

Your words were cut off the second her lips pressed against yours.

You feel her immediately. Her hands are all over you, her palms pressing against the small skin you left on your back–before trailing her hands to your face. She cups your cheek, holding you tightly, her breath colliding with yours.

Your own hands reach out to her, somewhere digging your hand into the strands of her hair or tugging against the fabric of her hoodie.

Megan doesn’t think, just moves. She can’t think, not correctly as if all her senses were filled with you. All she could think of was you: your hair, your lips, your skin, your hands, the way you make her feel.

It’s desperate and fast as if she needed you before she could fall apart.

Her mouth opens, just in time for your tongue to slip in. You whimper at the contact, her throat swallowing the sound down. You feel her pushing you backwards until your back hits the edge of the table. A hand braces behind you against the table, while the other digs into her scalp. Your voice lets out another soft whimper when you feel her kissing down your neck, lower towards your collarbones, sucking on a small spot.

And then she leans back up, just enough to bury her face into the crook of your neck.

She stops, her hands grip the edges of the table, her arms at either side of your body as if she were holding herself back.

“Don’t stop what you started.” You whispered, kissing the side of her cheek. A smile appears on your face when you feel her cock hardening through her sweatpants, pressing up against the side of your thigh.

Megan shakes her head. Her clothes suddenly feel too tight on her, her hands clenching harder against the table. Her breath heaves in an uneven pace, too desperate, too overwhelmed from the sudden turn of events.

You cup her face, your thumb caressing the skin just as she begins talking. “If I fuck you–” She swallows when you begin kissing her jaw, cursing softly underneath her breath, “It should be at my place–I can take you there and–”

“No.” You say simply, sucking at the skin beneath her jawline. “You fuck me here, now.”

You suck harder, a moan slips past her lips. 

She hesitates. Not knowing exactly what to do, just feeling entirely nervous–and excited.

“You write all your feelings in here, so why not show them to me instead?”

She looks at you, then pauses.

And then she snaps.

She’s all over your mouth again, kissing you, nipping at your lips. She can’t get enough of how you feel, how you taste.

You bring her hand towards your breast, making her squeeze one of them through the fabric of your crop top. “Fuck.” You whimpered against her mouth.

You pull her more into your mouth. You’ve spent years just imagining how she’d taste. How she’d feel in your arms. And right now? It almost feels too good to be true.

“Touch me, Megan.” You leaned your forehead against hers, bringing her hand lower, trailing it down your breasts, your stomach, in between your thighs.

You both moan at the contact.

You’re wet, so fucking soaked. She feels it through the fabric of your tights. You’ve been waiting for this, waiting for her to touch you in this way. Your thighs press harder, trapping her hand in between.

Her cock twitches in her pants once she feels a gush of wetness.

“You need me that bad?” She whispers, pressing her palm harder against you. You nod, whimpering softly.

“Please.” You begged.

Megan leans in again, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, moving lower, kissing the top of each of your breasts before harshly pulling the tube top down. Your breasts bounced, her mouth already latching onto one of your nipples, swirling around it with her tongue.

“Oh fuck.” You sobbed, head thrown back.

She mouths at every inch of exposed skin. Your breasts, your neck, your jaw, even. Her spit drools at the corner of her mouth as she worships your body. Your scent and taste alone are driving her to the edge.

“You feel so good, so soft in my mouth.” She sighs, going back to your other tit, flicking your nipple into her mouth, loving the reactions you’d make. “So fucking good, so pretty for me.”

She lifts her head, just enough to take your top off completely. You watch her throw it away behind her, disregarded.

Megan goes on her knees, smiling as you’re whimpering when she hasn’t even touched you properly yet. She presses an open-mouth kiss to your pussy, still covered in fabric, just aching for her mouth on you.

“I wanna feel you in my mouth–” She sighs, hands already reaching towards the waistband of your pants, catching your panties with it as she drags the fabric lower. “Wanna make you cum with my mouth first.” Megan groans at the sight of your cunt. The cool air makes you tremble.

She tugs the pants and your underwear all the way off. A gasp leaves your lips once she pushes you on top of the glass table, the material cold underneath you. You’re completely naked now as she pulls your thighs up against your chest. 

She sees everything now.

Your cunt, glistening underneath the dim studio lights. Your entrance is already leaking a gush of wetness, like you’re already this eager to get fucked right. Your clit pulses, pink, sensitive, just aching for her mouth.

The way you’re staring at her already tells you what exactly you need. How much you needed her this badly.

Filthy, desperate. Just how she likes.

Her mouth’s finally on you.

She swirls your little nub with her tongue, flicking it back and forth.

Your legs tremble above the table, whimpering at how good her tongue feels around you. You begin grinding into her mouth before a hand reaches up, fingers pressing in hard.

“You don’t move unless I tell you to.” Another harsh suck– “Got it?”

You whimper, but you nod immediately.

“I-I’ll be good.” You swallow, biting back another sound from escaping once her mouth is back on you.

Megan’s tongue dips lower, slurping hazardously around your tight cunt, sucking in all the slick before shoving it inside of you.

You glance lower, staring at her face, as she shoves her face onto you. “P-Please–I need more–I w-want more–”

You cry out once her tongue moves inside of you, curling in softly, your pussy clenching around the soft muscle.

“M-Megan,” You stuttered. She responds with another curl of her tongue.

She feels too good. Just making sure every drop, everything you’d give her–she’ll swallow it down. 

You’re already getting closer. Your fingers are gripping the edge of the table even harder.

“Megan.” You said, louder this time. She hums around your clit, her lips wrapped around it as she tugs on it, before soothing it with her tongue. “You’re going to make me cum.”

She sucks harder.

Your legs begin to twitch, trembling around her face. “In my mouth–I’ll swallow every drop–” She licks in between your folds, “I promise–” Her tongue moves faster over you, your sensitive clit growing more swollen by the second.

When she feels your body shaking above her, her lips attach around your clit, sucking particularly hard before your orgasm finally reaches through. Your moan comes out broken, choked. Your hands find her hair, pulling her even closer as your eyes roll back behind your head.

A gush of your slick rushes through her tongue, happily slurping it up as she drags out your high, gently flicking against your clit before you manage enough energy to push her away.

You pull her back up from her knees, giving her a sloppy kiss. You taste yourself on her lips.

You lift her arms, taking off her hoodie–then her bra. The clothes are scattered next to your own.

Megan holds you close when you begin to kiss up her neck, massaging one of her breasts with one hand, the other palming her cock through her sweats.

“Wanna taste you too…” You murmured on her skin, smiling when you feel her twitch.

She caresses you softly, “You want my cock?”

You immediately nod.

Megan doesn’t waste any more time. She pushes her sweats and boxers all at once, then carefully pushes you on your back against the table. Her cock freed, pre-cum leaking from the tip, twitching just by watching you.

She caresses your thigh, not before you realize what she wants, when she begins to climb over you, her hips near your face.

“Press your tits together for me.” She says lowly, you whimper from the words. Nevertheless, you listen.

Your hands trembled as they reached for your breasts, pushing them together just as she asked.

“Like this?” You gasp softly.

She grunts, nodding. “So perfect for me.” Your body twitches when her cock touches the bottom of your breasts. Megan rubs the tip of her cock underneath it, toying with herself first. “So soft–” 

She whimpers when her cock slides in between your breasts.

“Oh, fuck.” She groans, her hips moving fast on you. The sight in front of you makes your thighs clench together, your pussy already aching at the sight.

Right above your eyes, her cock peaks through your breasts every time she pushes forward. Her pre-cum keeps sticking to your skin, her cock impossibly hard, waiting for a release.

“F-Fuck, just looking at you like this,” She gasps when you begin to move your breasts for her, “Sitting so still, m-making my cock feel good just from your tits.”

Her hips keep moving, “Open your mouth,”

And you do.

Your face leans forward, the head of her cock fills up your mouth every time she pulls back, just to shove herself back into the warmth of your throat. You moan around her. Just staring at her like this, her hair sticking to her forehead, her tits bouncing every time she moves, her cock pulsing and swollen, so close.

You swirl your tongue over her, moving your breasts each time she lets out a grunt.

“So fucking pretty–” She cries, “A-All mine.”

You suck harder.

She begins to lose it.

She’s so big in your mouth, all you can do is just take it. Even when she feels you at the back of your throat, your mouth slurping–swirling around the head. Your throat keeps making these gagging noises, but even then, you don’t want to stop.

Her hands grip strands of your hair, tugging on it and holding it still as she begins to fuck your mouth.

You choke around her, but you never let go of your breasts, milking her cock just the way she likes.

She uses your mouth and tits. The table begins to shake from her rapid movements, but she doesn’t stop, not when she’s so close to coming.

She braces herself, letting go of your hair and instead, stills your head. Holding you in place as her movements become more sloppy, more rough.

Your drool spills from the corner of your lips, mixed in with her pre-cum. All you could really taste is her and how big her cock feels in your mouth. She can barely fit, but it only makes you swallow her down your throat.

“Gonna cum–gonna cum, f-fuck–oh–fuck–”

Hot spurts of her cum flow into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing as you begin to drink every last bit of her cum, swallowing it down into your throat.

Megan’s legs twitch around your breasts and your lips. Moaning softly with her head thrown back, she forces you down her cock even more, enough where your nose nearly touches her skin, gagging–slightly choking on it.

A few seconds pass. Her chest is still heaving, her sweat sticking to the back of her skin. She releases your head after a while, pulling herself out of your mouth. You let go of your breasts, some of her cum covering the warm skin.

The sight only makes you whimper softly.

Megan climbs down, not before she presses small kisses to your forehead, lips, and your neck, before licking some of the cum off your breasts. Her tongue wet and warm. 

You begin to whine again. Your hips humping the air.

“Megan, please.” You pleaded, hands holding her face still.

She kisses you softly, her tongue darting back into your mouth. All you taste is each other.

You pull away, “I need you inside me.” Your nails dig into the skin harder. “Fuck me.”

Megan shudders on your lips.

She gives another kiss on your shoulder, “On your stomach.” She tells you firmly. You do as she says, your pussy already leaking from just the thought of getting fucked hard.

She helps you bring your knees up against the glass. You flinch slightly when the tip of her cock sticks to the side of your ass.

Her hands and lips are all over you. From your spine all the way down to your hips.

Not an inch of skin was left unpraised. 

You whine softly.

You can’t wait any longer.

“Megan,” You whimper suddenly when her tip aligns with your entrance. “Use me.”

You feel her shudder behind you, “F-Fuck me just the way you want to–I just need you–”

A choked moan escapes your lips.

“Your pussy wraps so well around my cock. So tight, so perfect.” Megan sighs, her hips slapping the back of your thighs as she fucks you from behind, her cock shoved inside you.

“Gonna stretch you out–gonna make your pussy mold in the shape of my cock.” Her hand pushes your face flat against the glass table. She’s fucking you so well, it makes tears swell up in your eyes.

“I know–fuck–I know,” She rambles, her cock still leaking from earlier, some spilling inside you. “Feels too good, so fucking good.”

Your tears fall at the side of your face, hitting the glass. “Megan,” You sniff.

She freezes once she hears the slight hiccup in your voice; fear and concern fall upon her face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry–I’m so–” She begins to pull out, but you don’t let her.

Your hips shove back into her, earning a groan from her.

“No! D-Don’t pull out–please don’t–” You sob harder, “Please fuck me–please––I need it, I-I need it so much…” You cry, tears, drool, and cum covering your entire face.

A hoarse moan falls from your lips the second you feel your hair being pulled.

Megan grabs a handful of your hair, pulling it from behind as her hips slam into you–if not, faster than before.

Her cock slides in and out of you with ease, your slick combining with her own.

“Yes–” You gasp, smiling as tears run down your cheeks. Your eyes rolling back as she stretches you out.

“So fucking b-big,” You stutter as she wraps her hand around your hair tighter. Her cock splits you open. Your hands press flat against the cool glass, your nipples hardening from the cold material.

You feel her coming closer.

“I’m gonna cum,” She gasps, breathless, impossibly close. “H-Have to pull out–”

You sob.

“Don’t! Please don’t.” You cry harder, your ass backing up into her like you’re this desperate for her to stay close.

Her movements become rough, and another whine spills out of you. “Cum inside me. I want it–I want it inside.” You mumbled tirelessly, face smushed against the table.

Your thighs begin to tremble.

Your hands reach up towards the end of the table above your head. Your knuckles are turning white as your orgasm reaches through you. Your jaw becomes slack, your eyes rolling back, your body shaking.

“Coming–I’m coming…” You cried.

Megan breaks, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, “Me too–fuck–”

Another whine falls out when you feel her cum inside you.

It’s thick, warm inside you. Your pussy clenches around her cock as you cum with her. Your legs are beginning to fail to hold you up.

Her body trembles with you, her thighs pressing hard against yours as her cock spurts out thick cum inside of your cunt. She lets go of your hair, her chest collapsing onto yours.

It’s only then that your knees finally give out.

The adrenaline that had been holding you up disappears all at once, leaving your body heavy and exhausted. You feel Megan climbing off of you, before gently lifting your body in her arms, settling you down onto the couch in the corner of the studio.

She leaves, only for a second. She brings back a blanket, covering your body. You pull her onto the couch before she can refuse, sharing the blanket with her that covered both of your bodies.

You glance next to her, finally noticing the way her expression softened—nothing like the anger from earlier. Just tired warmth now.

Your fingers reach out almost instinctively, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face.

She leans into it, before your hand fully cups her cheek.

It’s quieter now. Different from hours earlier when you were screaming at each other. It’s much more peaceful, steadier.

Megan exhales slowly and rests her head against your shoulder, staring at the wall.

“Next time,” She mutters, voice half-teasing but still gentle, “maybe we don’t wait until we’re yelling at each other first.”

You huff out a small laugh.

“Next time?” You say, still smiling.

Her hand slips into yours after that, fingers lacing together loosely as the two of you sit there on the studio couch, the glow of the computer screen the only light left in the room.

“Yeah,” She turns to face you, bringing your clasped hands together, a soft kiss to your fingers. “Because I’m all yours now.”

For a moment, you just stare at her, like you’re making sure you actually heard her right.

“All mine?” you repeat quietly.

Megan huffs a small breath through her nose, almost embarrassed now that the truth was out. You let out another small laugh from the reaction. Her thumb rubs slowly over the back of your hand, holding herself together as much as you.

Squeezing your hand once, “I’m yours.” She repeats.

You face forward. Despite still being naked, you feel warmth. Comfort.

Your smile widens.

“So all those songs,” You say after a minute, eyes looking towards the notebook still sitting on the desk. “They’re about me?”

Megan follows your gaze and groans again, dragging a hand over her face.

“Do not start reading them.”

You laugh quietly. “I think it’s a little too late for that.”

She nudge your knee with hers, but she doesn’t pull her hand away.

The computer screen is still on from earlier. Just glowing from afar. The song she left was still there, unfinished, ready to be prepared.

After a second, Megan tilts her head toward it.

“Well,” she says softly, squeezing your fingers again, “if you’re going to stay here,”

You raise an eyebrow.

Lara was insufferable.

To you, at least.

Everyone around you always had the same opinions about Lara.

Everyone thought she was perfect.

Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect grades, her perfect sacred friend group that orbited around her like she was the sun, and they were lucky enough to be surrounded by her light. Looked up to her like she was an influencer. Treated her as a celebrity.

The new nail set each week reminded everyone else about the wealth she flaunted. Every trace of her lip liner on her flawless lips reminded everyone else of the perfection she held by her grasp.

You hated that you noticed.

Her hair was always done—never just brushed neatly, but styled, like she had somewhere better to be than school. Glossy, smooth, not a strand out of place, as if it were done professionally. Her makeup wasn’t heavy, but it was detailed. Concealer that erased every flaw, lashes that looked effortless but definitely weren’t, lip gloss that shone underneath the light every time she spoke—like she knew people were watching. Her clothes were no different either. Every designer, luxury she owned, she just knew how to catch one’s attention.

The air flows within her presence. As if even time were under her control. She knew what and how to get things to go her way, with ease that nobody else had.

She held every ounce of control with flawless pace, even her movements—slow, conscious, like she never rushed for anyone. When she walked down the hallway, people noticed without even looking. Conversations slipped. Eyes followed her figure like they were attached by her aura alone. 

And Lara knows that.

She didn’t smile at just everyone. That was the thing. She chose who got her attention. Like, not everyone deserved it. A glance, a smirk, a quick compliment—and suddenly that person acted as if they had just been handed something valuable. Something not everyone gets to have.

She acts the same way with almost everyone. A polite smile that only you noticed the cracks in between, the lies it held. The way she leaned against the walls as if she owned the hallways of the school—voice calm and collected, nothing sharp. No one knew her anger, the rawness between her carefully built perfection and the parts of herself she refused to let anyone see.

Lara actually didn’t care for those who weren’t in her little circle. Sure, she’d make snarky little remarks, maybe laugh a little louder for the person to hear, but not something too big–like she thought they weren’t even worth the effort of her full attention.

Until you.

Her stare would linger a little longer than intended when her eyes were on you.

And you never understood why.

Because with you,

Lara never held back.

Her words were sharper, more calculated, like she chose them carefully just to make sure they hit hard. Not the casual, dismissive comments she threw at everyone else, but something more pointed. More intentional.

Her words cut through you like a knife. Of course they did, it hurts. You feel that same ache in your chest whenever her glare pierces right through you, as if she knew that that’s all it took to hurt you.

It was the way she said things—calm, almost polite, like she was doing you a favor by pointing it out—that made it worse, like she expected you to feel small and didn’t even question whether you would. And she didn’t care either if it did.

And the small, celebratory smirk she’d make whenever she’d see the frown of your face deepening, your eyes glimmering in shame–you knew it made her gloat, happy enough to see the smile wiped off your face.

But the fact that other people noticed was never enough to call her out for it. No one was brave enough for that, but enough just to see the tension between the two of you.

It is why no one else dares to step closer into your space. As if you were a disease, as if you carried something everyone else was afraid of catching.

It was bad enough that Lara never cared for anyone else, because she knew they didn’t matter.

But she treated you like you did–just not in the way that it felt good.

And when the shame, the guilt that she gives you, finally sinks in the pit of your stomach. An ugly feeling forms, enough to second-doubt yourself, maybe enough to believe the things she tells you that you are–are true.

And as you sat alone in the dining hall of the cafeteria, your tangled earbuds weren’t enough to blind out the same laughter that lingered behind your back.

Her footsteps slowed as they got closer.

You didn’t even have to look up to know it was her.

No one else moved like that—unhurried, steady as if she knew the space she set foot in–was already hers that she owned. You can even hear other conversations quietly around you, as if they wanted to hear this.

Your grip tightened around your fork, braced for the words she’d spit out next.

You always told yourself the same things: keep your head down, pretend she isn’t there.

Until you are reminded that you were the one who never held control.

Lara did.

The chair across from you scraped against the ground. Of course, she didn’t pretend, and you just had to look up before you could stop yourself.

Lara took the seat in front of you without asking for permission. She didn’t need to. The chewing of your food slowly stops as she leans against the plastic chair, arms crossed in front of her as if she were protecting herself, but you knew that wasn’t the case with her.

The curve of her lip lifts upwards, eyes glancing at your face, then at the tray.

“Huh, eating alone again?” She says, loud enough for you to hear, bold enough that it stings.

You swallowed hard, the food almost hurts to push it down now, as she sits there silently, enough to humiliate you.

You sighed, taking an earbud out of one ear. “What?”

Your voice furthers her, “I mean, that’s all you’re having?” She points it out as if it’s something obvious, like she already expects you to feel embarrassed. It’s enough to make you look at–like, really look at her.

Not the version she tried to perfect.

Trying to ignore her or walk away always led to something worse, so you didn’t try this time.

You succumbed to the silence, to take every bitchy comment, every laugh, every word of hers–that it was no longer worth fighting back for. So you stay right where you are, even though every part of you is telling you not to.

Her eyes meet yours, just in time to see something in her expression change.

Maybe it was just in your head, but you swore you saw her smile falter, something that never happens, especially in front of you.

Lara leans towards you–arms still crossed, placed on the table, smirk back in its place like it never left.

“Don’t you get tired of pretending you don’t care?” She says, words burning like fire.

Your chest aches with embarrassment and anger from the weight of her words and her eyes. She tells you these things so often, but it never hurts less each time. It’s like she knew how to hurt you in a specific way, the right words that always gave her satisfaction.

You don’t snap, your eyes don’t even leave hers as much as it burns to carry her stare within yours, until the weight seems too much.

Your eyes lower back to your tray, using your fork to stab your food halfway up to your mouth before you say something she doesn’t expect.

“Don’t you?”

What you didn’t expect was silence from her end. The quietness hangs heavier than expected. There’s only her. Only the way she leans forward, her arms still crossed on the table, the smirk that feels just a little too sharp for this quiet moment, the way her eyes catch yours like she’s actually questioning if you mean it.

She blinks once. You realize she hasn’t responded immediately, like you know she would.

Her eyes squint slightly, but it’s not the same as before. It’s like you finally shut her up, but you wondered why this feeling doesn’t actually feel good. Her silence is more unsettling than her harsh words. You don’t know which one you’d prefer.

Lara clenches her jaw.

“You think you’re funny?” She says, finally, nails digging into her arms, “You think you know me?”

You notice her hesitation, the way she nearly stuttered, took her actual time processing your words, rather than instantly having a smart comeback. You watch the relaxation in her tense up.

You take a bite out of your food, and you’re starting to feel your jaw aching. You knew it wasn’t because of the food.

“No,” You pause, “You’re just easier to read than you think.”

Her glare deepens.

“Careful.” 

You shrug, “Being careful with you doesn’t get me anywhere. I’ve already tried that.”

“And what does that prove? That you’re better than what anyone else thinks? Do you really believe that?”

You look up at her again, and you can see how this was actually affecting her more than she realized.

“I think you care too much.” You say, tone low.

The sharpness grows in her voice, throat nearly closing up from your words. You never talk back at her, never confident enough. 

And here you are.

You don’t know what came over you. You know it’s not bravery that’s pushing you, nor was it fear. Maybe something else you were too afraid to admit.

Then Lara laughs. It is then that you hear the mockery in her tone that she usually has when she’s with you. “I care too much?” Her smirk widens. “And if I do?”

“I just don’t understand why you’re wasting it on me.”

Lara tilts her head, eyeing you in a way that makes you grip your fork a little harder.

“You like figuring me all out, don’t you. Getting under my skin and all.” She adds, voice calm enough to make your skin crawl.

“Do you think I do this because I care about you?” Her smirk falls once more, and so does her tone, lowering, dangerous enough that it has you biting the insides of your cheek.

Your eyes fall to her fingers, suddenly trailing the edge along your food tray. Her voice wakes you up.

“Sometimes I forget how stupid you can be.” Her grip tightens, “Do you really wanna know why I do this to you out of all people?”

Your frown deepens.

She starts, and you already feel your stomach churning. 

“You’re the only one who gives me the reactions I want. One word, one look is enough to rip off the smile on your face.” 

Everyone else has gone quiet. You can hear the cafeteria quiet down at the sound of Lara’s voice. Their silence was powerful enough that all you could hear was the voice across from you, the one you desperately tried to drown out.

You tell yourself that you don’t care; you trained yourself not to.

“And it’s not just that,” she continues, leaning forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on yours. “It’s that you try to act like you don’t care. You think that’s subtle? You think I don’t know what you’re trying to hide?”

You can hear the rest of Lara’s friends from the table behind her, holding back their laughs, as if watching you sink into your chair were entertaining enough to take in her insults. 

Your attention glances back at her fingers, her acrylic nails tugging on your tray again. “Part of me loves it. Loves that you actually feel something when I say the things that I do.”

“That’s why I keep doing it.”

“So maybe you’re right about one thing. I care, yes–”

“But just enough to hurt you.” She whispers, “That’s why I care.”

The next thing you know, her fingers push the tray a little too hard–enough to glide past the edge of the dining table, onto your lap.

You flinch as the clump of food falls onto your jeans, the metal tray dropping from your lap to the ground. The sound of the tray dropping onto the floor was loud enough to echo against the walls.

No one dared to utter a word. Not even you, as you glanced at the mess on your jeans, as you slowly looked back up at Lara.

Her face doesn’t change. She doesn’t smile or laugh at you like she usually would. In fact, her face hardens. As if you were the one to offend her.

The food sinks in your jeans as the humiliation–and anger–builds up on your face.

You don’t move. You can’t. You just stare at the dark stain spreading across your lap, rice clinging to the denim. The people in the cafeteria stayed silent. Not because they felt bad for you, but because nobody cared enough to even try to defend you. No one gasps. No one intervenes. It just keeps going, as if this wasn’t happening to you right now. You don’t even look up as Lara got out of her seat without another word to you.

You wanted to jump out of your seat and throw the tray at her. Yell back at her like she deserved to know how shitty she was being.

But you don’t. You never do.

Your fists fall to your sides after you harshly scrape off the ruined food from your jeans. You feel the skin of your knuckles separating, but it doesn’t compare to the pain you have in your chest. Your jaw aches from the same feeling. You don’t dare to react loudly enough because you know that’s what Lara wants.

A reaction.

That’s all she sees in you.

You hated that you knew it wasn’t worth fighting back for. But you knew that this was something entirely new. Lara never got physical. She knew how to use her words the right way to cut through you, but never something like this.

So when the tray of food drops onto your jeans, it really does catch you by surprise.

And as you bring your head back from the scene on your pants. You realize everyone’s eyes are on you.

Except hers. 

Her eyes aren’t on you.

Doesn’t say her final words, doesn’t even give you the chance to really see the look on her face as she leaves.

Because all you can see is her retreating, her figure slowly becoming smaller from the distance she created between the two of you. Doesn’t go back to the table with all her friends, she leaves the room altogether.

And somehow, that hurts more than if she had stayed.

Lara was unbearable.

The days that followed only proved it.

Not the kind of unbearable that you were used to having.

She was just quiet.

Not silent, she still talked, laughed with her friends, glided through the halls like she still owned them. But when it came to you? 

Nothing. 

And you weren’t used to having nothing to do with her.

The days after the scene in the cafeteria were oddly calm. But it didn’t help you feel much better.

You still feel the tension with her. The rage in you is also still in there, hidden in your chest, just waiting for a reason to let loose. 

Her silence made you feel worse.

So when you walk past her table, the conversation swallows down, as if something unfamiliar had passed by. Even her friends no longer talked about you. Like your name was some sort of curse. 

Lara stopped going to your usual spots on campus just to annoy you. No shoving shoulders as you walk past her down the hallways. No glances held too long. No fake smiles. No comments were muttered under her breath. Nothing.

She never looked at you directly anymore. Not the way she used to. Didn’t talk to you anymore. Not the way she used to.

And somehow, that felt like the biggest insult of all.

It was like you weren’t even worth the effort now.

As if you were just like the rest of them.

Ever since, nobody else had spoken about the incident. No one else made fun of you for what had happened. No one to remind you about her.

But every once in a while, you’d sit alone as you always did, your fingers switching between the songs on your phone. And when you look up now and then, her eyes would find yours across the room.

And before you could hold her gaze for any longer, she’d look away first, as if you had caught her doing a crime.

Not you.

Her.

And that was new.

You still question why she does the things she does. 

Why did she need the reaction before? Why does she seem to be starving herself of it now?

You replay the cafeteria over and over in your head. The tray, the embarrassment crawling in your face, the way she walked out without looking back. You tell yourself she probably got bored. Found someone else easier. Someone louder. Someone who gave her the reactions she gloats on.

But she keeps looking. Pretends not to care when you know she still does.

When you walk into class, her eyes aren’t immediately on you as they once were. Like she’s calculating the seconds you turn your back on her to finally look at you. You pretend you don’t notice. You pretend you don’t feel anything from it, from her.

But you can’t help but turn around, glancing up at her as she’s already facing forward, jaw tight that it seems like it’s about to snap. Her frown stays put as she quickly looks anywhere else but in your direction, as if her attention was never on you.

Like you imagined it.

Lara looks anywhere but at you. Her screen. Her friends. The time. The wall.

Anywhere but you.

And even as you faced forward a little after, you’d feel her eyes on you again. Heavier, longer, like she can’t tear her eyes away.

And somehow, that makes your chest tighten more. Because this isn’t about control anymore. You wondered if this was ever about control because it feels like something she’s trying and failing to stop. Something more.

In the hallway, you pass each other once again. You feel the air chill from time itself. You walked close enough that your shoulders almost brushed. But then again, she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t throw a single comment your way.

But her hand twitches at her side.

Like she almost did.

As if she wanted to.

And you don’t know how to feel about it. You can’t figure out the game she’s trying to play–or if this was a game at all? 

You thought you could easily read her from the inside out. Like you were the only one who really noticed her from everything she tried to hide.

But now? You aren’t so sure anymore.

It’s as if she isn’t doing this because of mockery or even boredom anymore.

Restraint.

And you don’t know which version of her is worse–the one who hurts you for fun, or the one who looks at you like she’s trying not to.

Two weeks followed.

You still thought Lara was infuriating.

You knew you should’ve taken this chance to forget about her altogether. She’s finally leaving you alone. No more rude side comments, no more glares. Nothing to bother you about anymore. This didn’t feel like relief; the heaviness was still there. You thought you’d feel more grateful for the peace, but now? It feels a little empty.

You told yourself that’s what you wanted.

Because even if she was the one hurting you, she was the only one who actually talked to you. Someone who acknowledged your presence.

Now you’re just another face in the halls to walk past.

Until one afternoon, that finally changes.

You sit on the side, your phone plugged in with your earbuds as the lecture in front of you continues. The seats beside you are empty as usual, but the room was crowded as always. 

The teacher’s voice isn’t that clear with your music blasting in your ears. Your screen glows faintly in your hands as you scroll, pretending to focus on anything except the awareness you still kept that yet lingers whenever she’s nearby.

It isn’t until the teacher says your name that it almost snaps you out of it.

But it was hers, that really did.

Your blood freezes. Her name, loud and clear.

You look up instinctively, pulling one earbud out just enough to hear properly. A few students around you shift in their seats, some turning toward her row, others toward you, sensing the tension in the air.

You see the way her eyes squint forward, almost glaring at the teacher as he said both of your names in a single sentence. You watch as her jaw tightens–that’s something you’re used to seeing.

For a second, it seems like she’s considering arguing about this. Mouth opened just to close right back up, not finding the right words to refuse. Nothing comes out.

Lara sinks into her chair. A friend beside her rubs her arm comfortably, only to be shoved away. It’s as if comfort is the least of the things she needs right now. She exhales slowly through her nose, muttering incomprehensible words you can’t hear from afar.

Then her eyes sense your own. And for once, she willingly stares into your eyes after what had been days, after what happened at the cafeteria. After weeks of trying to ignore your presence. She really looks at you.

She chose to look at you. And doesn’t look away.

Her gaze is steady, hard, almost daring you to look away.

You don’t–you can’t. 

She doesn’t fake a smile, doesn’t pull a smirk either. No mockery, no whispers to her friends. 

She just looks at you. Searching for something that isn’t there.

The teacher gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Since you’ve both been distracted lately, maybe you can work together on this next part.”

Lara doesn’t look back at the teacher, but continues to stare into your eyes. You wondered what she was thinking about, what she was planning to do. You thought that maybe she’d have a way out of this, or perhaps the perfect excuse to do her worse. You can’t expect the same things from her with the way she acts around you anymore. It’s as if she changed in such a short amount of time.

You don’t break her eye contact either. You don’t back down as you would have in the past. You want things to be different now, to have things go your way this time.

But you knew that wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

The teacher coughs loudly, enough for the rest of the students to shift back towards the lecture.

But not you, nor Lara.

She swallows hard, the motion evident upon her throat. And you watch, silently. Letting her gaze give you goosebumps on your skin underneath the hoodie you wore.

Lara blinks and turns away without a word, without another look.

You do too. You force your attention back to the front of the classroom, to the teacher, to the assignment written across the board. You push your earbuds fully out now, letting the music die out from the rest of your surroundings.

You pretend that this doesn’t bother you. 

Pretend that you aren’t suddenly feeling sick.

Pretend that the goosebumps formed on your skin aren’t because of her.

Pretending is all you really do. After all, it’s what you do best. 

It keeps you hidden from everything real.

Because if you don’t react, no one can read you. If you don’t show it, no one can use it against you.

And even then, you question if it’s your own fault for reacting to everything she does or says about you, if maybe you handed her the power without realizing it.

But the truth is quieter than that. It isn’t that you gave her power.

It’s that you felt something.

And feeling something meant she mattered.

You built yourself around invisibility. Neutral answers. Lowered volume. Smaller presence. All of it just to protect yourself from the things that felt real. If you never take up space, no one can shove you out of it.

But Lara never treated you like you were invisible.

Even when she was cruel, she saw you.

She saw your flaws, all your imperfections. She made sure to remind you of them–yes, but she saw you in ways that no one else cared enough to see you in, let alone those imperfections.

But things are different. And it’s because of her that things changed the way that they were meant to be. All because of her control. Because now, she’s forcing herself to look away, to pretend that you didn’t exist after all. 

And you hated that you cared too much for it to matter.

You cared to be seen; you are human after all–even if it meant pointing out all the flaws that made you real.

Your chest swells, enough to form a sickness in your stomach, sinking lower than it already has. You placed your phone on the desk, leaning your arms against it as you took your earbuds out completely. Your hoodie becomes too hot, and something unfamiliar crawls up your spine.

And as you worry in silence, you still feel her eyes on your back.

Lara watches the way your shoulders move, the way your posture curves as if you’re trying to hide yourself from the world. She knows how you pretend, the way you’re doing it, and how you try to act unaffected by it all. Studies you as if you are unaware. Stares at you as if she feels all the things that you do.

You feel exposed. You feel it.

The hesitation stirs in you. Every twitch of your fingers, she’s watching. Every move you make, her eyes are still on you. And it seemed nothing could tear her attention away from you.

You considered turning around again, just to catch her gaze on you, only to turn away. But you knew her eyes would be right back on you the second you face forward.

A cycle, unpreventable. 

You’re too caught up in your own thoughts to register reality. The lecture has ended, and students are already standing, gathering their things, flooding toward the doors like a crowd of ants.

Their voices almost broke through your thoughts.

You needed out. You needed room to breathe, away from this room, from everyone else.

You wanted to rush out before anything else happened. Your phone is stuffed into your pocket. You push your chair back, the sound screeching against the floor, and your body turns towards the stairs that lead down from the auditorium, towards your exit.

But as soon as your foot steps down at the bottom of the stairs, a hand wraps around your wrist. Hard and unfamiliar.

It stops you, fingers closing tightly around your skin that it almost hurts, but it isn’t painful, nor gentle either.

Everything around you continues–the students shoving each other down the stairs, the laughter passing by. Time doesn’t stop when you think it does.

Your body freezes before anything else happens.

Cautiously, you turn your head over your shoulder. You didn’t need to because you already sensed who it was. You already know who it is.

Lara.

She stands just a step above you, on a higher level, as it’s meant to be. Her fingers stay locked around your wrist like she thought you might vanish if she hadn’t caught you in time. You feel her skin tremble against yours, still firm, still real.

Her chest rises a little faster than it should. Not dramatic. Just enough for you to notice. And when she’s up this close, there’s no space to pretend anymore. No room to hide everything you pretend you weren’t feeling.

Because up close, you feel something that shouldn’t be there. But it is.

You can’t help but observe her when she’s this close. No space in between. It’s been a while. Without stolen glances and pretend looks, you might’ve thought you’d forget what she looks like.

Lara hasn’t changed.

Makeup still done professionally, clothes ironed and neat. Flawless even.

Still beautiful.

It hits you harder up close.

She’s not bothered by the whispers or the chatter coming from behind her–ignoring their eyes because all she could really focus on was you.

Her eyes aren’t hiding anything anymore.

Lara takes a step down, matching your height–your space. Suddenly, her hand drops from your wrist. The absence of her touch lingers a little longer than it should, enough to send a shiver down your spine.

She lifts her hand again, palm open between you.

You frown slightly, not quite understanding.

She nods, sighing, toward her own hand.

“Your phone,” she says, like it was the simplest thing ever. Not when the one thing she’s asking for is something you never imagined would happen.

“Give it to me.”

Your body doesn’t move. Not fast enough.

Lara tilts her head lower, eyes half-lidded as if you were the one wasting her time.

“I’m not asking twice.”

You don’t question her this time like you normally would. And you aren’t usually as obedient, especially with her. But for some odd reason, this magnetic pull–you just couldn’t deny her.

Your hand moves before you can stop it. Your fingers pull out your phone, stuffed in your pocket, taking it out as soon as you hand it to her. The song still plays, even as you pull out your earbuds.

Lara glances at the song, and you swear–the corner of her mouth almost lifts. 

Not the smirk you’re used to, something real. Almost genuine.

You don’t comment about it.

You watch carefully as her fingers glide through the screen like she’s done this too many times to count, as if she wasn’t nervous at all. She opens the keypad, dialing a bunch of numbers into your phone before typing her name in your contacts.

Nothing special, just her name. A reminder that she wasn’t willingly doing this.

She stares at it for a second, gripping your phone particularly harder before saving it.

Lara shoves the phone onto your chest, your hands catching it before it can fall.

She leans in closer, as if being this close to you wasn’t as nerve-wracking as you were feeling. Her eyes gaze into, watching the way your mouth falls, the way your breath stops when she’s near.

“Don’t misunderstand this.”

She says.

And then she walks around you, following her friends as they wait by the side of the door. They pretend they haven’t been watching or whispering, but both of you knew better. And in fact, their stares are the least of your concerns you have right now because you can’t believe what has just happened.

Lara leaves without a word, the same way she did at the cafeteria. Her back faces you, her body growing smaller with the distance. And you watch because that’s all you can do.

The song still plays, near the end, but it's not enough to stop your fingers from trembling as you hold your phone, her touch still lingering on the object.

You look down at the screen.

Her name still sits there in your contacts.

And it leaves you wondering why this feels heavier than it should.

Lara doesn’t arrive on time.

Almost two hours late, to be exact.

Still arrogant, still impossible to understand.

You’ve already given up on pretending you weren’t checking your phone every few minutes, wondering if she’d even show up at all or if she bailed on you. The plan was that she’d meet you at your dorm later that night–studying, finishing the assignment as if you were just two ordinary people, simple as that.

But it’s just you in your dorm.

Waiting.

Waiting for something that you don’t know if it’ll arrive.

Your desk hasn’t changed in the last two hours. The laptop opened, but the screen was dark. Your notes are neatly stacked on the side with pens lined up side by side. You watch the clock tick, minutes stretching a little longer until your patience slowly runs out.

It’s too quiet. Not the kind you’re used to. It feels restless.

You hate that you keep staring at the door, your heart nearly jumping each time a faint footstep comes near your door, only for the sound to disappear in a second.

You pretend it doesn’t matter. If she doesn’t come, you’ll just finish it alone. You’re used to it by now. 

No one to rely on, nobody to talk to. You’re fine with that.

But the longer you sit there on your own, you begin to doubt yourself.

A sigh leaves your mouth. You knew this entire thing was stupid. You should’ve known she’d bail on you. But as soon as your fingers touch your laptop, ready to close it, a knock.

Alerting, loud knocks appear on your door. It’s almost as loud as the sound of your heartbeat.

Your head turns, palms sweaty, throat dry, and all.

You get up. Not rushed, as if you weren’t waiting hours for her, as if you were never expecting her.

When the door opens, she’s standing there, unusually relaxed. Calm and collected. But you see right through her perfect hair and the face she tries to hide behind. Her bag is slung over one shoulder, but you knew that she didn’t bring anything important with her. Her phone is lit up, as if she were texting someone else right before she came, someone better to spend her time with.

You don’t expect an apology.

One that never leaves her mouth.

Lara scans your face, eyeing you down, watching the way you fix the bottom of your sweater.

“You’re late.” You tell her, the frustration evident.

She steps past you, walking into your dorm, as if it belongs to her, too. “I know.”

The door closes behind her as you turn around in time, watching the way she throws her bag on the ground carelessly. She sits in the chair across from the one you were sitting in, the table in between.

“Two hours.” You say, anger rising in your chest.

Lara looks at you.

“I know.” She repeats, as if this wasn’t a big deal to her.

Not even an excuse, like you were something not worth worrying about.

But then she adds, “I wasn’t in a hurry.”

That does it.

You laugh, but nothing about this was funny to you.

“You weren’t in a hurry.” You repeat her words, your nails digging into your palms by your side as if you were trying to hide your frustration within you. “You’re not serious. You’re gonna bullshit me with that excuse?”

Lara glares. The sight of her jaw clenching somehow makes you angrier, as if she shouldn’t be the one this upset right now.

“I said I’d come,” voice low, “I came.”

“Yeah, two fucking hours later.”

Lara’s eyes change. She’s never seen you react this way before. She’s not used to it, and neither are you. But you’re beginning to feel tired of being a part of her games, being played, being left behind.

You’re tired of it.

“You’re fucking unbelievable. You know that, right?” You walk closer, standing in front of your seat, but you don’t sit down.

“Don’t. Don’t start–”

You cut her off. “Don’t start what? This?” You laugh again, the taste bitter in your mouth. “You always have to be the one in control. Don’t you? You tell people what to do and expect them to follow without any complaints–and you believe I’ll act like the rest of them. That’s what this is to you.”

Her jaw clenches tighter, and the rise of her chest almost seems unsteady.

“You’re this bothered because I didn’t show up on time?” She smirks, but it's not the same. It doesn’t because she feels like she doesn’t have the upper hand this time. Her control, loose. Weary even.

You shake your head. You knew she’d act like this.

“I’m sick of pretending I’m not bothered by this.”

Lara laughs, uncrossing her legs. “So now you admit it? That you pretend to hide?”

“Shouldn’t I ask you that?”

That shuts her up.

“You dump food on my clothes, insult me, and then pretend I don’t exist. But you’re still aware of my presence–I mean, do you really think I don’t notice you staring at me? I’m not fucking stupid.”

Her mouth opens as if she were about to deny it, but she doesn’t.

She sinks further into the chair, unsure how she got herself in this situation. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove.” She shrugs, acts like this isn’t bothering her either, as if she isn’t being confronted right now.

“You do.” You take a step forward, “You know this is more than what happened at the cafeteria.” You can’t control what you’re feeling. You’re confused, definitely mad, and yet you’re only trying to make her understand the truth. The truth she’s so afraid to admit.

“You’re still pissed about that?” Lara leaned forward, no longer resting against the chair like she owned the entire room. Now she’s definitely bothered. Whatever you’re saying to her is really getting to her head. You never saw her this upset before, not even in the past.

“It wasn’t just some joke to me,” you say, your voice rising again despite the frustration digging inside your chest. “You embarrassed me on purpose.”

“I wasn’t thinking.” She stands up, matching your height. The table, with all your belongings, still stood in between.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the truth–”

“No, it’s an excuse. That’s all you do, make excuses and then leave as if nothing else matters.”

Her hands comb through her hair, nails scraping against her scalp a little too hard that she nearly flinches, but doesn’t. Not when she’s feeling everything and all the things that feel a little too much.

“What? Now you’re quiet? Now you have nothing to say? After all the shit you put me through, that’s the answer I get? You weren’t thinking?”

Lara doesn’t meet your eyes, biting the insides of her cheek, preventing herself from saying anything else that could make this worse than it already is.

“You talk about some stupid shit about being in control, and now that you don’t have any–you have nothing else to say?” Your voice grows louder, uncontrollable–everything you’ve been feeling, everything you had been preventing from going loose, unravels itself.

The seconds stretch long enough for your patience to run thin.

She stands there breathing hard, jaw tight, hands balled at her sides like she’s fighting the urge to either scream back or walk away.

You tried to understand why she’s like this.

You tried to talk to her without it turning into an argument.

You tried pretending that you didn’t care about her–when that’s all you ever did. 

You tried.

But every time it circles back to control. To pride. To her ego. To her acting like caring for someone is a weakness.

“Get out.”

You tell her.

“I mean it. Fucking leave–I don’t care what you do anymore. I don’t need to hear another bullshit excuse from you. I don’t care–”

A second ago, you were kicking her out.

And now her lips were on yours.

Lara doesn’t think, just moves. Her hands move before her mind tells her to stop. 

Your belongings were pushed to the side, dropping on the floor–replaced with Lara’s body, kneeling on the table–fingers digging into your hair, lips latched onto yours as if she needed them to breathe.

You don’t stop her. You don’t want to.

Your mouth opens–enough for her tongue to slip in. You taste her, taste the desperation in her. The way she breathes you in as if she’s been waiting for this, waited to see what your lips taste like against her own.

It’s not slow, it’s desperate and eager. Like there wasn’t enough time to wait. Your mouths all over each other like it’s oxygen, hands everywhere like it’s all you need to touch.

It’s sloppy, too wet for you to keep up. Everything’s happening too fast. Your hands catch her as she leans forward, suddenly wrapping her legs around your waist. You hold her as she pushes both of you into the chair behind, your knees buckling.

“Lara.” You warn, not knowing exactly what for.

“What?” She says, breathless, wet kisses press alongside your jaw, nuzzles her nose at the spot underneath, breathing you in. “Gonna start pretending again? Pretend that you don’t want this as much as I do?”

Your nails dig into her shirt, and you feel her smirk again, pressed against your skin.

Her lips find yours again. Your hands hold her face, fingers pressing in harshly. She whimpers in your mouth from the sudden act, enough for you to swallow down.

You feel her warmth that spreads across her body. Her breasts pushed against your sweater. You can’t help wanting everything off her. You want to feel everything she’s willing to give, everything you’re willing to take.

Lara suddenly sinks lower onto you, grinding her clothed cunt over the outline of your cock, desperately twitching. It’s painful, swollen.

You let out a soft groan, your hands sliding down to her ass. You feel her bite your lower lip in response, soothing it with her tongue. “But you can’t pretend anymore, can you?”

Her tongue flicks onto yours, letting the taste linger in her mouth, letting it drown out any other taste because all she feels is you.

And she makes you watch the way she takes off her shirt–throwing the piece of cloth to the floor like it’s useless. She doesn’t even give you the chance to react before her lips are back on yours again. It’s like she’s obsessed, as if she couldn’t physically tear herself away from you.

“I hate you–” You try to say as she sucks on your tongue, “so fucking,” lapping up your taste, “–much.” You managed between each kiss.

Lara moans into you, as if your words alone is getting her off.

Another kiss by the corner of your lips, “I know, baby. I know.”

Her hands are everywhere, your face, neck, down to your chest, tugging on your sweater, back in your hair like she wants to feel you everywhere.

Your head leans back, trying to hold yourself together. It feels like you’re imagining things, like you can’t believe that this is happening. You aren’t thinking clearly anyway. You didn’t need to. Lara takes this chance, kissing her way down your neck, past your waistline, onto her knees.

“Is this what you wanted this entire time?” You push her face onto your cock, hardening as you feel her rubbing her cheek against the cloth before pressing an open-mouth kiss along the outline. “Your mouth full of my cock?”

Lara smiles, eyes half-lidded. Obviously not thinking, but she nods eagerly.

“I want a taste. Wanna know how many inches I can take.” She answers, a sloppy grin plastered on her face.

You don’t stop her as she drags the waistband of your sweats and boxers altogether, helping her as she pushes them down your legs, completely off.

You sigh.

The relief overcomes you. Your cock sprungs free, twitching, still hard. Pre-cum from the tip alone. It stands tall, proud in front of her mouth, that she can’t help but nuzzle her face into it. Her tongue pokes out as if she’s daring for a taste, a single taste on her tongue. As if she craves it that badly.

You don’t give her time to adjust. You don’t take things slow because that’s clearly not what she wants. There’s no time to think before your actions, nothing in between to stop you from doing what you’ve wanted all this time.

You press her head hard against the side of your thigh, and your other hand takes hold of your length, stroking it softly. Lara hasn’t taken her eyes off it since. Mouth open, drooling, dripping down to your skin, staring at it like it’s medicine.

“Open wide.” You slap her with your cock, twice. When she does, you aren’t satisfied. “Wider.” You slap her again.

You bring the tip to her tongue. “That’s it.” You urge her. She doesn’t move, not unless you tell her to. You let your pre-cum leak onto her tongue, still stuck out. Your pre-cum mixes with her drool.

There’s no warning when you finally shove yourself into the warmth of her mouth. The whine that follows through her throat vibrates around your cock—you can’t help but let out a soft moan.

Her mouth works around you, swirling her tongue down your length–the tip of your cock, too dazed to focus on anything else, as if nothing else mattered than this.

Your hips move instantly. You keep her head still against your thigh, jerking your cock into her. The sounds her throat makes drive you insane. The squelching noises blend well with her continuous whines. You feel her hands wrap around your legs, holding herself still as she lets you use her mouth like some toy.

“You’re still loud even when your mouth is full of my cock.” You shove yourself deeper, the tip hitting the back of her throat, loosening her up. She whimpers around you again. Her thighs begin rubbing against each other in a desperate attempt to relieve the ache in her cunt. Still trapped in her sweatpants and panties. 

Her hair tangles in between your fingers, taking a better hold of her hair as your cock leaks against her tongue. “It’s like you want other people to hear how you sound with your mouth so stuffed.” You grunt out, moving her head up and down your length.

Lara doesn’t answer. She can’t. Instead, she lifts her head—just enough for her tongue to swirl around the tip before sucking in hazardously, her cheeks hollowing at the sides of her face.

You’re still mad at her–everything she’s ever done to you spills right into this moment of yours. You fuck your anger through her mouth, your feelings furthering you, pushing through your limits, through her.

Your hips keep buckling into her face. “This mouth—so fucking filthy.” You just can’t help but get off by the look in her eyes, rolling back just to gaze back into you—or her mouth, messy and sloppy, drool and pre-cum spilling at the corners of her lips. You don’t think it can get any better than this. 

She hums around you, another vibration makes your cock twitch hard inside. She feels too good—you can barely register anything else.

You let go of her head altogether. Lara moves on her own free will. Uses her mouth like this isn’t her first time. Drinks you up as if this is all she needs. Your eyes never leave hers.

You feel her smile, even when your cock splits her mouth open. Drags her tongue down, forcing herself to choke on it.

“Fuck.” You muttered. It feels too good, even just watching her is enough to cum. But you don’t because you know that’s exactly what she wants, what she’s trying to achieve.

You aren’t so willing to give that, just yet.

She knows you’re close. She works her tongue and throat faster, bobbing her head up and down. 

Lara’s still petty, still arrogant enough that she likes teasing you—likes letting go of your tip with a loud pop before deep-throating her mouth down your length again, knowing that it drives you crazy.

Your chest heaves in an uneven pace. You’re too close. But you’re not ready for this fantasy of yours to end. Not yet, not anytime soon.

You pull her away by the hair, earning a whine in refusal from her. Her drool pools by the corner of her lips. You can’t help but watch her eyes grow more intense by the second, like she wants more, as if she needed her mouth back on you one way or another.

You don’t give her time to register what you do next because as soon as you bring her back onto your lap, her mouth’s already all over yours.

She tastes like you.

Lara takes her bra off as you carry her to your bed, your mouth pressing small kisses along the line of her neck. When her back hits the mattress, she doesn’t waste anymore time by taking off her sweats and panties. 

You can smell how desperate she is for her, her pussy slick and wet, just waiting to be filled—to be touched. As soon as her hands try to reach you, you grab her wrists in time—earning a low whimper.

“You’re gonna listen to me.” You whisper to her, leaning down to press a reassuring kiss to her cheek, not giving her enough time before you push her back onto the sheets.

You walk to the other side of the bed, taking off your own sweater. Lara’s too dazed to question it, eyes blown out, mouth hanging open automatically, her thighs spread out at the other edge of the bed—pussy just dripping pathetically.

When your hands take a handful of her hair, it’s gentle, too gentle—then suddenly, you pull it hard. You hear Lara’s whine, not until she shuts up when your cock meets her view.

Her head hangs low by the edge of the bed. Her back flat against it, her breasts rising up and down as if her breathing was uneven.

You can’t help but watch her like this. The way she happily obliges to everything you give her, loving the way her mouth can’t leave your cock alone, like she has to have it in her mouth.

You can’t help but stare at her neck. The skin smooth, soft. Your hands caress the area gently, as if you’re thinking carefully about what you want to do next. Your cock keeps twitching at the side of her face. She can’t see you clearly anymore, but she doesn’t complain, just takes it because she wants to be good.

This angle, fuck, the tip of your cock keeps leaking at the side of her cheek. You just can’t tear your eyes away from her, the way only her mouth and the rest of her body are on display, her eyes covered like she doesn’t get to see what you’re looking at right now. Her neck, extending, just waiting to be ruined.

You bring your cock back to her lips, just giving light taps against her lips—puffy, swollen from you already—you aren’t done though, not even close

When you shove your cock back into her mouth, with no warning, you groan. Lara gags around you because this angle is different, entirely different. She feels you all the way, your cock visible through the skin of her throat. You don’t move, not yet. Just letting the sight marinate.

Your hands find the side of her neck, putting gentle pressure as you begin jerking your hips into her mouth. “This mouth—this throat, all mine to ruin.” You grunt, sweat forming alongside your back, her mouth slurping hazardously as she tries to keep up with you.

“Such a whore for me,” You groan, her mouth closing around you. Your balls keep hitting her nose, her difficulty to breathe is evident, but she doesn’t care. Not when being used like this feels too good. “You only listen when you want to fuck, is that it?”

Lara moans around you, her throat bobbing as she tries to swallow every drop that slips out. She wants your cum spilling inside her, wants to know what it finally tastes like.

The humiliation sinks within her features, not enough to stop you, but to keep you going. 

She swallows you in, her tongue lying flat as you push your cock down her throat. It’s spilling out of the corners of her mouth—tears fill her eyes, but you’re too close to notice. 

You can’t stop. You don’t think you can, especially when Lara’s hands reach down between her thighs, the touch of her nail grazing her clit makes her gasp around you. You shudder at the feeling, the sight everything about her makes you want to fall apart.

Lara brings two fingers inside of her, fucking herself slowly, the opposite of the way you move your hips into her.

Your hands squeeze her throat slightly, “Come on, make my cock cum—“ You grunt, her breasts bounce as you roughly fuck her mouth as she plays with herself right in front of you. You feel it, you’re too close now.

“That’s it–” Your eyes roll back, “It’s like your mouth was waiting for me, for my cock to ruin you.” You mutter, leaning forward to squeeze one of her tits gently, earning another whimper around you.

“Gonna cum in this mouth—so good, so fucking good.” You whimper, bringing both of your hands back onto her throat. Your eyes mesmerized by the way you fuck her mouth.

Lara moans into you, your body shudders from the feeling, trembling as you cum in her mouth.

You keep your eyes open as you watch her throat swallow you up, drinking your cum down her throat–some spilling at the sides. You can’t help but groan at the sight.

You don’t pull out right away, adjusting yourself, keeping yourself steady as you release everything you give her. Lara relaxes underneath you, taking her own fingers out of her cunt, body limp against the mattress.

Slowly, you lean back, taking your cock out of her mouth. When you do, Lara’s eyes are closed, mouth sloppy, messy from your cum. You lean lower, caressing her jaw gently, soothing the ache you made.

Lara stops you, suddenly sitting up, turning around on her knees to give you a proper kiss. 

All she tastes is you.

Your cum, your lips, everything you’ve been trying to hide.

Her hands tangle in your hair, swallowing the moan you let out into her mouth. Your cock is hard again, even when you just came. You can’t help it. Lara’s all over you in ways you never thought were possible.

She brings a hand down, grabbing your cock, just to hold–to remind you that it belonged to her now. You feel her breasts press against yours, shuddering when her tongue glides against your lower lip.

She smiles when she brings you down on the mattress with her. Your body hovering over her as she sucks on the skin of your neck before dragging her lips back to your own.

“Can’t get enough–” Lara whimpers when your cock teases the entrance of her cunt. “–of you.” She kisses you again.

You don’t wait, she doesn’t either. Her hand aligns your cock to her pussy, you feel your tip already leaking all over her. Her pussy–so soaked, so ready for you that you can’t think of anything else.

“Need it–” She curses under her breath when you shove the tip in, already feeling the stretch. Her eyes roll back, sobbing and mumbling a bunch of curses into your neck, “–inside me. Please, fuck–”

You don’t let her finish her sentence, not enough time before you shove your cock all the way inside of her cunt. You feel her pulsing, her pussy clenching around you. You let out a soft groan into her hair, body shuddering from how good she feels–how good it feels to be inside her, to be this close to her.

“Yes–” She cries into your skin, her mouth hanging open–drool spilling out. Her pussy squeezes around you, squelching, so wet. “Fuck, oh fuck.”

Your hips jerk into her, your thighs hitting her own as you move. She keeps whimpering helplessly right by your ear, letting out soft, desperate cries. Your hand rubs her back gently, soothing her as she takes your cock all the way in.

Your other hand dips lower, dragging your hand down to her waist, lower, where your cock slides into her pussy. Your fingers draw small circles around her clit, bringing attention to it as you drive in and out of her.

Lara fucks you back onto you, matching your pace as she pushes her hips back and forth into you. You can’t focus, can’t really concentrate when her lips are back onto yours again. Then she’s everywhere, on your cheeks, your jaw, down to your neck, like she needs to be attached to you at all times.

You feel too much. You can’t help but shudder as her pussy pulses around you, choking your cock.

“Yes, fuck.” She sobs, “Keep fucking me like that–” She cradles your face into her hands, staring into your eyes as you fuck her.

You bring her more into the mattress, taking her hands off your face. Her mouth opens just in time to complain, not before you pull out, earning a whimper from the loss of your cock. You shut her up by turning her around, her back facing you, ass up. 

“Look at you,” You sigh, your swollen tip leaking, “Just taking it. No complaints, no insults. Just taking it all in so well for me.”

You shove her face into the sheets, head turned to the side, eyes glaring back at you, before you watch the way they roll back as soon as your cock fills her up.

“Please.” She sobs, loving the way you feel around her. She doesn’t know what she’s begging for. She never asks, never for permission, but she needs this–needs to cum.

Her pleas drive you deeper, your thighs hitting her ass, sweat clinging to your skin. Your cock leaks heavily into her.

All she feels is you.

She’s close, your cock pushing through to the hilt. Your hands match your hips, shoving the side of her face into your bed. She can’t speak, can’t function either. Too desperate to cum.

“Please, please–please just–” Lara rambles, muttering a bunch of pleas as your hand wraps around her hair, pushing her further. Your hips never slow down, not when you’re this close.

Another whimper falls out, “Cum in me.” She sobs, tears, and drool spilling onto your sheets. “Please, I need it.”

Her desperation drives you over the edge, “Where–” You groan, licking your dry lips. “Where do you want my cum?” You know her answer already; you just want to hear it from her mouth.

Lara chokes out a sob, eyes rolling back, body shuddering, not before she answers you. “My pussy, inside–please–”

Your body goes limp when you finally cum.

You feel her body tremble against your own as you lean forward, your front pressing against her back. You let go of her hair, your hands holding her waist instead as you fill her up. Thick, ropes of cum pulsing inside of her. Lara’s jaw becomes slack, burying her face deeper into your sheets, eyes rolling back. Only a hoarse moan leaves her mouth before going limp.

Neither of you move, you physically cannot.

It takes you a second to shift off of her, movements slower now, not rushed. You’re careful. You roll onto your back beside her, staring up at the ceiling as if it holds answers you don’t want to look for in her face.

Your breathing hasn’t fully steadied yet. You can hear hers, too. It’s uneven at first, then gradually controlled, like she’s trying to regulate it before you notice.

The silence stretches longer than it needed to.

You don’t look at her, you’re afraid to. You feel her shift beside you. Then she opens her eyes to look at you.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know if things can go back to the way they used to be.

You’re still scared, not because you can’t pretend, not because you’re not in control.

Because this felt real.

Your throat tightens, your mouth opens to say something. To apologize, to say you're sorry, or maybe to ask if she was hurt. But nothing comes out.

No words leave your mouth when you feel her kiss you.

Not rushed. Not forceful. Not like something meant to distract. It’s slower than before. Softer.

And when she pulls away, she brings her body closer to yours, her hand holding your face as if she’s afraid you might leave if she lets you go.

You don’t. You don’t want to leave.

Lara searches for your face, like she’s still trying to read you after all this time. It’s not calculated anymore, it’s almost like she’s worried.

Suddenly, you smile. Not because you felt like you had to, but because it felt real. 

It feels real.

When she notices your smile, relief washes over her face so clearly it almost makes you laugh too. Her shoulders drop. The worry around her eyes softens. Her chest against yours, and suddenly, nothing else seemed to matter when she finally had you.

You just wanted to go home.

Lingering reports on your desk lay right next to your computer, the light glaring into your eyes. Every time a notification pops up on the corner of your screen, you can’t help but let out another heavy sigh. A constant reminder that you aren’t able to just leave as you wanted, that you had responsibilities to take over.

But you desperately just want to go home.

It was late at night, and you were working overtime.

Most of your workers are still with you, frantically running around the offices with papers flying out of their hands—arguments left and right. Empty coffee cups were scattered around the desks. Reports rewritten or untouched. None of it was going your way.

You leaned against your swiveled chair, pinching the bridge of your nose before rubbing your forehead to soothe the developing ache. It was all pointless. The evolving ache in your head could only seem to grow as you opened your eyes, glancing up from your computer to see a group of your employees arguing with each other–going at each other's throats. It was almost laughable.

The continuous chatter surrounded the entire office, echoing into your ears until it was just too much that it began to blur. 

The only reason you were forced to stay behind, just as some of your other colleagues, was that you had a huge deadline coming up. The sole reason you were here instead of cuddling up with your wife in your bed. You tried warning the rest of your peers to get it together, that this was severely important, and if none of them got their act together, you’re afraid you’ll spend another night in this building rather than in the warm comfort of your home.

You knew the project wouldn’t be finished by tonight. Everyone knew it. But all you could hear were denials of such an idea. Everyone desperately finished their part of their own tasks, until a new one came up, and then another, and another. And before you knew it, it was just another night of an endless cycle of suffering. One more fix, just one more hour. It was all a lie.

As dramatic as it sounds, you weren’t far off from lashing out at someone–or into the void. You’re unsure. You just knew you wanted to leave, or at least rest your eyes for a few seconds. Even then, wasting just a few seconds could do more harm than you’d think. 

Coffee cups were emptied, computers open and loud with their furious typing, and that same annoying, stupid sound of the clock ticking was nearly pitiful for you. Another reminder that time was near its limit. You glanced at the time, and it was already past dinner time. You cursed yourself under your breath, your palm rubbing the ache in your eyes as you leaned back further into your seat, turning away from the argument your colleagues were still having.

You promised Sophia that you would make it by dinner tonight.

Just imagining her all alone, sitting by the dinner table with food untouched, just her and your baby waiting for you to finish work. Waiting. Just by herself. Yet you were still here, stuck in this tireless place that you spent more of your time than being with her. And you hated yourself for it. The thought alone pained you.

Your throat tightened.

You looked at the glowing screen in front of you, at the mess of reports and papers scattered across your desk, and then back at the clock. Almost nine. Almost another promise broken.

You and Sophia have been trying to settle into your marriage, which has now been nearly two years. And you’ve never been any happier than you are now.

You get to wake up every day with that same beautiful smile of hers. Her laughter echoes inside your head every other minute of the day. You got used to breathing a full head of her hair every morning. You got used to her scent, her touch. Everything that she offered you, you quickly became so deeply in love with. Even with every flaw, every imperfection, you love every single thing about her. You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

And now that she was carrying your child after many attempts, the love you have for her only deepened.

And it is why the guilt is eating you alive. 

Sophia reassured you every time you came home late or woke up earlier to attend a meeting. She never blamed you, never yelled at you for prioritizing your work. She knew that you were only working harder for her, only for her.

Secretly, you wished she were more upset at you.

You wanted her to vocally tell you to come home, wanted her to reprimand you for taking so much of your time on your work rather than hers. You wanted her to want you. She was just so selfless, so understanding, that she rarely ever tells you to come home as desperately as she wanted you to.

Even if she assured you plenty of times that she was fine with you staying at work more than not, you know she doesn’t deserve to stay home all alone. She shouldn’t be alone. To eat her meals alone. She shouldn’t have to wonder if you cared more about work than her. She shouldn’t have to carry all this weight, all by herself.

You were working so hard that you nearly forgot the sole reason why you started overworking in the first place.

Everything you sacrificed was for her.

Minutes had passed, and the argument right in front of you was still going on. You turned your chair slightly, pushing your chair forward as you leaned your elbows on the desk. Your hands clawed at your face, nails barely dragging onto your skin as you let out a heavy sigh. This was becoming childish. The sanity in you was at its breaking point. Without Sophia, you knew you wouldn’t last another second without yelling at someone else by the time you were done.

Your hands left your face as you slammed the laptop closed. Eyes glaring up at the scene in front of you. You were seconds away from throwing everything off your desk if you had heard just one other voice in the next second. After you did, you received such guilty silence. Startled. And for once, you were glad that you did.

You didn’t even speak. Afraid that if you did, you’d say things you’ll regret, and that’s not what you need right now. What you needed was to go home, to see Sophia, to check up on her, and to see if the baby was alright. God, you’d kill just to make sure both of them were okay.

You lifted your hand, signaling all of them to leave. All of them immediately left as you did, no questions asked, no excuses. You could only stare at their retrieved figures from the glass panels, guessing that they would only find new things to argue about.

Whatever. It wasn’t your problem anymore.

Your office was finally silent. Their voices slowly disappeared as they walked further away from your room, thankfully. Your hand stayed on top of your laptop, tapping your finger impatiently while you leaned your chin on your other hand, contemplating your next move. You breathed with uneasiness. Each breath is heavier than the one before. This unknown feeling in you gave you a slight tremble within your core. You felt like you were being tested, on edge.

Another sigh leaves your mouth once you fish your phone out of your pocket, your other hand loosening your tie just a bit, nearly feeling suffocated by being in this room alone.

A few notifications lingered at the bottom of the screen.

Two messages from Sophia.

One was reassuring you–once again–not to push yourself so hard, even for her.

The other one was telling you how much she loves you with exactly three heart emojis.

Your heart clenched at the sight.

You began staring at her profile picture. The one where you captured her in the right moment of her drinking her hot chocolate that day in the middle of winter on a date, foam sticking onto her upper lip. A soft smile lay on her face. You instinctively unlocked your phone, messaging her back that you missed her too–if not, even so much more. You wanted to tell her that you wanted to go home soon, but you don’t want to give her any more of the false hope that you’ve unknowingly led her to believe.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen, the words staring back at you like you weren’t ready to send. I’ll be home soon. You typed it. Erased it and typed it again. It was as if you were playing mind games with yourself, you just knew you wouldn’t want to do the same to her, not with Sophia.

She deserves everything. Deserved to live with the truth, especially when she’s been nothing but honest, patient, and forgiving. You couldn’t give her any more empty promises and reassurances.

Instead, you settled for a simple: I love you. Both of you. You mentioned the baby, More than anything. Always. You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the small sound of the notification as you pressed send, the message leaving your phone through the silence of the room.

Even as you managed to give her a few short calls earlier in your day, you knew that wasn’t enough either. You felt bad every time the call would have to be cut off short just because you were late for a meeting, or how you can’t even respond to her messages on time when someone barges into your office with another endless complaint.

All of these problems were getting in the way of you and Sophia. You want to make sure your life with her is set, steady, and stable.

But the truth was, stability meant nothing if it cost you the very thing you were working so hard for. Every meeting, every late night, every sacrifice—it was all supposed to be for her. For Sophia, for the tiny heartbeat she carried in her stomach, for the home you dreamed of filling with warmth and laughter. Yet by achieving those goals, you’d been slowly harming yourself away from the one thing that only kept you going.

You held the phone on your chest, as if the warmth of her words could reach you through the screen and pull you back where you needed to be–where you wanted to be. In your home, in her arms. You're holding her to never let go. She’ll be holding you back with equal pressure. It wasn’t money that Sophia wanted. It wasn’t the perfect house or the perfect future. She wanted you—just you. And somehow, that was the one thing you kept failing to give her.

The hollowed void in your chest only kept growing at the thought. You rubbed at it absentmindedly, as if it could ease it away. It didn’t. It never did. Not on your own. The only relief, you knew, would be seeing her, hearing her voice, the touch of her skin warming your own. Just one turn of her head towards you was enough for your heart to keep beating. It was enough, she was enough. More than anything you could ever possibly hope for.

This was your wake-up call.

The word enough was stamped on your mind, harsher than any reprimand you yell out for, louder than any complaint you’d ever endured in that same building where you sat in. You had fallen into this endless cycle, the lie of convincing yourself that the hours and the exhaustion were for her. But what good was all the stability in the world if it meant sacrificing the one thing that truly gave your life meaning?

No more excuses. No more half-hearted reassurances. No more letting her eat alone at a table meant for two. No more being away.

It was stupid enough for you to take so long to understand where you finally realized that the only way you’ll truly fix this problem was so simple. All you had to do was leave, to go home. In her arms, where you were meant to be.

Just as you were about to get up and shove your phone back into your pockets, your phone rang. 

Your eyes immediately shone at the name that popped up on your screen.

You answered the call.

Sophia leaned back on the couch, the soft blanket resting over her lap as she cozied herself up, wrapping her arms around her own waist as the screen on the TV began to blur by the second every time she glanced at the clock. The snack bowl on top of the coffee table was nearly gone in an instant, and she smiled and laughed softly once she rubbed her belly contentedly.

It had been a little over four months since the big news arrived. Four months of changes that neither of you could have ever expected. Either way, she wouldn’t change it for the world.

Every day was getting harder than the last. Adjusting to a new routine and the growing belly that she grew to love wasn’t as easy as it seemed to be. Every meal wasn’t as filling or satisfying without a small snack afterwards. Tantrums and stress have increased tenfold. Especially at night, being careful not to toss and turn so much when the baby is as healthy as it should be. Some evenings, when nights were extra hard, she’d stare at the ceiling with thoughts filled with excitement, and sometimes even fear.

You make sure to reassure her every time that she’s going to be the most amazing mother you’ll ever see. Not when Sophia has been working so hard to make sure she and the baby were healthy, strong, and loved. Studying during the day about things she needs to know when becoming a mother, or things she should avoid to be safe.

But even then, those fears came haunting into her head every night, no matter how much she was reassured or confident. And when some restless nights, particularly hard ones, she’d cry. The tears came too easily, but you were always there, reminding her, pressing sweet kisses to her skin to tell her that she was more than perfect–more than ready–to do this. With you.

Your confidence in her could only be furthered with each time you showered her with the love she deserves, that she was reminded of the heartbeat she’d heard at the doctor’s office at the first checkup—the steady rhythm that silenced every doubt.

Her hand rested over her stomach now, her thumb brushed against the fabric of her sundress as though she could soothe both herself and the tiny life within.

Sophia leaned her head against the couch cushion, her eyes flickering once more to the clock. You were still at work. The thought made her chest tighten, not with anger but with longing.

She misses you.

She wanted you beside her, to see her struggles and her small victories of the tiny moments she would have during the day, to feel the shift of her world the way she did. But she also knew you were working for them—for her, for the future. That made the waiting easier. Almost.

Words of encouragement weren’t just for her—they were for both of you, and for the little one who would soon change everything in the best way possible.

Still, Sophia missed you. After all, she’s only human.

She can’t help but remember the moments when you sit in front of her, when she cooked dinner just for the both of you, and now she’s eating for two. And on rare nights, you arrive just in time before she starts cooking–you doing the simplest things with her always had her heart fluttering in her chest.

In the mornings, she’d wake you up extra early just to pack your lunch for the day and kiss you goodbye right when you walk out of your front door. The kiss felt bittersweet each time she’d have to kiss you goodbye. As selfless as she was, she desperately wished she were just a little more selfish to steal you away from your endless work.

If only she knew how much you wanted her to steal you back.

For now, Sophia could only wait. And wait, and wait. She waited with the blanket wrapped around her, knowing that its warmth could never compare to your own. The lamp shone above the living room of the house, the voices on the screen were the only ones filling the silence, signifying how lonely she really was.

For a long moment, she just sat there, staring at the flickering glow of the TV, letting the quietness linger for a bit too long. The waiting had always been her way of coping, her little ritual of patience—but tonight felt different. Tonight, the longing in her chest didn’t feel like something to endure. She couldn’t.

Every time she tried focusing on everything else. Every image, every touch, and every voice was only yours.. It felt like a signal. A whisper that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to wait alone. Not any longer.

She let out another quiet sigh, rubbing the side of her head as she leaned forward to reach into the bowl, only to find it empty and out of popcorn. The sinking feeling only grew at the sight as she pouted.

Sophia had enough, throwing the blanket aside and picking up her phone from the coffee table. Her fingers hovered over your name on the screen. She could feel the familiar flutter in her stomach—not the baby’s this time, but her own nerves and excitement. Usually, she’d wait for you to call, to check in, to let her hear your voice. Maybe sneak a short conversation to think about later. If she waited just for another hour, she swore she’d go crazy.

But tonight, she realized, she didn’t want to wait.

With a knowing smile, she clicked on your name, letting the phone ring.

Almost immediately after the first ring, you answered.

“Hi, baby.” You said softly, you were clearly tired, but your voice was easily recognizable to her.

Either way, she smiled at the sound.

“Hi.” She responds, unknowingly, you were smiling just as hard as she was.

Sophia didn’t waste any time. She got up, walked over to the windows with the moon shining its light over the world, staring into her own reflection as she eyed the small bump on her belly. Continuous rubs on top of the cloth over her stomach cycled through as she heard your soft breath through the speaker, faint sounds of screams were in the background of your office, but she couldn’t pay attention to that. Especially when she finally managed to steal you away from all the chaos.

“You sound tired,” Sophia whispered lowly into the night, her eyes still fixed on her reflection, the roundness of her belly more noticeable under the pale moonlight.

You laughed quietly on the other end, sitting back onto your swiveled chair as you faced the wall, your attention solely on her. “I am. But hearing you–I don’t even care. You make it all better.”

That made her smile. You always make her smile, even in the toughest situations. She leaned on the cold glass sideways, her arm sliding against it.

“You say that every time, you know.”

Your smile widens, closing your eyes at the contentment of her voice. “And it’s always true.” It was. “How’s our baby? Is she fine? Good? Should I worry?”

Her laughter echoed in your ears, the sound felt natural to you by now, and your heart warmed up even more. She looked down, pressing warm and small circles to her belly. “She’s good, perfect as she’s always been.”

The size had grown a lot, but not fully just yet. It was visible for sure, but it only reminded her of the love that both of you shared. This was the beginning of something new, something to be excited for, the realness of it all. Your family was finally growing, and it was because of this that she knew she shouldn’t let you be so far away from her–or the baby.

Her eyes closed as well. She could almost imagine you standing right behind her, arms around her waist, your chin resting on her shoulder as you looked at her reflection together, admiring the sight of just the two of you and your baby. “I just–I miss you,” she admitted quietly. “More than I thought I would tonight.”

There was a short pause of silence, and she could hear the beat of her heart just as loud. You finally spoke after a few short seconds, “Just say the words.” You whisper through the phone.

All it would take for you to come rushing home was just as simple. If she wanted you home, she’ll say it, but you need to hear it from her. That’s all it would take.

“Hm?” She teased, her smile widening at the image of you pouting at the tone of her voice. “What are you exactly asking of me?” She asked.

You got up from your chair once again, walking in small paces around the office that you owned. You knew she had you where she wanted, trapped. She always knew what places to push to receive the exact reaction she was looking for.

“Say the words, say it, and I’ll drop everything right now just to come home to you.” You muttered, loosening your tie just a bit more. Your hands were already twitching to just pack your bags right now and rush to your car in this instant. You were looking forward to this very moment all day, there was no way you were going to lose this chance now.

Sophia hummed again, pretending as if she were thinking. She wasn’t even there with you right now, but she just knew that you were too eager, too excited to come home to her in her arms. She couldn’t lie to herself either, knowing that the ache could only ever be filled with your love. That she needed you, selfishly. She didn’t care about your work anymore, nor do you.

“I’d give it all up just to hold you in my arms.” You admit, like a secret to be kept, “You know I would.”

Sophia’s breath hitched at the honesty of your words, her fingers tightening around the phone naturally at the tone of your voice–more raspy and real. The room around her drifted away, the same faint voices of the characters on the TV, even the moonlight reflecting on her figure as she stood beside the window—all of it slowed down until it was just your voice in her ear and her reflection staring back at her. Her thumb rubbed over her stomach again, slow and thoughtful, her heart thumping inside of her chest as she completed her thoughts together.

She wanted to tease you again, to drag this out just a little longer. But she could hear it in your voice—the way it trembled just slightly at your final word, the way your breathing quickened as though you were already coming home to her. You weren’t just saying it, you meant it.

Her eyes softened. Maybe selfishness was what she needed. What was the point of working so hard for her and the baby if you are barely there? She doesn’t need financial stability anymore, she doesn’t need you to be this far away from her for the majority of her days. She needed you.

“Come home,” she whispered finally, her voice low but real–and honest. “I want you to come home.”

It was at the last of her words that it was all it took for you to let everything else go. You didn’t care if you were going to get yelled at by the morning or your paycheck would be cut short because of your absence. The work didn’t matter at the moment, nor did the money. All you could think about was Sophia, Sophia, Sophia.

Her tone dripped just by the edges, it was so sudden, but you caught it right at the exact moment. It was undeniable, a sound that you haven’t heard in a while. You couldn’t deny it either, that it made your blood rush up inside you.

That shift in her voice hit you harder than anything else at that very moment as you froze in the middle of the room. The exhaustion in your body was gone, replaced with a sudden urge of energy, of hunger—not just for her presence, but for her, entirely. Her words carried their weight, pulling you by the strings as if she were already dragging you closer to home.

You instantly set your phone back on your desk, Sophia still on the call. She could hear a bunch of rummaging through your reports and papers, stuffing them into your bag like it was trash. Neatness was far from the real importance that was swarming in your brain.

“I’ll be home soon.” You said from the other side of your office, yelling louder as you forced your laptop through the endless paperwork inside your bag. Your bag was ready and in your hand just right after as you picked up your phone back to your ear, “I mean it this time.”

She cherished that promise. She felt the honesty, the truth in your words was unforgettable. “I’ll be waiting.”

You swore you drove past a few red lights along the way as you drove back home.

The rush out of the office was completely horrific. At least five of your workers came rushing to you as you presented your presence you finally stopping hiding yourself in your office, only to be met with disappointment and complaints from them.

That didn’t matter right now. Your tie was completely loosened, now barely drifting around your neck and on your shoulders as you glared at yet another red light. You nearly started cursing at the red glow from above, but now was not the time to have road rage. 

You wanted to see Sophia, you wanted to see your baby. And when she finally permitted you to do so, it was only obvious that you couldn’t say no to that.

Your hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles separating at the skin, the city lights blurring past as if it were a scene in a movie. You swore you could still hear her voice echoing in your head, low and trembling, Come home.

Every honk, every car cutting across your lane, every flash of brake lights in front of you felt like an obstacle deliberately standing between you and her. But nothing was going to get in your way, as dramatic as it sounds. You drove past them anyway. 

The next green light finally appeared after what seemed like years to you. You hit the gas with more pressure than needed, and the tires of your car scraped against the concrete as you took the last few turns toward home. The air in the car felt thick, heavy with the need to go see her. You wanted to see her face, touch her skin, press your hand to the curve of her stomach, and feel your baby moving underneath. You wanted her to know you were really coming home—no phones, no office, no more separation between you.

It didn’t take long for you to finally arrive home.

Peaking out from your car window, you pulled up to your driveway to see Sophia, a huge smile forming on her beautiful face by the window. You didn’t even pick up your bag, and instead, you ran to the entrance of the door.

Your car door slammed shut behind you, the sound was loud enough that it echoed along the streets of the neighborhood. You didn’t even lock it. Every ounce of you was already rushing forward, shoes scraping against the pavement, heartbeat louder than the sound of your fast steps.

Sophia’s silhouette moved from the window, gone from your sight, and your chest nearly burst at the thought of her waiting just behind that door. You fumbled with the keys at the door-handle for only a second before it swung open—she had already unlocked it, already there, already reaching for you.

Her arms wrapped around your neck before you could even mutter out her name.

You are home.

The torturing days, the endless nights, the chaos of your office—all of it was nothing compared to this as you finally held her again. 

The front door shuts behind you as she pulls you inside the comfort of your home. You felt her laughter vibrating on your neck as you did the same. You were just too happy, stumbling inside, losing your balance as you were suddenly pulled into the living room in the midst of the moment. Your knees nearly buckling as you were trapped against it and the warmth of the body you were holding.

You couldn’t hold her as tight as you wanted to, the bump of her belly was slightly pressed against the satin of your button-up shirt. Not hard–but enough to feel the warmth through her dress. You pulled away just in time, seeing the smile on your wife’s face was priceless compared to the ones you would daydream about at work. Just standing in front of her, her presence already warming you up, was more than enough.

You leaned down, lowering yourself as your hands smoothed over the curve of her dress, your forehead pressed lightly against the gentle swell of her stomach. For a moment, you closed your eyes, carefully listening—imagining all of it in your head. The world outside faded and no longer mattered, replaced only by the faint rhythm of Sophia’s breathing and the thought of the small life you both had created together.

You couldn’t be anymore luckier than you are now.

“Hi, my baby.” You turned your head back forward, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the fabric of her dress, your hands around her waist. Your heart is full and happy, speaking to the life in her stomach as if the child could hear you, you believed she did. 

“You’re not going to greet me?” A voice from above whispers out into the quiet air. Your lips curved into a smile that she too can feel where your lips were pressed against. You leaned back up, straightening your posture, towering over her as you took in her presence fully, giving her all the attention that she deserved.

There was only one greeting you know she’ll accept from you, one that she couldn’t resist.

Before you could even pull her in, she beats you to it.

Sophia lifts her chin, the glimmer in her eyes shining through before closing them, as did yours. Your heart had already lost its own control of the steady beating from before as she finally pressed a kiss onto your lips.

You sigh in relief at her taste.

It’s slow, surprisingly. You take your time with tasting her, breathing her in whole. Her hand crept up to your neck, flicking the loose tie off your shoulders, tilting your head just to meet her at the right angle.

Her hands cup your face fully, her thumbs brushing on your skin with careful, sweet intent. Her lips tasted like butter from the popcorn earlier, but you knew this taste of hers all too well. She reaches towards the back of your head, digging her nails into your scalp as you feel her scratching the skin just the way you liked. You can’t help but groan into her mouth, her throat bobbing up as she swallows it down.

Your own hands trail to the back of her dress, only to feel the softness of her smooth skin on your palms. You run up and down on her spine, letting the smile grow on her face as she kisses you deeper.

Her smile–her smile always melts whenever you kiss her, soft with a promise. Gentle and warm, as if this kiss was the key to that promise. Your arms around her, her hands cradling your cheeks, your lips connected in a kiss. Everything else was forgotten the second you finally held her after hours of being apart. It was normal for you to be away, but tonight–that cycle ends.

All that remains is her warmth pressed against you, the heat building between your skin, and the steady rhythm of her breath against your cheek. Every laughter, every moan, you own it all.

Sophia’s fingers curl hard into your hair, becoming desperate and hot by the minute. A sight you haven’t seen for a long time. You can’t help but miss the feeling, too. Months of being pregnant with your baby, you being at work for far too long, it was only obvious for her to miss you more in other ways.

The air catches in your lungs, a shiver running down your spine as you grip her closer. You couldn’t even register your thought when you felt the trail of her fingers sliding down your back to your neck, scratching the small hairs behind it. Your jaw becomes slack from the touch that she takes this opportunity to slide her tongue in.

And you can taste her fully now–guiding her tongue, flicking softly against it. All of her taste pools into your mouth, and you take everything in. Everything she gives you, you take it with ease. It’s messy, her saliva swarming in between your lips, and you have no choice but to swallow it all down as she did for yours.

Another sigh falls from your lips. Your nails gently scrape her back, letting a soft, pretty whimper fall from her own mouth. So sweet, too eager for more of you. You always loved it when she got this excited for you. Greedy and desperate. Wet and slick. All the waiting had finally come to this.

Your hands roamed all over her, you couldn’t get enough of her. Your hands trailed from the exposed area of her back, down to the sides of her waist, letting your palms trail lower to the curve of her ass, squeezing the flesh in your touch, earning another moan from her lips.

However, you reluctantly pulled away, earning a low whine from Sophia.

When your eyes open, it takes all your strength not to pull her in for another, a much longer kiss than the one before, at the sight that your eyes weren’t prepared to see.

Sophia’s eyes turned into a deeper shade of brown. The dim light from above emphasizes her figure more clearly to you. Eyes watching your every movement, chest puffing up and down from her desperation, hands can’t seem to figure out where she wants them on your body, her lips swollen and wet–that was your doing. All of it.

You tried to control yourself, thinking that now isn’t the right time–knowing exactly what Sophia was trying to get out of you. You knew you would crumble just as easily if only she’d ask.

You don’t want to hurt her, nor the baby. You knew that without any real control, perhaps you’d get too into it, you might hurt either one. And that’s the last thing you want.

The silence was heavy, and the sound of her heavy breathing was the only thing you could hear right at that moment. You kept staring at her lips, pink–just begging for another kiss. You keep telling yourself in your head that you shouldn’t, that this night was supposed to be for small kisses and cuddles, but you can’t deny it anymore. Not when the want is already too big to handle.

Your eyes can’t help but trail lower, analyzing how she looked under the moonlight.

Because, fuck, this dress is doing something to you.

Sophia’s wearing this white sundress, covered in tiny flowers in the shade of a light blue, the pattern goes all around the cloth. You can’t help but think she looked so surreal in this particular dress. So pretty, cute even, but at the same time–just too damn tempting.

She’s testing you. You knew it, she knew it. Just waiting to see if you’ll give in, to have you right where she wants you. And she does want you, all the time, always. But right now, the need is taking her to another deeper of need, the kind that only you can fix.

You swallowed hard, your hands letting go of her body just to lift a hand near one of her shoulders, toying with the strap of her dress. So fucking tempting, just one slip and you don’t know if you could even function right there and then.

“Did you wear this for me?” You whisper, nearly cursing at yourself in your brain when your voice doesn’t sound as casual as before. That’s her effect–on you.

Her lips curved upwards, too wet–glistening underneath the light. You knew you were finished once your pants began to feel too tight around you, already imagining how pretty–how pink her lips would be just around the base of your cock–her sundress barely hanging onto her shoulders.

Sophia doesn’t respond right away, arms falling back to her sides as she studies you carefully.

Your blazer still hugged your body, and your button-up shirt had already lost a few of its buttons on the top. The tie that was on you this morning was long gone. But what her eyes were already set on was the growing tent in your pants, how hard you already are for her just by the sight of her eyes staring back at you as equally hard. She licked her lips just in time as you felt your cock twitch, how painful it already was.

She’s playing with you right now, so torturous, but you won’t let her have her way that easily. Either way, it was only fair for her to show how much she appreciates you after a long day at work.

“Maybe.” Her voice is soft, but soft isn’t what she wants right now.

She tugs you closer by the waistband, and you brace yourself before you could even stumble. Her breath fans over your lips, and you can’t help but stare at it as she speaks lowly to you, making sure you take every word in.

Her hands trail lower, dangerously to wear you want them the most. “Maybe I wore it just for you to take it off.”

Your breath hitches.

She’s offering herself to you. She wants this as much as you do. It’ll only be stupid if you were to deny an offer like this.

You reach up, starting from her face. Your thumb brushes the side of her cheek, letting her smile take all the worries and stress away so easily. You trail your touch lower, outlining her jaw, to her chin, just to move up slightly, testing the way her mouth parts without a command when she feels your thumb at the bottom of her lip. Your thumb dips in almost instantly, her mouth wrapped around your skin, sucking it in as if it were your cock. Her mouth all warm and wet, eager and ready to take you all in.

Your thumb reaches further, caressing the muscle of her tongue. Sophia doesn’t back down when she takes in your finger, staring you down as if she were starved. Your cock stiffening around your briefs, it was getting harder to manage your self-control.

Sophia, let’s go off your thumb with a pop, a smile upon her face as if she were telling you a sweet story. Nothing about this was sweet, not even close.

Her patience was running low. You wanted to take your time, to be slow and gentle with her. That’s not what she wants, not what she needs from you. Not this time.

Her hand cups your cock through your pants, you nearly groan, and she is barely touching you. Your cock was already painfully hard for her; she knew it by the look on your face, confirming when she finally touches you where you wanted. You’re hard, thick, and aching. You needed this.

“Aren’t you going to take it off, or do you want me to do it for you?”

You exhale shakily. How could you even concentrate on answering a simple question like that when she’s palming you through your slacks? Your hips unintentionally jerk into her palm every now and then.

She doesn’t wait for your answer this time.

She shoves you by the shoulder, your knees buckling at the edge of the couch as she forces you to sit down and watch her. Watch in tormenting silence as she’s towering over you, her dress all flowy and loose around her figure, the swell of her belly still visible. Almost as visible as the painful throbbing of your cock just begging to be freed, just begging to fuck her loose the way she wants you to.

Your hands don’t go anywhere near your cock, even when you know she won’t stop you if you help yourself out. You want her to torture you, to be upset at you for being so far away from her all the time. You don’t deserve to have her like this, but she’s granting you permission to watch, maybe earn yourself more than just a short palming through the fabric of your pants.

Instead, your hands fall at the sides of your legs, palms flat on the sofa, nails nearly digging in the material. You force yourself to watch, ignoring the pulse of your cock just to enjoy this.

Sophia starts slow, painfully slow. A hand lifts to reach her neck, caressing her own skin before leaning down to her collarbones. Your eyes follow like magnets to the way she touches herself, you imagine it was your hand instead. She goes lower, just right above the curves of her breasts. They were much fuller than before she was pregnant, evident even when the dress was on. Her hand moves lower, cupping one of her tits through the cloth, her nipple instantly hardening from the touch, even with the fabric in between.

Breathing was getting harder than ever now. Sweat pools underneath your jaw, your pants tightening by each tick of the clock, but not once do your eyes strip away from the view. Still, nothing can compare to the next thing she does next.

Finally, Sophia leans up to her shoulders, eyes locked on you as she lets one of the straps fall off her shoulders, and then the other.

The dress falls off with ease.

You inhale sharply.

“Fuck.” You mutter underneath your breath.

Your eyes immediately stare at the swell of her tits. Plump, heavy, so full. Nipples all perked up, stiffening from the cool air. Your mouth waters just at the thought of wrapping your mouth around her nipples, how beautiful she’d react with your mouth on her. How badly you wanted to mark her up, not to own her, but to show how lucky you are that she chose you.

Nothing was covering her except her panties, still around her cunt. The dress was already forgotten as it lay on the floor, and she stepped out of it and kicked it to the side. You eye the visible wet patch at the center of the fabric, and it takes everything for you not to lean in and breathe in hard at the scent, licking desperately just for a taste.

Her hair with light curls settles behind her back, letting every inch of her skin, every warmth radiating off of her, become closer to your own presence. She’s so beautiful, everything about her, everything you dreamed of.

Your stare lowers down to her belly. Automatically, you sat back up, leaning forward to reach out as you softly caressed the skin of her stomach without any barriers, pressing a kiss just above the area of her belly button. Sophia’s breath gets caught up in her throat, but she wasn’t done yet.

“You’re perfect.” You admit, “Everything about you.” 

She smiles again, not with greed, but with gentleness. Just for a second, as she leans down to press a quick–but grateful kiss to your lips. You weren’t ready when she instantly got onto her knees, a position she hasn’t been in for a long time now, but she managed with ease as if it were natural. 

Still, as badly as you wanted this, you were concerned for her safety and the baby, and you immediately took hold of her shoulders, letting her knees ease safely on the ground.

“You don’t have to.” One of your hands lifts to her cheek, letting her know that you were being completely honest about this. You don’t want to risk harming the baby.

She turns her head, and the warmth of your palm calms her thoroughly. She presses an appreciative kiss to your hand, rubbing her cheek against it softly.

“But I want to,” Another kiss to your palm, “I really do.” 

Her hands were wrapped around your calves, fingers tightening, nails digging into the material. She wants this so bad, but she knows she has to be safe about it. “I want to make you feel good. I promise to be careful about it. I promise.” 

When you nod and lean back against the sofa, that was all it took for her to let loose–to get what she really wants after all this time of waiting.

Sophia lets go of your legs, hands settling on either side of your thighs as she lowers her hot mouth on you. You feel her through your pants, dipping out her tongue, letting her drag her tongue higher up to your tip, still twitching–still hard, trapped underneath both of your boxers and your slacks. She chuckles at it, pressing another soft kiss on it. You gasp, breathless.

“Sophia, don’t play with me.” You warn her, your fingers find their way through her scalp, tangling them into her hair. Not harshly, just enough to prove your point of how much you actually need her.

She loses her smile altogether, and she finally snaps.

She gives in easily, hands fumbling at your belt, throwing them aside, your briefs and slacks soon follow after, lifting yourself just slightly for her to drag them off of your legs, both at the same time. Your undergarments soon lie next to her sundress.

Your cock finally frees itself from its misery. Throbbing, twitching, and hard all because of her sick torment. The tip of your cock leaked heavily, smothered by how long it’s been trapped beneath your briefs.

This sight was almost enough for you to come right there. Sophia’s mouth was already wet from earlier, just inches away from where you needed her the most. You watched the way she licks her lips instinctively, right before she presses a full kiss to the tip of your shaft. She sees every inch of you, all for her to own, all of it to have into her mouth.

Her tongue sticks out, eyes watching your face for your reaction, when you let out another groan–louder than the one before, her mouth sinks lower.

“Jesus, fuck.” Your mouth falls open, fingers tightening at the strands of her hair. You try not to jerk into her face as much, wanting to keep yourself steady. You can’t fuck her face like you normally would, wanting to be as careful as you were, but watching Sophia like this–pregnant but still ready to have you in her mouth does something in your chest.

She gags on your cock, spit already pooling at the corners of her lips. “You’re so good with your mouth. Such a good girl.” You urged her, caressing her hair softly. Still, it made her blush, even when her mouth was so full of you.

She should be used to it by now, countless times and moments where she had been in this position, but even now, she can’t take you in fully as much as she wants to. So fucking big, and too stiff, just how much she really wants to force herself to take it, but you don’t let her.

You pull her by the hair, her mouth now only at the tip. Even as you try to stop her for a second, she doesn’t–her tongue swirling around the tip, switching between soft licks and sucking you up dry.

“Careful, baby.” You warn her again, letting go of her hair as she nods. Already forgetting the small agreement as she sinks her mouth back down, her cheeks hollowing as your cock fills up to the tilt of her mouth. You're stretching her mouth, loosening it up as if it were her cunt. Bobbing her head up and down just to feel you twitch and shift on the tip of her tongue.

She lifts, letting you go with a pop, “You feel so good in my mouth.” Before hollowing her cheeks once more as she flicks her tongue around you.

Your hips haven’t stopped shifting and jerking up slightly; her mouth’s so fucking warm, so greedy for you. By this, you knew she waited for a long time just to have your cock back into her mouth again, that you weren’t the only one who had been dreaming of this from the start.

Her mouth doesn’t leave your skin, letting you go by the tip, dragging her tongue lower as she cradles one of your balls into her mouth, her nose just brushing against your skin as she uses her other hand to fondle the other. You close your eyes, getting too hard to keep them open, leaning your head against the headrest of the couch. You forgot how good she uses her mouth, that every time she does, you’re already impossibly close, enough to come at any second.

Every noise coming out of her feels so fucking filthy, her mouth squelching around you, her drool leaking down onto your legs, not having a care in the world if she gets the couch dirty or not. Eyes dilated and awake just to see how good you look for her when you’re in her mouth.

The blazer around you is becoming warm, hotter each time she sucks you in with her mouth, but you can’t move, you can’t take it off, not when you’re twitching so much. 

Sophia brings her other hand back to your tip, giving it the attention it needed as her mouth and her other hand busied themselves at your balls, switching in between. Her hand wraps around you, sliding up and down–pausing just in time–spitting in the palm of her hand, letting her saliva coat the tip before continuing.

She watches you even with both of her hands and mouth full, you open your eyes just in time to stare at her, eyelashes fluttering at you. “I want your cum in my mouth, baby.” She says as she brings her tongue flat out for you, toying with you slowly as she makes you watch the way she widens her mouth, tongue out, gliding it down to your balls all the way back up to the base. “It’s the least you can do after making me stay home all alone.”

You sigh.

You stood up wordlessly, her lips off of you were just a second as you stood, cock bobbing from the movement, letting it slap back to the plumpness of her lips. She doesn’t take you back into her mouth just yet. Just waits, waits for your next order. Already this obedient for you with her mouth all messed up, wet from your precum, and her saliva mixed on her tongue.

The blazer around you finally falls off your shoulders, and you set it aside on the sofa. You reach up to unbutton your shirt, the movement excruciatingly slow. But she forces herself to stay put, to not dip out her tongue as much as she wanted to. She waits for you until you’re finally naked and bare, all for her to watch and stare at, only her.

The shirt is gone by the next second, one of your hands reaching out at the sides of her head as the other grabs the base of your cock, tapping it gently on her cheek as she stares up at you. Sophia is on her knees for you, body all bare, hair and face messy, and you already feel your tip leaking again just by the sight of her looking back up at you.

“Where do you want my cum?” You asked gently, soothing the messy strands of her hair.

She smiles as if you were asking her about something else, as if she didn’t spend the last half hour with you loosening up her throat.

“In my mouth,” Sophia responds obediently, already opening her mouth, tongue flat and all, and you didn’t even have to ask. That’s how good she was being for you, wants you to fall apart, have your cum drenching up her taste buds so that she’ll know she won’t be able to stop thinking about it.

She licks up your length, gently, “Please.” And then a soft kiss as she turns to the side, “I want it so badly.”

You give in.

You guide her mouth back onto your cock effortlessly, mouth trained and ready as she wraps around you. You’re already this close to coming in her mouth. She steadies herself by holding onto your legs, letting you fuck her face. Sweat drips off your back as you fuck her mouth. You try to be cautious with your movements, but you’re so close, so fucking close to coming undone.

“I’m so fucking close.” You tell her, using both of your hands on her hair like handles. Your balls slapping against her chin as she swallows you whole. She feels you pulsing hard, tip leaking heavily, just waiting, suffering to finally let out your loud.

She reaches back up again, using her hand at the base, her tongue back onto your tip. “Cum in my mouth.”

And you do.

Your knees buckled, body leaning forward as your jaw let’s loose, your load finally coming out of the tip of your cock inside of the warmth in your mouth, filling her up. Hot come spills into her mouth. You keep shuddering, trembling slightly after you had finally come down. The taste sweet and salty, thick on her tongue as you force yourself in one final time, as you finally come.

She empties you, swallowing every bit that you give her, your chest heaving as your high slows down after a minute.

You pull out, and she can finally breathe.

Sophia laughs, eyes a little teary, mouth sloppy and wet from your come, hair looking like she hasn’t combed it in days. But she’s still so beautiful, so lucky that you got to have her like this. Fortunate to have her at all. There was something real in her expression, it reminded you of every reason you had fallen in love with her in the first place.

You brought her up from her knees, your eyes switched from your high to concern as you rubbed her belly gently. “Are you okay?” You mumbled, kissing the corner of her lips. You reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. She caught your hand halfway, pressing your palm to her cheek.

She nods, and you sigh in relief.

“Good.” You begin pushing her out of the living room. She’s giving you this look, knowing what you want next. “Because we’re not done.”

She smirks back at you, straightening out her knees as she walks ahead of you towards your bedroom upstairs. Your eyes never leave the curve of her ass, your cock bobbing up and down as you climb the stairs after her, your shaft already hardening again at the sight.

Sophia wastes no time as you step inside your bedroom with her, arms already pulling you towards her into another greedy kiss. She whimpers at your mouth, and you taste the saltiness of your come on her tongue. You don’t waste another second as you guide her towards the bed. It’s fast and it’s raw, but you don’t think you can last another minute without being inside of her.

It’s been so long, so fucking long since you felt the warmth of her pussy ever since. You always arrived home late, never making it on time to be this intimate with her without feeling so tired. You woke up too early to get a quickie, too.

Finally, you have her all to yourself. Every risk, every sacrifice was worth it all. Even without the sex, you're just happy that you get to hold her, to see her smile because of you.

It was worth it, all of it.

“You’re thinking too much.” She pulls away, kissing the underside of your jaw and then the other side of your cheek. “Having second thoughts?” Her voice dripped lower, raspy from the sloppy throat-fuck.

You gulp down the sudden nerves, shaking your head. “No. Never.” You say, “Not with you.”

She presses a small kiss in return.

“Good.” She sits on the mattress of your bed, legs slowly spreading, your eyes analyzing every movement. “Because I need you to fuck me, now.” Her voice was all needy and whiny for you that it was impossible to even say no to that.

Your lips move back on hers in an instant, hands reaching up from her waist, down to her shoulders–her arms, lowering to her breasts and then her stomach, just enough for your hands to stop at the waistband of her panties.

You cup her, realizing that she was drenched–so fucking soaked this entire time.

She made a mess out of herself, her slick covering the entire area of her panties, dripping outwards into her inner thighs.

“All this, for me?” You whisper in her ear, earning another soft whine and a nod from her.

Her fingers dig into her arms, forcing you to cup her harder, her cunt pussy over nothing–waiting to be filled. “Always.”

“Hm.” You respond with a hum, gently pushing her back down onto the bed, mesmerized with the way her breasts bounced with every slightest movement. You end her torment by finally dragging her panties off her legs, both of you sighing as her wetness fills the air.

She’s so wet. So fucking wet.

“See?” She gasps as you spread her lips apart, peaking your tongue through just to slurp hazardously at her cunt, a gush of her slick falls onto your tongue almost immediately, humming again at the sweetness of her pussy. “I need you inside me.”

“You do?” You mumbled against her pussy, her whimpers growing louder as her back arches so prettily for you as you ate her out. You missed this taste, so filthy, so wet. Already drenching your mouth, and you had only started seconds ago.

You swirl your tongue over her clit before tonguing her inside of her cunt, moaning at the way it clenches around the muscle instantly. “Do you think you deserve it?” You groan against her pussy. Both of you know the answer to that, you knew she deserved to be fucked this good, how patient she was after all this waiting she endured from you.

Sophia nods again, impossibly more desperate than before. “Please–just–” Another cry falls from her lips as you suck on her swollen nub harshly, your hand instinctively slowly jerking your cock as if just eating her out was enough to get off from. “I’ve been so good, please, baby.” She sobs against the bed, hands gripping on top of the sheets.

“You’re right.” Your mouth leaves her pussy, climbing higher up on her body to stare at the greediness in her eyes. You grabbed the base of your cock, guiding it towards her entrance as you teasingly tapped against her pussy a few times. “Only for me?” You await her answer, tip nearly sliding in, just waiting for the exact words from her, and it's all hers.

She sobs again, but admits the truth, “Only for you. Only yours.”

You thrust in with ease.

Sophia whimpers beneath you, holding your neck in her arms as you brace yourself on your elbows, sliding your cock inside of her cunt slowly. You moan automatically at the tightness of her pussy, all wet and warm, that it was enough to slide in without an effort. She feels so good around you, you missed this feeling terribly.

It took a few seconds to adjust, too high off the feeling of her. When you feel her tapping on your back, you begin to thrust inside of her.

You thrust in and out of her, connecting your lips as you swallow every moan and whimper she offers to you. You swallow them down with pride, pride because you’re so lucky. You can’t stop saying it; it was the truth, after all.

“You’re stretching me out so good–so perfect–” She can barely register her own words as your cock hits a spot she particularly loves, angling yourself better to loosen her up repeatedly. She turns her head slightly, parting her mouth just to bite at the sheets, not even then that could keep the sounds from falling out of her mouth.

You spread her legs wider, earning another whine from her. Her moans all choked up around her own spit–mixed with the come in her mouth, all loud and greedy. 

“Yes–fuck me–don’t fucking stop!–” You can barely focus with the way she was whimpering so close to your ear like this. 

So filthy, every sound she makes brings you closer to the edge, but you want it to make it last. You can’t come just yet, not until she does.

You began to kiss every spot of her skin, every praise came with the worship that you were willing to give her. She’s so pretty like this, so unreal. Your lips pressed a small kiss to her own, trailing to each of her cheeks, down underneath her jaw. 

“I need you to cum inside me–I want all of it. Inside.” She whispers filthy words in your ear, whimpering slightly. You can’t forget the area she likes behind her ear, sucking it slightly, soothing it with her tongue. She’s already trembling underneath you, but you don’t stop.

Sophia leans up with her elbows, letting you praise every inch of her skin. Your mouth leans lower, drenching the skin of her neck with your tongue, down to her collarbones, until you stop right at the curves of her breasts.

You inhale with a trembling breath.

They’re heavy, full, her nipples just begging to be licked and sucked.

They’re much fuller than before, too. Still pretty, but there was a huge difference. You knew she was extra sensitive about her tits, just the slightest touch has her weakening in an instant. You crave just a small taste, you want to know her reactions, you want to take everything in.

And the way she was breathing heavily? Just the smallest movements, her tits would move instantly. You were mesmerized, wanting them in your mouth desperately. 

She senses what you want, what you need, leaning her chest towards you like she already knew what kind of thoughts you were having of her. Filthy thoughts. 

She nods, “It’s okay.” The corner of her lip tilts upwards, slightly smirking.

You lean down.

You cup one of her breasts, caressing them carefully before eagerly taking her nipple into your mouth. Your eyes look back into her own just in time as she moans loudly. You knew it. So sensitive, so swollen for you.

You begin fucking her relentlessly, cock pulsing in and out of her tight cunt. Your mouth latched onto a nipple, the other fondling the other breast. She’s overwhelmed, it’s nearly too much, but she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t want you to stop. You feel her walls clenching harder around your cock, nearly choking on her breasts at how tight she feels around you. Your chest heaved at an equal pace with her own, but your energy doesn’t slow down. Instead, you only thrust in harder–faster for her.

You’re already leaking hard inside of her, you’re almost there. You remind yourself that you can’t, not yet. Your free hand props onto the mattress as your mouth goes to give attention to her other tit, pushing in and out of her harder. Her cunt pulses harder, so full from you.

Right as your mouth was about to let go of her nipple, you feel a difference in the taste.

You froze.

You suck in harder.

Milk flows into your mouth, warm–but sweet.

Sophia’s still underneath you, slightly crying–not from embarrassment, but from how much you make her feel good. So good. “Please, don’t stop!–” She props her feet flat on the mattress, fucking herself on your cock to get off, her cunt clenching–milking your cock. 

“Fuck.” You muttered, letting go of her nipple with a pop, receiving a quiet sob from beneath you. You begin fucking her back, getting closer even more than before. Both of your hands caressed each tit, holding them still as you fucked her open, fingertips squeezing at her nipples before watching milk flow out slowly. You watched with amazement.

All she could do was cry out for you.

Your mouth latches back onto one of them, the taste pooling into your mouth. You're obsessed, loving the way her tits leaked just for you to drink it all up. You feel her pushing your head further into her breasts, as if she were getting off from you drinking her up.

Just staring back at you like this–mouth full from her milk, leaking just as much as your cock was inside of her–made her just as crazy as you were for her. Her back arches more into you, her tits pressing more onto your body, onto your face. Her eyes were watering just from you loving on her breasts, emptying them with your mouth.

It’s filthy, messy, some of it leaking out of your mouth, but you’re desperate enough to drink it all in. You don’t waste any of it, not when she tastes this good. So sweet on you’re tongue, you’re nearly becoming drunk just because of her taste.

“You taste so good, so fucking good.” You mumbled, staring into her eyes as you forced her to watch you as you sucked on her tits, milk flowing down your throat, her eyes looking back down on your throat the watching the way it bobs as you swallow her taste.

Her hand leans down in between, reaching down to play with her pink–puffy clit, all needy and desperate to come. She’s too near, too close. Her other hand reaches up to her breast, the one in your mouth.

You let go, your hips jerking into her harder as you feel her growing closer, watching carefully at what she wants you to do next.

“Can you open your mouth for me?” You ask, the question all too familiar, “Like the way I do for you?”

You quickly obeyed, opening your mouth just like she asked.

Carefully, she leans up, fondling with her tit–pinching at the nipple before quick spurts of milk flow into your mouth.

She watches with awe as you close your eyes, letting the milk flow into your mouth. You don’t swallow just yet, the taste filling you up, your lips nearly dripping from the overflow. She closes your mouth for you, opening your eyes– “Swallow it.” Sophia tells you, pupils dilated, mouth parted, sounds falling out effortlessly, you staring back at her as you swallow it down.

Her eyebrows furrowed, suddenly trembling underneath you. You thrust your cock back in, harder, your hand removing her own hand from her clit, replacing it with yours as you rub small circles around the nub. Your other hand fondles the other breasts, watching the rest of it leak on her chest.

She’s close, “I’m gonna cum. You're gonna make me cum.” She admits, arms reaching out to your own, nails digging into your skin, you’re sure it’ll leave marks in the morning. Right now, that’s the least of your concerns, you just want her to feel good, to make her come.

She’s becoming too near, just from your mouth on her tits while your cock forces her open, helpless, exhausted, but she’s determined to milk you dry. Wants you to fill her up, sink your come inside of the filth she’s made in her tight cunt.

Her nipples are swollen from your teeth and tongue. She was already overly sensitive before, but now that your mouth was on her? She knows she won’t be able to get enough, craving your tongue back onto her tits, loving the way you love the taste of her milk in your mouth.

“Me too–” Your sweat and her slick stick together, all sloppy and messy, the heaves of your breath conjoined together as your hips don’t stop moving. “Fuck–cum with me–” You groan into her mouth as you lean back down for a kiss.

Sophia freezes, a trail of whimpers falls on your tongue as you swallow every sound she makes as she comes, wrapped around your cock, her pussy pulsing–clenching around you, that right after, you come inside her. Filling her up with thick spurts of your come, hot and warm, spilling inside of her just the way she begged you to.

Another thrust, before you pull out of her. Sophia whines from the loss of feeling so full. 

You plop beside her on the bed, your palm resting on your chest as the other pulls her in from the side, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, a few of her baby hairs sticking to her sweat. Neither of you could barely move, nor could you even manage an ounce of energy to say a word out. Not like it was needed.

Sophia lets out a faint laugh against your shoulder, the sound barely audible over a sigh. You feel the rise and fall of her chest against yours, the rhythm at the same pace as your own breathing. The room is still, the only light coming from the soft glow through the curtains of the moonlight.

You turn your head towards her, smiling at the sound of her laughter. Your hand drifts up and down her arm in comfort, the same way you’ve done countless times before when she’s too tired to sleep. The swell of her belly was still safe and clear, faintly in the dim light, a small reminder of the promise you both built your lives around.

You can’t help but prop yourself up on one of your elbows, the last bit of your strength to pull her into a sweet kiss. She smiles in between. Both of your lips tasted like each other, a reminder that only you two belonged to each other. As it should be.

Sophia’s smile lingers against your lips even after you part, her eyes half-open, heavy with sleep, but she still finds yours underneath the light. You brush a thumb along her cheekbone, tracing the curve of her skin as if to memorize it again. You hear the rush of your own heartbeat at the same rhythm of her own.

“You need me to run a bath?” You offered, kissing her cheek. You laugh softly as she eagerly nods.

“I want a burger too.” That makes you laugh the second time.

You shake your head, still smiling at her playful behavior. “A bath and a burger. You really know how to end the night, huh.”

Sophia grins sleepily, eyes never leaving yours. “You married me for my standards.”

“I married you despite them,” you tease, earning a light slap on the arm.

“But I love you,” you whisper, the words leaving your lips naturally. You lean in without thinking, your breath fanning over hers, the space between you barely there. “And I always will.”

You hold her together, your hand mindlessly rubbing over her stomach once more. This had only brought your family closer together. Nothing stopping either of you, the work, the money, none of it could ever compare to this moment right here.

Sophia’s grin widens, only to stare into your eyes as she always did, the truth swarming in them without even having to say the words out loud.

Manon walks into the convenience store with her hands stuffed deep into her jacket.

The familiar smell filled her lungs. That same scent of pure stale.

She walked in, eyeing the greasy hot dogs rolling continuously under the warmer, accidentally stepping on a chip that was forgotten on the floor, before taking in a hint of fresh-scented cleaner that lingered around the store. Her eyes fell onto the endless aisles of chips, instant packs of ramen, and sour candy.

None of them ever filled her appetite.

It was night, it was cold, too cold for her liking. Each breath she exhaled left a trail of fog from her mouth. And her lips were cracked, always forgetting to moisturize. The laces of her shoes untied, too lazy to lean down to tie them. Braids pulled into a ponytail, never even letting them loose around her face. That same old jacket she wears never leaves her body. Pants too baggy, the belt barely staying on her hips. And her eyes? Unreadable.

That’s all she ever was.

The man behind the counter didn’t even glance up from his magazine, sighing underneath his breath, murmuring something incoherent. He didn’t need to look. Manon came to this same convenience store more than the times she slept in her own bedroom. 

She doesn’t go for fun, doesn’t go for the food, but because she needs something.

She always does.

Her steps carried her with humiliation, her shoes scraping the floor as if it had just burned to stand where she was right now. She walked past the aisles, past the snacks and the drinks, all the way to the counter. 

Eyes were already locked onto the locked glass behind the man before taking a glance at the lighters in a box, displayed on the counter, until the line of cigarette packs took her attention as it always did. She felt like they were eyeing her back, pushing her to a deeper sense of guilt. It pulled her like a magnet, too strong to even tear her eyes away from. 

Manon hurriedly took out the crumpled ten-dollar bill that she already had in the palm of her hand and stuffed it into her pocket. She threw it onto the counter as if it stung to hold onto it any longer.

The ache never leaves, controlling her to a different mindset. She ran out just a few hours ago during a party she willingly attended. Went outside for a couple of minutes, cigarette pack all empty, and ran out to her car as if an emergency had just happened. Forgetting about yet another party that she won’t even remember by morning.

It’s a constant ache, one that never leaves, the one that always stays. It haunts, stretches no matter where you go. Every craving gnaws at her chest, scraping the insides of a weight that she knows nothing else can ever fill. The mind and body are at war—one half desperate for relief, the other screaming with shame for even wanting it. She hates how she feels more shame than relief, but the crave really never ends.

A surrender, a compromise that she didn’t choose herself, too deep to chase away. She tells herself that it’s like a heartbreak, one that isn’t loud, but one that gets her trapped, a prisoner. One that doesn’t allow her the pride and self-respect that she used to deserve. But now? She isn’t sure about what she deserves anymore.

The relief never lasts long, but it constantly drives you in further. And when she finally gives in, the relief is there, but it’s bitter with regret and guilt that settles into her skin, sinking its shameful mark. Until it slowly dies out, only the emptiness remains, already counting the seconds, minutes, and hours until the urge doesn’t last, already hating herself for it at the single thought. And when it’s time, she does it again, a continuous cycle that never seems to have its own ending.

And now she’s here. It was inevitable anyway.

As she was about to speak, the cashier beat her to it. Doesn’t even look up from his magazine, mindlessly flipping the pages like her presence wasn’t even there, and she’s beginning to think that way, too.

“Marlboro?” He says the brand name, dropping the magazine onto the counter, turns around without a look and mutters under his breath, “Same as always.”

Manon nods, her throat constricts with the same familiar feeling—a mix of relief and shame.

Maybe it was just in her head, but she swore she could hear laughter building up in his throat. The humiliation deepened at the thought. But she doesn’t care, or she pretends not to. There wasn’t really much of a difference to her anymore.

He drops the pack onto the counter. As he was about to pick up the bill, his eyes squinted, and then he looked back at her with this look on his face, like he thought this was some kind of joke.

“You gave me ten dollars,” He paused, the silence stretching out with a hint of judgment, “You know it’s twelve bucks.” The cashier places a hand on top of the cigarettes, making sure she doesn’t take them before paying the exact amount.

Manon paused and stared at the hand covering the pack. She hated how she felt the need to just snatch it and run away with it. The craving eats her alive, and it makes her fingers twitch as her nails dig into her skin. She forces herself to rummage through her pockets once more, only to find them empty.

“I only have ten.” She mumbles, head low, eyes daring. Her patience nearly snapping, she knows she has no right to feel that way when she’s the one wanting to scam him.

He knows it too, “You know the amount, it’s twelve dollars.” He repeats, beginning to take the pack away from her, the sight of the pack leaving her sight stings something inside her chest. She sighed, eyes closing with her fists clenched, knuckles straining her skin, “I’ll pay you back tomorrow. I need it right now.” She lies.

He doesn’t look convinced, her nails push in deeper at the sight. “You keep saying that,” he said, voice casual, bored even. “I see you here all the time, and you never pay me back.”

She feels the ache deepen within her bones, scraping the edges. The cashier doesn’t know her, and doesn’t plan to find out, but he sees her in this same store too much to know enough that this was a sick habit she kept performing.

The words get stuck until she forces herself to choke them out. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow. It’s a fucking two-dollar difference.” Bitterness forms in her mouth, and it wasn’t the cigarettes this time.

Silence stretches the air longer than it needs to. Her eyes never left the pack underneath his palm, as if the sight was mocking her. Out of her reach, something she wanted to selfishly take, even when she had no right to. The craving was eating her alive.

He began to glare at her, squinting his eyes, which made her stomach feel uneasy, twisting and knotting. Just as he was about to turn around to put it back onto the shelf, he froze.

The bell above the door jingled.

You.

Just a stranger, just another face.

The night carried the lingering cold that clung to your own jacket, a hint of that outside scent drifting through the door as you walked inside. Your shoes squeaked against dirty tiles. But for a moment, you didn’t look at her at all. You were just another customer, another stranger, soon to come in and go back out there like you hadn’t stepped inside at all.

But then your eyes flicked to the counter, to the scene you’d walked in on—the cashier’s hand still pinning the pack, the girl standing tense and small in front of him. Her jaw locked tight, her shoulders drawn in like she was bracing for something heavier than words. Face filled with something unfamiliar, but the eyes said it all.

You walked past the two. Their eyes still linger on your back. You’re unsure what was going on beforehand, and you didn’t really care to find out if you were completely honest.

You went through the aisles, grabbing a bag of Cheetos before walking up to the line of drinks at the back, opening the door, the breeze hitting your face like a punch as you reach out to grab a cold drink.

The glass door thunked shut behind you, the bottle sweating in your hand, almost slipping out. The light overhead beamed on top of you, filling the silence between the cashier and the girl you left behind. You could still feel their eyes on your back, tension slowly crawling up your neck. And when you turned, the scene hadn’t changed much. The cigarettes were still trapped under his palm, and the girl still stood there, her hands useless at her sides, a stiffness to her that spoke of desperation she tried to hide. But you knew that feeling all too well.

As you walked towards the counter, their eyes were locked onto each other instead. Daring for one another to admit defeat, you watched the way her eyes hardened at the sight of his hand gripping the pack as equally as hard.

But then you stood beside her.

You set your drink and the chips on top of the counter. For a moment, the cashier’s attention flicked to you, as though you were a welcome interruption from this tense situation. But the weight of his hand never lifted, and her anger slowly swarmed inside of her ribs.

And then it paused. Her eyes turned to your side, watching the way you took out your wallet from your pocket intently. Eyes still expressionless. You don’t look her way, somewhat afraid that if you do, something will burst out of her.

You felt her shifting at your side. Jaw locked, hands fisted, too cold that it was getting hard to breathe.

The cashier pushed the cigarettes to the side, away from her reach, to scan your items instead. The act has her eyebrows furrowing, biting her cheek, preventing her from saying something she might regret. She hated how easily she was affected by it. Like a child who had taken away their candy.

Just as the guy finished scanning your items, you said something else, something neither of them would have expected.

You placed ten dollars for your own things, and then a two-dollar bill.

Manon stared at it, then you–her eyes suddenly turned soft.

“I’ll pay for the cigarettes.” You said, lowly, eyes locked onto the cashier and then the pack, hidden on the side where he pushed it carelessly. He gave you an expression of disbelief, mouth parted to say something, but the words weren’t there. Too tired to fight any longer, he nodded, scanned the pack, and then your items.

The register beeped, the sound sharp in the atmosphere. You slid the bills across the counter.. The cashier snatched them up without a word, his earlier disbelief had now disappeared, back to his usual, careless state. He bagged your drink and chips, set the cigarettes aside like it was a burden he was glad to get rid of.

Her throat tightened. She loathed this—the way she needed it, the way she couldn’t even scrounge together twelve dollars without someone noticing her failure, the patheticness in it all. And yet, someone had noticed. 

You. A stranger.

Manon didn’t move at first. She couldn’t. Her eyes still lingered on you, searching for some trace of motive, some reason you’d even bother to help. They weren’t filled with gratitude, not exactly—more distrustful, delicate in a way that looked unfamiliar on her face. She reached for the pack only when it seemed safe.

The mask she wore so constantly cracked in that second. Something gentler, almost natural, slipped through. Her appreciation tangled with shame, like something as simple as a thank you was a debt she couldn’t afford to owe. Her lips part, but the words refused to come. She couldn’t say thank you. Not without a crack in her voice, breaking.

So she didn’t.

Her hands shoved deep into her jacket once more, shoulders hunching as though she could fold herself small enough to disappear from you. The cigarettes pressed against her side, heavy, damning, but still the only comfort she knew. The only thing that she sought.

You stare at her, not with judgment, but more so–something quieter. You weren’t expecting her to say something anyway, assuming that she wasn’t that type of person to do so. But your eyes still met hers, flashing with something unguarded hidden beneath the facade she tried to hide.

Until she nodded, just the slightest that if you blinked right as she did, you wouldn’t have noticed it. But you did. She turned around as fast as she could, the door opened with a hit of undisturbed air onto your face. The bell above her head dings as she leaves, the sound short in the silence she vacates behind.

But she doesn’t leave, not completely. You observe through the glass windows as she kneels, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, knees drawn up, back hunched out. The cold doesn’t seem to bother her anymore. For a moment, nothing else seemed to matter to her besides the small box in her hands.

Her hands fumble as she unwraps the wrapper around the packaging. Finally, lighting one up. She raises it to her lips, the flame capturing with the wind as the first inhale draws sharply within her lungs. Her shoulders no longer tense, eyes closed just briefly as if the smoke could even erase the ache that could never seem to leave inside of her.

Manon exhales, and the smoke curls and twists into the night air, the same, bitter sweetness tattooed to her tongue. Relief washes over her, but then again, a hint of shame always comes after, it always follows.

You stay inside the store, the bag of your snacks loose in your hand. Head turned just to watch the curve of her back, hunching more with each exhale she made, the cigarette obvious in between her fingers. You don’t approach, you don’t leave just yet. Everything just seemed so dull compared to the girl on the other side of the door.

The streetlights framed the glow around her, highlighting her body as if the world itself had paused to watch this girl, the smoke stretching and pulling with each exhale. You painted her out, even when you don’t know her at all. You can’t help but wonder what type of girl she was. 

Your confidence suddenly grows in you, pushing past the door, the same sound of the bell rings as you do, your feet carried with something unrecognized, your heart thumping in you. 

The breeze wraps around you, clinging to your jacket, and you walk towards her. 

You sensed her head already turned towards you as you sat beside her on the sidewalk, wordlessly digging into the plastic bag in search of your drink, popping the can open, taking a sip as you swallowed in the taste.

The fizz crackled on your tongue, swallowing it up sharp and cold. Beside you, she drew on the cigarette again, slow, conscious, every one she dragged out was measured out to keep her composed. You smell it from her side, the wind pushing it towards your direction, its scent clinging to the breeze.

Manon doesn’t speak as you sat beside her, even when you sat too close for her liking. Doesn’t ask you why you came outside or why you sat next to her when you should’ve walked away. She doesn’t ask your name either. Her eyes were steady on you, but you could tell from her body reaction that she wasn’t expecting you to acknowledge her after she didn’t even thank you for paying for the same cigarette between her lips. You could tell she was nervous, maybe afraid.

The silence stretched, thick but not exactly uncomfortable. Just weighted. You sipped again, the aluminum cool in your hand, the carbonation scratching your throat. Her cigarette glowed with each inhale, her fingers trembling only when she thought no one was watching. But you were.

Then, you placed the can on the pavement, shoving your frosted hands back into your jacket, slightly shivering from the drink and the cold. 

You spoke after a while, “You come here a lot? Don’t you?” You ask, careful, sounding a little too noisy for a stranger.

She pauses for a second and then exhales a smoke. “Yep.” Her tone was completely defensive, but there was no edge to it, just questioning. 

You nod, eyeing her face. She seemed more relaxed than when you first saw her inside the store. Her eyes weren’t as weary as they were, jaw loose, hands on the cigarette like she was only ever made to hold them. She faces back onto the concrete, eyes shying away from you like your stare made her tremble. You couldn’t tell if it was from you or the cold night.

“I didn’t mean to step in back there.” You eyed the pack in her hands, outlining the way she clutched it like it was sacred to her. “Felt like you needed it.”

Her mouth parts as the cigarette leaves her lips, registering your words. Her eyes go back onto yours, sharp, quick, and then she softens as if she was figuring out if she should trust you or not. But then she takes another slow drag, eyes locked onto yours like some kind of pull.

“You don’t know me.” She whispers, but loud enough for you to hear. Strained, not really controlled, but the shakiness was nearly there.

“I know that,” You respond, not as defensive as she was, eyes even dared to stare right back into her own. “But I didn’t have to.”

And then she leans back slightly, almost as if she were offended. You hear her scoff slightly, facing towards the road once again.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” She swallows, the bitter sinking through her throat, “But you shouldn’t go any further.”

Your eyes don’t leave when hers did, “Is this your way of telling me I should stop?” You questioned, testing out the waters.

Her lips part like she might argue, but instead she lets the cigarette rest between her fingers. She turns her head just enough to glance at you, the edge in her gaze gone, relaxing a bit, and the calmness seeps through her sight.

“No,” she says simply, and for the first time tonight, she sounds honest. The truth sinks in between her lips as the word falls out with ease.

Usually, the conversations never last this long for her to say no, or even respond. She’s used to the quick exchanges, the blunt words, the silence that lets her slip away without anyone else noticing. But with you, it’s different. And she isn’t sure if she should be okay with that.

You smile, and for the first time, her heart begins to beat rapidly at the sight, that isn’t for the cigarette in her hands.

She doesn’t know what this means, too scared to even find out.

Before her heart could get any worse, you spoke out again, “Good.” Your smile widens, her heart quickens, and you take out your phone, the screen glowing softly in the night. “You owe me two dollars anyway.”

Her heart stutters, quick and irregular, and for a second she doesn’t reach for it. The cigarette glows brighter as if in sympathy with her nerves.

She studies you out, and for the first time tonight, the usual walls she built so carefully feel thin, almost nonexistent. There’s something magnetic about you—calm, careful, offering without expectation—that makes her pulse spike in a way she can’t explain. Almost the opposite of what she is, and she’s sure enough that she doesn’t want to be the one to corrupt you.

Finally, after a long inhale, she lifts her hand, brushing her fingers over the screen. Something about your ease makes her pulse race even more. She slides her thumb over the keypad, typing in her number, the act feeling strange and daring all at once. She’s never reachable, barely hands out her number like it’s too precious to guard. But she’s doing this like it’s honest, without thinking.

You chuckle softly, feeling suddenly giddy about it all. You put your phone back in your pocket, your breath fogging with each laughter you exhaled as you stared at the road where she was overlooking.“When you ever need a friend,” Your smile softens, eyes lowering to the white painted line along the road, “Call me.”

She nearly laughs at that, already doubting it in her head. But what was filling her head much more was your contagious smile. It pulled her heart that she hadn’t felt in a while. You smiled like it was easy, like it was natural, something that you didn’t need to control or pretend. It was impossible to ignore, like being near you made the entire night different. Her chest tightened at just the thought of it.

More so, she feels seen by you. Like she wasn’t just another face to forget, someone to remember, maybe someone that could matter. She didn’t want to get her hopes up for someone whom she had met less than an hour ago. But you looked at her like she did, someone who didn't matter. 

She doesn’t get it, doesn’t quite understand this feeling. You didn’t look at her with judgment, not really with curiosity either. All she knew was that you made her nerves feel alive, made her throat dry up with the sound of your laughter. You just–noticed her. Not everyone did. And that, more than anything, unsettles her—because she isn’t sure she wants to admit how much she wants it. How much she needs it.

Manon should’ve known by then that your smile would haunt her for the rest of her nights.

The first time Manon called you was at a party.

You were at home, working from your desk, glasses set steady on your nose, the only thing lighting up your room was the laptop in front of you. Only your frenzied typing and the faint sounds of chatter from the outside of your home filled your ears.

Your sweater clung to your body safely, secured, and your sweatpants with equal comfort. You planned to order some food after finishing up your work, maybe go on a walk to grab a drink. All you were planning to do was rest by the end of it.

However, your phone began to ring, vibrating horrendously against the wood of your desk. 

Calls at this hour usually meant it was for work or scam callers. Either one made you frown anyway. You didn’t want to ruin your calm night with another load of work. You were already feeling too tired to even get out of your chair right now.

But then you flipped your phone, the screen highlighting the name, one that you hadn’t expected, and one that you wouldn’t guess would be the first to call.

Manon. You read.

The name alone has your breath hitched in your throat.

Without a thought in your head, you answered. Thumb hovering over the green button without another look, you instantly held it tightly against your ear.

At first, all you could hear was obnoxious music in the background, indistinct laughter hidden beneath it. Then a single pause, long enough to have you feel anxious, worried about her well-being, or maybe you wondered if she’ll hang up the call. The latter would have worsened your worries.

And then you hear her sounds becoming faint, as if she were walking further away from it. Now you could hear her better, the soft, quiet breaths becoming loud in your ear, the soft shudder in between, too easy to notice, too hard to forget.

You hear her shuffling for a bit, and then another nervous exhale, “Hi.”

Her voice has your heart freezing up.

“Manon?” You asked gently, already standing up from where you sat as if you already knew where this was going.

She shuffles again, before murmuring something delirious, and then becomes more stable, unable to pick between, “Could you come get me?” She asked, slurring her words. It almost sounds pathetic, and to her, it was. To you? Not even close.

Not once had she ever called for someone, never sought out another, even if she was put in a situation like this. She knew how to settle her own ground, to fight her own battles, and never felt the need to rely on another. That’s the thing, she makes sure she doesn’t. Too guarded, the walls she built up on her very own, the ones where she doesn’t want anyone else breaking them down for her.

And yet, here she was.

Manon slurs again, unfocused, but remembers the sound of your voice. And suddenly, everything felt a bit more quieter.

“This is weird, I know.” She pauses again, catching her breath, “I didn’t know who else to call.” She admits the truth burning out of her mouth.

The confession already has you throwing on your puffer jacket that was loosely hanging on the edge of your bed, you ran out of your bedroom too fast, your keys already in your hand as you opened your front door. The next thing you knew, you’re already in a car, driving to a place where you don’t even know the address yet, for a girl that you only met once. Maybe it was the nerves in you that heightened your ability to even think straight.

Or maybe it was this girl, the one you couldn’t read, the one you couldn’t reach.

She’s still on the call, breathing heavier than ever, and your hand grips the stirring wheel harder at the sound of her short breaths. “Can you text me the address?” You asked, not knowing why your voice sounded as unsteady as it did. You hear her murmuring a short 'yeah,' and a text soon comes after. Shortly, the words are barely legible, but you figure out the place easily.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can? Okay?” She doesn’t respond, your stress deepening, “Stay on the call with me.”

You should’ve known she wouldn’t.

Shortly after, the call hangs up without a response from her. The silence that comes with it becomes deafening, unbearable. Your hands grip the steering wheel, the skin on your knuckles nearly separates, and your heartbeat is the only sound that is apparent within the silence.

Panic arises in you. You know she didn’t mean to hang up on purpose if she was the one seeking help, and you guessed she wasn’t the one who often does. Her voice echoes in your ear, the hesitation in her tone, a familiar sense that you saw in yourself. You were second-guessing yourself about whether to call her back or if it was a waste of time.

Biting your lip, you stepped onto the gas, hastening your speed. There shouldn’t be a reason for you to be this nervous, this afraid of some stranger that never even said hello to you. You didn’t owe her your help, you didn’t have to go out of your way to find her. 

But you did.

It didn’t take long for you to arrive at the place. The house is all too familiar. Another night, another party, just one that you didn’t bother to attend on this particular night.

It was the same as all the other ones. Loud, careless music, alcohol, people. Just another replica of all the others that you used to attend until there were far more important things to worry about in your life that made you stop so suddenly.

You got out of your car in haste. People recognized you, calling out your name, some glared in your direction for reasons you didn’t really care to notice. All you could even really think about was her. If she was safe, if she was alright.

You searched left and right, squeezing past red cups and sweaty bodies. Every room in the house was utterly crowded, and the frustration slowly builds up from your stomach to your chest. You kept reaching out for your phone, calling her, sending her texts filled with concern. None were answered.

A small curse leaves your lips. You rushed throughout the house, looking for that same pretty face that stayed glued to your mind, that same voice pretending to seem fine.

When you ran up the stairs, the halls were somewhat empty, but enough that most of your senses weren’t overwhelmed. And by the corner of your eye, you saw the girl you’ve been looking for.

Manon sat the farthest down the hall, away from everything and everyone else. She sat near the open door where the balcony was, sitting down on the floor with her knees pushed up to her chest, arms lying on top of them covering her face. Her back was hunched like the first time you saw her. However, this time, she didn’t have her jacket safely wrapped around as it usually was.

As you walked over, you made sure she was physically okay, breathing out with a shaky exhale of relief when you realized she was. You knelt quietly, reaching out to lift her chin from her arms.

Her eyes were barely open, half-lidded, half awake. But the moment your eyes reach hers, it seemed that it was enough to sober her up. Her mouth opens agape, like she was about to speak, but the words weren’t there. You can smell the drink she had on her breath, usually covered with nicotine, now filled with alcohol. You didn’t want to assume anything, but maybe this was just the type of person she was.

You didn’t know what got over you, but your hand slowly reached higher to her cheek, rubbing it softly as if it would comfort her. And the way the trembling of her body vanishes in an instant, you knew it did.

“Sorry.” She mutters, eyes closing at your touch, like your warmth mattered to her. “I didn’t have anyone else to reach out to.” She finishes, the sentence alone sounded like she needed someone to pity her, but you didn’t. You won’t. She sinks her face deeper into your palm, too drunk, and doesn’t have a care in the world if her actions were too direct. Just needed someone, someone to reach out for.

“Don’t be sorry,” You don’t comment on the way she looks at you so intensely, like your touch was her oxygen, “I did say to call me, right?” You laugh, trying to hide your own tremble down your spine because of it.

And for the first time, she smiles.

A lazy one, but it was there. And it was real.

You matched her smile, pulling her up with her arm around your neck to hold her steady. Her weight was light, her clothes barely keeping her warm. You draped your jacket around her, the gesture warmed her heart, warming up just as your jacket did on top of her shoulders.

“Let’s get you home.” You say, carrying most of her weight for her as you lead yourselves down the stairs, walking past through the crowd, the fog breathing from your mouths as you step outside the house, leading her to your car.

The drive back to her place was quiet. Excusing the traffic noises and a hint of yelling from irrelevant strangers down the street. But it didn’t feel as awkward as it did when the two of you were alone before. Your eyes stayed glued to the cars in front of you, hands on the steering wheel, mind full.

But even then, you couldn’t ignore the way she's staring at you.

Manon sat in the messenger seat, head against the glass window, turned to face you. Eyes were obviously exhausted, drunk enough to even function properly. Her gaze lingered longer than it should have, as if the alcohol had given her the ability to show her actual feelings. You could feel it pressing against your skin, that quiet weight of being seen. It made your grip on the wheel tighten, not because you were uncomfortable, but because you didn’t know what to do with it.

You couldn’t help but take glances towards her, and you were obvious with it. You prayed that she won’t remember the way your face heats up from her gaze by the morning, hoping that your reaction was just all in your head. She looked like she was searching for something in you, something she hadn’t dared to say out loud. Something she hasn’t figured out altogether.

You pulled over to her driveway, helping her out of the car and into her home. She fumbled with her keys, sighing softly when you unlocked the door for her. She whispers where her room was, down the hall, she says. You try to ignore the way she holds onto you so gently, like she needed you to even stand, and she did. But it doesn’t help with the way her eyes never left you.

Even when you set her down onto her bed, handing her a bottle of water, she doesn’t close her eyes to sleep. Just watches you. Analyzing your features. Studying the outline of your jaw, the softness of your lips, the eye bags under your eyes. But even then, she thought you were glowing.

The water bottle steals away the warmth from your hands. She doesn’t take the water, setting it on her side table instead. You weren’t sure if you should leave or stay, but her eyes were making it hard for you to make your choice.

“You should sleep.” You set your hands back on your lap as you sat on the edge of her bed, leaning up to pull the covers over her body.

Manon doesn’t say anything, only a slight shake of her head. Doesn’t even blink either. Just watches. Mesmerized, fascinated even.

“I don’t want to.” She whispers, eyes clearly tired as yours, but somehow–too stubborn to close them.

Something inside your chest tightens.

You inhale quietly, “Why’s that?”

She’s quiet again, mouth parting and then closing like she’s conflicted in spitting out the truth. Eventually, she does gather the courage to do so.

“Because if I close my eyes,” Manon breathes with uneasiness, “You’re gone.”

Her words never fail to surprise you.

The room settles into another pace of ease in silence. Air freezing up as your chest did, unsure what she meant by her words, what hidden meanings are behind all of them, you kept wondering. 

You study her face, trying to find a clue–a hint of what she meant by that, but you couldn’t figure it out. And she made sure you wouldn’t, not yet, maybe not ever.

Your hands moved before your brain could catch up. A hand trails on top of her blanket, reaching up to find her own. The first touch nearly makes you flinch, her hands were so cold, frosted even. But that doesn’t stop you from intertwining them. And for the first time that night, she looks away from your eyes–just briefly–to watch your warm fingers interlace with her cold ones. You watch how her eyes soften even more at the sight, her hands gripping harder onto yours.

“I’m only gone if you tell me to.”

Manon looks back into your eyes. Her posture finally relaxes into her sheets, her eyelids fluttering, surrendering her will to the sleep she desperately needed. You stay seated at the edge of the bed, careful and still, watching the rise and fall of her chest.

You sat there until you knew she was fully asleep. The tension between her eyebrows erased, and the sound of her quiet breaths told you all that you needed to know that she was in her deep sleep.

The last thing you remembered to do was place another extra set of water bottles, three to be exact, on her nightstand. Painkillers tucked away right next to them, her phone right in front of the two–like a small hint that you wanted her to call you as soon as she wakes up.

Her door shuts behind you with a quiet thud as you leave her home, and the drive back home silences you, your head filled with thoughts you didn’t know you could even think about.

You just knew you couldn’t forget how her touch seemed so right against yours.

The second time Manon calls you, it’s at night again.

This time, she was sober.

It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t met with each other again after that night, because you did.

You remembered the way you woke up the following day, called her just in time as she was swallowing down the painkillers you left for her on that particular night. Laughing softly at the way her voice rambled in your ear through your phone as she repeatedly apologized for her behavior. You didn’t mind, you didn’t care, you were just glad that she was okay.

Manon offered lunch that day, her way of apologizing. You were trying to decline such an offer, but she was persistent, her natural stubborn self preventing you from even thinking about refusing. So you didn’t.

She brought you to a diner, the one that’s open all day and night. You soon learn some parts of her. She lives alone, hates loud areas, but always finds herself stuck in between them. She loved to cook, but never really did. She had a few tattoos, her most recent one on her hand. The same hand you held just as tightly as you did on that night.

You remember the way she sat across from you in that booth, fingers carelessly holding her fork against the plate like she was keeping time with her nerves. The smell of oil, grease, and coffee clung to the air, the conversation filling the gaps between you.

The story fell out of her mouth in pieces, not with words–not at first–but the way her shoulders tensed up as she began to talk, the way her hand clutched against the utensil before setting it down as if it was too heavy to keep holding. Smoking had been more than a habit—too far deep to even escape the ache that only a cigarette could fill. It filled the void of its edges when the world sank her in deep, filled the silence when it was unbearable, gave her something to hold when her hands trembled, no one there to hold her through it all.

There was no pride in it, just relief and shame. That was all she could feel every time she took a hit from it. This was the one thing she clung to, the one thing she knew would both carry her through and pull her under.

And even as she smiled faintly at you from across the booth, her eyes gave her away—because the smile that was plastered upon her face never reached her eyes.

But then, suddenly, you reach out to her from the opposite end of the table, finding her hand in yours as you did before. And this time, her smile does reach her eyes. Her sight bore deeply into the hand that carried her own.

You noticed the pain that was so easily overlooked. Saw her the way no one else even tried. Talked to her like you knew her from way back. Felt her in the way that it touched her heart.

Since then, another lunch followed the next day, and then the next, and another, until you lost count because of it. It wasn’t only the lunches either. You went with her to go out, watching every horror movie out there in either your home or hers, cooked each other's favorite meals, went grocery shopping, even. It was just natural. It became a routine that neither of you ever expected.

At times, it wasn’t just that. She would stay longer than needed, talks to you like you were the only one who could understand her in such ways. The hours would pass by when neither of you realized, her words spilled out in pieces that were never meant to be said out loud, but she didn’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to. There was comfort in your presence, a rare softness that she unknowingly kept searching for. As if being near you faded every worry, every single fragment of fear, shrinking away just by the look in your eye that you kept giving her.

Manon knew she shouldn’t have dragged this out for so long, taken you deeper into her life, where nobody had gotten this far enough to see the realness in her. The nights she couldn’t silence the thoughts in her head, no matter how many cigarettes she burned through. She knew better than to let you sit there in it with her, to let your presence linger too long when needed. Terrified of letting you get tangled in the mess she created herself when she knew you didn’t deserve that.

She knew it was selfish. She knew she was prolonging this, she only owed you the same two dollars that night when you first met. She had the money, it was only two simple dollars, but she couldn’t find the will to give it to you. Not when she knew that if she did, you’d leave.

And she couldn’t give you up, as selfish as it sounds.

Now you stood at the same spot where the two of you met. That memory seemed to be a long time ago, after how much time you’ve spent with her. Your back leaned against the glass windows of the convenience store, hands stuffed into your jacket like they always were. The pavement is flat against your feet, humming to a song that’s been stuck in your head.

You hear quiet steps going towards you, your head lifts, eyes already shining at the sight.

Manon runs to you breathless, a knowing smile stretched up her face as the sight of you gradually comes bigger, your figure, your presence, already made her night. Her chest heaved and fell as though she had been carrying the weight of the whole day just to bring it to you, and now covered with a true smile that only you seemed to know the sight of.

She slowed just before you, feet just a few inches away from yours, laughter caught in her throat, as if she couldn’t believe you were really there, waiting for her in the very place it all began. It was a view that you know you won’t be able to forget, no matter how much you try.

She takes a huge source of her confidence, grabbing your hand into hers, trying to calm the nerves in her system when your smile widens at the feeling. “Come on,” Manon says, tugging your hand inside the store with ease.

The two of you walk together with such ease, and you follow behind her, grabbing a couple of cheap sodas that fizz too quickly, and she pays for the drinks before you can fish out your wallet. Her laughter echoes as she sees your reaction, you scoffing lightly at her. The same cashier was still there, but this time, a light smile fell on his face as he observed the interaction quietly, scanning your items before the two of you rushed out of the convenience store.

The night leads you on at the moment the doors swing shut behind you, the same bell ringing above you as your laughter becomes louder by the second. Manon runs in front of you, her hands freezing around her drink while the other doesn’t let go of your own.

You couldn’t help but follow her lead, her own laughing side by side with yours as your steps begin to feel uneven against the concrete floors of the sidewalk your feet land on. Your drink stings at the back of your throat when you take a sip, choking on it slightly when Manon turns around to face you mid-run, and her laughter only ever becomes more uncontrollable at the sight.

The same feeling in her heart never fails to quicken up its speed at the way you smile for her. Like she’s the only one worth setting your eyes on. Maybe it was all in her head, perhaps it was just her own delusions confusing her further. Or maybe it was just the feelings in her chest she can’t seem to admit out loud, not to you, not to even herself.

She knew you weren’t good for her heart. Every time she sees you, everything else just stops, like the world was revolving around you, depending on the way you spoke or even breathe. She hated the way she had no control over it, how easily you invaded her mind, she spent years trying to close them off from others. Until you came and broke your way through like it was that easy.

A single glance from you and the smoke, the fears, the restlessness—all of it seemed to disappear, leaving only the terrifying truth of what her heart wanted. 

Still, her heart couldn’t seem to push you away, no matter how much her mind begged her to.

Manon slows down her pace, leading you to an area where the two of you could just sit and watch the outside fade around you. She sat on the edge of the concrete bench, her hand letting go of your own just to reach into her pocket, grabbing a cigarette and a lighter, holding it up to her lips as she lit it up. You stare as she sighs in relief.

She feels you watching her, but never says anything. For a moment, she seemed guilty, outright smoking in front of you, and for a second, she wanted to hide it, wished she could take back all the moments like this and paint a perfect image of herself for you. The kind of person that you deserved to be around, someone who wasn’t afraid, someone who didn’t feel the need to hide.

But you didn’t leave. You just sat there beside her, letting the night settle in between the two of you, her smoke drifting into the air like secrets she wasn’t ready to admit out of her mouth.

You cut the silence, “Does it help?” The question sounds odd from your lips.

She wavers, registering your question in her mind before nodding with humiliation stuck deep within her lungs, filled with the smoke she couldn’t erase. “Yeah, it makes things feel,” another pause, “peaceful, quiet at times when I need it to be.”

And then her eyes meet yours, somewhat regretting it when she sees this same look you give her every time. Not with pity or embarrassment, like you knew what type of pain she was feeling.

“It never fixes anything, but it helps, even if it's short–even if it’s only for a little while.” She admits that her honesty burned within the words.

You don’t move, don’t say anything at first. You thought carefully before you could. Everything else just feels heavier, as if it’s listening, holding its breath along the line between the two of you. 

“I know,” you murmur, voice almost trembling with hers. “And that’s enough. I understand how you feel.”

She laughs, finding that hard to believe, “Do you really?”

You’re the one who pauses this time, the words hanging in the air.

“No,” A smile breaks through your frown, “But I’m willing to if you let me.”

Your smile has her heart tugging at it again, “You make it sound so easy. Like I could actually just be myself without wasting my time pretending to be someone else.” She admits, a sense of vulnerability breaking through its cracks, something you haven’t seen before.

“With you, it feels easy.” She adds, the flare of her cigarette flows in your direction.

“I can’t even put it into words, but you feel–safe. You make me feel safe.” Her eyes land on her hands, she wouldn’t even dare to look into your eyes with the truth falling out.

Even now, your eyes never leave her face, even when hers aren’t on yours anymore. And you’re starting to believe that it was becoming this unhealthy habit of yours. The image of her face in your head already carved its mark onto your mind, that for a second, you knew, there was no bother in denying it any longer.

You watch how her other arm holds herself together, like there was no one else who would. She shrinks further into herself, somewhat in disbelief, she’d admit something so straightforward just like that right in front of you. It wasn’t much, but to her, it was everything.

She can hear her own heart beating loudly as if it were right next to her ear, a part of her wants it to stop, to make it feel that this was just all in her head. The other half wants it to keep pounding against her chest, the only way to tell that this was all real. She can’t even remember the last time she was this honest with someone, didn’t even think before saying the truth out loud. That’s what scared her, you made her lose all ways of thinking, every ability to rehearse her words or actions in her head. That was gone too.

You take her attention back the only way you knew how.

Your fingers gradually went towards hers, her body nearly flinching at the contact, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she just watches intently, letting the contact electrify her skin. Eyes locked onto your movement.

The cigarette leaves her fingers, catching them in between your own. Manon finally looks at you, not because of the cigarette, but because it attaches to your own lips.

Without another thought, you draw it in slow, a deliberate hit. The smoke gradually fills your lungs, but you don’t exhale.

Your other hand finds her chin, and you immediately feel the tension in her jaw, clenching up from the feeling of your hand on her skin. You try to rub the ache, the hard line where her jaw follows, but it doesn’t loosen. It can’t.

Not with the way you lean it, your heart thumping inside of you like it was timing the seconds of this very moment. Your head tilts just exactly as you wanted it to, angling her chin just in time as her mouth parts, a shaky breath falls off of her lips.

Instead, your own mouth parts, releasing the smoke.

Her eyes widen just for a fraction, startled. But she inhales it in from your lips like it was the only one that really mattered, even after the countless times she does it. This one was different, and the only one that had her chest tightening.

The taste lingers on her tongue, a familiar taste. Her fingers twitch, trembling against her own skin, eyes half-lidded as she stares at your lips. The sight–the taste, all too addicting. She can’t tear her eyes away from you, fascinated with the way you breathe, the control you own, the way you’re so close that you didn’t even care to move away.

Manon loses all control and leans in.

The tip of her nose brushes yours, watching your eyes flutter closed before she does the same. Letting her know that you weren’t going to pull away, that maybe, just maybe, you needed this as badly as she did.

Her lips hover, hesitant, afraid, that everything else didn’t matter except you. Until her lips finally meet yours.

She tastes like cigarettes, you taste like everything she’s been wanting.

It’s soft and it's slow. It wasn’t desperate like with the way she wanted this so much, but it gave her the comfort and warmth that she needed. Like you were the air she needs to breathe in, your taste in her mouth, your smoke in her lungs. She won’t be able to forget your touch upon her face, your lips on hers.

Her hands tremble as they land on her neck, slowly, gradually trailing them up to your face, holding your cheeks, thumbs caressing your skin like she couldn’t believe that you were allowing her to hold you like the way she dreamed about at night. She deepens the kiss, just enough to have the taste stained on your lips, ones you won’t forget, the touch that you’ll remember.

The cigarette is long forgotten, dropping it on the ground. Your hands fall on top of her own, your other hand on her waist, holding her securely, the tight grip as she sighs in relief into your mouth.

Her body molds into your own like it was always meant to be. Your breath shuddering into her mouth, she swallows it down. Every tremble, you consume it all in. And you knew it wasn’t from the cold that made the shakiness in her unmistakable, but it's the way you held your hands that were so steady on hers, that took every ounce of control from her skin.

Manon’s fingers began to trace small patterns along your jaw, memorizing every angle, every line of your face, engraving it into your head as if she were trying to hold onto every little detail you gave her. Your forehead falls on top of hers, the closeness exceeding. 

Despite the wind breezing through it all, you’ve never felt this warm.

A slow shiver runs down her spine when she feels you letting out another soft sigh, a certain sweetness in your own vulnerability. That she couldn’t think straight, not once had she ever felt this safe in letting herself even need someone, that the closeness even allowed her, maybe this was what she carved for all alone. That this was more than enough for her, she believed it to be.

Her mind and senses slowly fill up with you between the gentle kiss. All the memories, every moment, the touches, the looks. She didn’t know what she did to deserve it.

The warmth of the kiss lingers on her lips, and for a moment, she lets herself stay. But then, a tiny knot begins to form in her chest, small at first, almost unnoticeable. But still there, the same twist and pull of denial strangles in her throat, and then into her mind.

Her fingers tremble slightly, not like from before, not with security. There’s this quiet thought in her head, a second guess, questions slowly storm into her mind as if she were asking herself if this was even okay. Did she even deserve to have you in such a way? 

It was undeniable. The strangle of doubt circles in her stomach, a sickness at the idea of even hurting you. Even if it was unintentional. She knew she was the person filled with too many regrets, too many mistakes that were far from being forgiven. She was full of chaos, anger, with the only skill of hurting others with words she might not mean, but had said out loud. 

And you were the complete opposite, at least in her eyes. You treated her with care, kindness, things not everyone did for her, but you did. And you did them without even batting an eye at all of her flaws, even if they were too intense to handle.

She couldn’t rely on you like that, to be another thing to seek comfort from.

You weren’t an addiction, you were a person.

You thought of her with things she wouldn’t dare to think of about herself.

She couldn’t hurt you.

She promised herself that, and maybe pulling away, separating herself from you, was keeping that same promise. Even if it’ll hurt her during the process. That hurting herself was far better than the idea of hurting you.

Carefully, Manon leans back, her heart already sinking in her chest at the sight of your brows knitting up, your eyes once filled with warmth–now with confusion. And that was her fault, she knew it.

Her hands fall onto your shoulders, pushing you away.

The act has pierced your heart through your chest.

“Manon.” You whispered, even when you knew there was no point in reaching out–she was always too far away to begin with. It was hopeless.

Her head was low, too afraid to meet your eyes. Until the grip on your shoulders loosens as she begins to tremble heavily. Chest rising up and down, and for the briefest second, you thought you heard the quietest noise, a soft whimper, delicate, nearly pathetic. But even now, you don’t pity her, you just want her.

She lifts her head at the exact moment. Your eyes shed tears at the realization of what she was trying to do. Her tears reflecting your own, her lips that you once kissed trembled at the fear of losing you, knowing that leaving you would be her own fault to blame.

She knew that running away from her feelings, running away from you, would be the most cowardly thing to do. Something that she was familiar with doing, she just didn’t know that it would cost this much of the entirety of her heart to go through with it. 

“I–I should go.” She hesitates, the tears building up in the corner of her eyes all too quickly.

You shake your head. Terrified, scared, but you knew she was going to do something like this. It was either now or then. You just hoped she would’ve given you more time to prepare yourself for the heartbreak.

Her hands clenched in between her fists as the ache grew in her chest. Not the once-empty ache, a void, something it could only imagine to be filled with. No, it was only ever filled with you.

“Please.” You begged. “I know you’re afraid. I am too. But that doesn’t mean you should run from this.” You tried to get a hold of her hands, the skin of her knuckles nearly breaking apart, ot was almost unbearable to watch. She pulled away before your touch could reach, another act that had your heart aching.

“Manon.” You repeat her name, a hint of something unfamiliar within the taste of her own name lingered inside your mouth. You didn’t know if it was because you were hurting, or you couldn’t even think properly. “Please.” You begged one last time.

She doesn’t respond. The words hidden in between her throat, afraid that she’ll never be able to let them out after this. That leaving you would haunt her, no matter how much she tries to deny it. It’ll be her own fault to blame.

But she knows she could live with that, if it’ll save you from the pain of being with her.

Manon got up anyway, you remain seated.

She looks elsewhere from you, your eyes still sealed onto hers.

She begins to walk away, but you stay.

You sat with such agonizing silence, watching the way her body becomes smaller from her view before finally disappearing from a distance. When you know she’s gone, that’s when you let it all out. Your tears broke through before the feeling could register in your thoughts.

The sound of your own breathing turns ragged, uneven, and the world around you falls apart until nothing feels solid anymore. The daze in your mind blurs something through you, your heart shattering in the middle of it.

But you couldn’t blame her, couldn’t hate her even if you tried. You don’t know why she leaned in just to pull away. Maybe you were just like the cigarettes that she’s taking. A moment of relief and pure bliss, the regret that falls soon after.

And even then, your heart still longed for her name that remains stuck in your throat.

Manon doesn’t call you anymore.

Days turned into weeks, and soon after she left you alone that night, you lost hope that she would call back.

You hated how you always kept the phone within reach. You left it near the nightstand, on the kitchen counter, even in the pocket of the jacket you wore the night she left. Each time it buzzed, a small, foolish hope sparked up and died almost instantly when it wasn’t her.

The moment kept replaying in your head. More than a hundred times, to be exact. Especially with the way she looked when she pulled away from the kiss. That same kiss that haunts your dreams, the taste that lingers. You replayed it through every little detail as if it were a punishment you set upon yourself for letting her leave. You should’ve fought for her, told her that she was worth it.

Everything about her still stayed. The same scent of smoke on her jacket every time you were in her proximity, the rare smiles she gave you when she thought you wouldn’t notice, the relief in her voice when she told you that she felt safe when you were near. It took everything from you to not be the one who calls, that she left for a reason, even without a word, no explanation. 

You wanted to respect that, no matter how much it pained you to stay this far away from her.

But at night, it only seemed that the dreams you had of her began to worsen. Every time you walk by the same convenience store where it had started it all, the ghost of her figure hallucinates you into thinking she was inside, ordering the same pack, same brand of cigarettes.

At the bench, sometimes you sat there, just thinking. Other times, you walked by it as if the concrete alone burned your eyes to even stare longer at it. 

And when the days became long and the nights began to haunt you. You picture her smile as if it were the only thing that could heal you, even when it was the one that caused you all this hurt in the first place.

Distractions never worked. When you’re at work? You stayed late. Hanging out with friends? None of the conversations made an impact like hers had. Meals are hardly ever eaten. All the songs you listened to reminded you of her. The only reminder that she even existed was her name on your contact list. The one that never pops up on your screen, the one that only shows up when your thumb hovers over the profile picture of her soft smile glowing on your screen.

You told yourself to let go, that you shouldn’t bother waiting if you knew she might not come back.

But you had hope. Even now.

It was just another late night. You were getting ready for bed, your white tee hanging loose around your shoulders, your shorts that barely kept you warm. You shut your laptop and set it aside, getting ready for another restless night in your bed that didn’t really feel warm either. Your phone lay silent on your nightstand, untouched for hours. You told yourself you were finally done waiting, even when you knew it was just another lie.

Right as you stood up, a knock fell upon the entrance of the door. 

It sounded urgent, and then another knock with the same force.

Your heart froze.

You walked out of your bedroom, down the hallway, and to your front door. No one ever came this late. It was unusual. But there was this pull in you that made you open the door anyway.

There she stood.

Manon.

Her hair was loose around her face like she hadn’t bothered to tie it up in days. Arms limp by her side with the same jacket she always wore, still wrapped around her body. But not even that same jacket could keep her warm as your arms once did. Her eyes were tired, as they always were. Just this time, not even the moon could reflect its light inside of them. Even now, her eyes were locked on you as if they starved themselves with this moment she craved.

You didn’t say a word, nor did she. Just stood there.

The silence stretched as did the ache in her heart. She hasn’t seen you in so long that even in the moment she might’ve thought you must’ve hated her after leaving you alone on that night, she was relieved to know that at least you seemed fine. That even in the pain of your heart, you still looked as beautiful as the day you met.

And then suddenly, her lower lip trembles. 

An even exhale falls from her lips, and then her eyes begin to tear up. This is not what you wanted. You wanted to see her, yes. But not like this. Not when she shows up in the middle of the night, cold, miserable, nearly breaking down just at the sight of you. Because God, you were dressed so simply, your face stayed the same, she could even feel the same warmth radiating off of you, and you still looked like something like, home.

Manon forces down the sob back into her throat, not wanting to seem more pathetic than she already is. She shoves a hand into her pocket, fishing out something. You watched the movement carefully.

Two dollars.

Doesn’t say a word, just lifts the piece of paper towards you, and you immediately feel the rage in you burst something out in your chest. You knew what this meant, what she was trying to finalize. And you weren’t going to accept that.

It was all just too quick.

The cash in her hand ripped from her hold as you threw it on the floor like it was a piece of trash. You yanked her arm inside your house, grabbing a hold of both of her shoulders before slamming her back against your door. A gasp leaves Manon’s mouth, eyes widening at the harsh movement. She pushes you back, the same rage builds up in her own body, taking a step forward as you took a step back.

“So that’s it?” The words burn from your mouth, “You show up now? For what? To hand me two stupid dollars? Did you think I stayed just because you owed me two fucking bucks and nothing more? Is that what this is?”

Manon shakes her head, eyes cast on the ground, too ashamed to meet your eyes. She looked so defeated, miserable. But the fact that she wasn’t giving you the energy that you were giving her? That somehow angered you.

“You just left me. You didn’t call me either, and that all seems fine to you? You kiss me and then you leave right after, and you just expect me to be okay with that?” You grab her wrist, and she doesn’t bother pulling away.

“Did you really expect me to be okay once you left?” The words fall without a thought processed through your brain. “Was I that easy for you to leave? Is that it?”

“Fine. Go ahead. Leave. If you want me to stay away, then fine.” It wasn’t fine, it was obvious that you hated the idea of that, especially when tears strained into the corners of your eyes. “But I deserve to know the truth. Tell me the truth, and we can go back to the way things were before. If that’s what you want, so be it.” A tear falls anyway, the fear invading your head.

She looked so defeated. Every word you let out, she was listening. It was impossible not to. All your words hit her like a brick to the head, hard–and true. She hated the fact that leaving you only ended up hurting you even more. That’s not what she wanted, that was the last thing she ever wanted for you.

Manon shakes her head again, a sob falls from her mouth. You swore not to let it affect you, but it did anyway.

“No.” She whispers, tears falling down her cheeks with ease. It takes all your strength not to pull her into your arms, your chest heaving with the same rhythm that each tear falls from her eyes.

Your throat dries up, not expecting that out of all words she could admit out loud to you after nights you spent without her. Days without speaking to her, and all she could say was no.

“No?” You repeat back, just with more bitterness behind it. You let go of her arm, and the act has her whimpering from the loss of your touch. Like she needed it to even survive.

She swallows, exhaling shakily. You were right, you deserved to know the truth. She kissed you first, made you feel things that you never felt with anyone else. It’s the least she can do if she was going to leave you.

“I don’t want to leave.” The words were barely audible, but the silence was so loud that you heard it easily.

Your hands flexed, stretching your fingers as her words whispered through the thin air. As much as you wanted to yell at her, curse her out for leaving you, you stayed silent. But it was becoming nearly impossible to stay that way.

“I told myself to stay away, that being friends is enough.” She admits.

“But it isn’t.”

You stayed frozen at your spot, your eyes blurry from your tears that matched her own face. But she was beautiful, so fucking beautiful that you wouldn’t even dare to look away from her.

“I don’t think I could ever just be friends with you.” Another sob falls from her lips, the truth was finally out there. But her heart had never felt so afraid from the rejection that she was expecting. She knew she wouldn’t be able to handle the denial that she wasn’t prepared to hear from you.

Her breath trembles as the words leave her, too late to take them back, and for a second, the hallway feels too small for everything in between you. You stand there, stunned by the confession and the truth beneath it all, the kind of honesty that you never expected from her, but the one that mattered the most.

"The idea of someone else having you, loving you. The thought alone drives me insane." Her nails digging into her skin by her sides.

It was at that point that you begin to hold your breath, as if something as simple as breathing was far too loud to even miss this confession of hers. One that you longed for, one that you dreamed of in your sleep. You never thought you’d see the day that it would turn real.

"I hate myself for wanting you–for loving you.” She corrects herself, “Because I know I could never deserve it."

You're breathless that your body began to tremble above your feet where you stood, facing her. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, not even after you spent countless nights dreaming about this.

Manon closes her eyes–and even more of her tears fall. "I think of you when you're not around and I think of you when you're too near."

"It's selfish that I want to be the one who gets to hold your hand. To be the one who makes you smile because I only want you to think of me." She says, ashamed to even think about you in a way she knew she could never earn. Thought of you like you deserved someone better than the girl she’s offering to you.

“And the way you look at me?” She suddenly laughs, like she couldn’t believe it, “You look at me like I matter. You look at me like I’m actually worth wanting.”

And she was.

For a while, neither of you moved.

You couldn’t, and it seemed she couldn’t either.

Manon opens her eyes just in time to watch your lips part. You're speechless, your breath taken away just by the words that you never expected to hear from her. You feel everything all at once, the pain, the fear, the love that she thinks she doesn’t deserve. 

She was wrong about that. So wrong.

You want to be the one who gets to show her how much she matters. That she was someone worth loving. You were far too deep to even think otherwise. Not when her heart felt so right beating against your own chest, not when your name sounds so perfect when it’s from her voice.

You’re not ready to let go of whatever it was between the two of you. Neither of you had put a name to it yet, you just knew–she did too, that neither of you wanted to let go of each other. Too selfish to even think about doing such an act.

However, you haven’t said anything. And the silence spoke louder than words. That maybe this was you rejecting her, denying her the only thing that she ever really wanted, so desperately, so selfishly. More tears fall, ready to have her chest torn open.

But before another sob falls from her lips, the sound doesn’t come.

You kiss her.

You kiss her with everything you’ve been holding back, everything that hadn’t been said with words.

Manon doesn’t push you away when you do, only pulls you in closer. And doesn’t even think about letting you go, now that she has you in her arms.

It’s desperate, it's uncontrollable. Your hands are all over her, hers are too. Her fingers tangle in your hair, then the back of your head all the way to your back, where her nails dig in so possessively, like she wants the mark carved through your shirt, onto your skin. She trails them all the way back to your face, cupping your cheeks in both of her palms, nails digging into the side of your face.

The pain doesn’t bother you, it furthers you even. Your lips part just in time for her tongue to slip in with such ease. You taste her fully this time. The bitterness of her smoke, the sweetness of her lips, it was too addicting, you wanted more of it. More of her.

Manon doesn’t stop crying in your mouth, your tears slipping down to your mouth. You taste each other’s tears, but that doesn’t stop you from taking her in more.

She savours your taste in her mouth, wants to drown herself in all of your scents. You hear her breathe in sharply, barely consuming any air, but she cares more about your lips than the need to breathe. Angles your jaw just right, your taste pooling inside of her mouth. She swallows it all in, drinks it up like it was wine, wets your lips with her saliva like it was moisturizer.

You swallow every sound that she gives you, a small, sharp whimper that falls from her lips when your teeth graze her tongue just ever so gently. Another tiny sob that falls loose in you, as if all of this was unreal, that you were giving her the ability to hold you, touch and kiss you in every way she imagined.

Holds you with hands imprinted on you, bodies too close that not even the air could slip in between. Your chest heaves at the same rhythm as her own, that you can finally remember the way her heartbeat feels right upon yours. And it felt right, so right.

Your lips don’t leave her own when you help her slip off her jacket. Her lips stay connected to yours as you reach down lower to shrug off your shorts. You don’t know who was pushing who, but a few steps more and you find yourselves back in your bedroom, some of your clothes remaining where you left them.

The door swings open, your feet nearly tripping as you step through the doorway, pulling her in. You don’t remember who slammed the door once the two of you were inside, either way, you couldn’t focus on anything else at the moment. Not when her lips were molded onto yours like it was their only purpose.

It’s messy, sloppy too. Her taste pools down your jaw where her lips trail down, and a whimper falls from your mouth when she bites onto a sweet spot you particularly like. The contact has you distracted as you fumble with her own sweatpants, untying the string of knots, helping her step out of the useless fabric. Both of your shirts remain on your bodies, but you knew they weren’t going to stay on for later.

Manon trails her kisses lower to your neck, tugging at your shirt when they get in the way. You help her trail them up your arms, falling back down onto the floor where the rest of your clothes lay. Her lips reattach to your skin like they were made for it.

Her nose brushes right where your neck and shoulder meet, inhales deeply, sharply. Like you're the only air she ever wants to breathe in from, your scent calms her, relaxes her mind in only way that you could.

She marks you up, every mark filled with a promise, filled with hidden meanings that only you’ll know of. The back of your knees hit the edge of your bed as she pushes you down, right at a moment when her teeth engrave their mark onto you. Another pathetic whimper falls from your mouth, nails digging into the fabric of her back.

She lifts from your skin, just for a fraction of a second, to pull her own shirt off, and you finally get to see everything. Everything she’s been hiding, everything that she’s only ever going to be offering to you.

You reach lower to pull her underwear off, watching the way her slick clings to the fabric, letting it glide down her legs, just to throw it somewhere else, forgotten, the final barrier between you two, gone.

Your own panties soon fall next to hers on the floor, and finally, nothing is between you. Just two bodies, you and hers.

“You’re beautiful.” You admit, smiling softly, frowning just a bit when she shakes her head.

Even now, she just can’t believe it, even when you’re staring at her like you’ve always had. As if the sight of her alone could heal your eyes compared to any medicine that could.

“You are,” She stops kissing your neck, just to cry into it. You bring her head down just in time, her arms wrapped around your back, the sheets holding the two of you off it all. “How could you ever think you aren’t worth it for me?” You accused, the question sounded completely stupid from your breath.

Manon breathes you in harder, rubbing her cheek in the crook of your neck, her tears staining your skin,  pressing a few–small kisses like your words hit her hard. And it did. Your words matter so much, like she had never heard them from anyone else. The only difference? It felt much better because it was coming from you.

“I don’t want anyone else.” You say, it earns you a kiss, then her lips wrap around the area, sucking it into her mouth, soothing the mark afterwards with her tongue. You hold back a moan just to spit the rest of your words out, “I don’t need anyone else.”

And it was true.

She lifts her head from your neck just to meet her lips back onto yours.

Not as rough as before, but soft. Her way of telling you that she needed to hear it from you to believe it. Even when you felt like it was still true, even if you hadn’t said it out loud. It was obvious that she was beautiful. She is beautiful, you couldn’t think otherwise even if you tried to.

Gently, you lay her on her back, flipping your positions. She watches you closely, her breath falls loose as her lips part at the same look that you had always given her. You made her scoot higher up on your bed until her head hit your pillows. You make sure her scent remains all over your sheets, too addicted already.

You climb on top of her, hands pressed hard against your sheets at either side of her head, leaning down to press a kiss onto her forehead, receiving a whimper.

Manon hasn’t stopped crying since she arrived at your doorstep. It breaks your heart because you knew she wasn’t the one to cry over things. Spent years of her life hiding them behind a facade that it was only now, because of you, that her tears finally let loose.

You kiss each tear away, and the taste slips into your mouth.

It only makes her cry even harder.

“Please.” She begs, holds your face in both of her hands as you lean her forehead on top of yours. You were about to ask what she wants, until she lifts one of your hands from the side of her head, guiding it lower. She let your hand trail down her collarbones, the area between her breasts, past her stomach, down to her cunt where she needed you the most.

When your fingers finally trail down to where she wants you, your breath catches in your throat. The sight of your reaction finally has her smiling for a while. You missed the sight, even as she smiles through her tears.

“I need you.” Her hand grips your jaw tightly, and your mouth parts even further because of it. “Need your fingers inside of me. I want them stretching me out, loosen me up.”

A shudder falls down your spine.

Manon pulls your jaw down, where you find her lips pressing up to your ear, pressing a small kiss just before the rasp in her voice fills you in, “Fuck me like you mean it.” A whimper falls from you by the request, “Fuck me to make me yours. Do it.”

You swallow hard.

Your fingers push past her slit, receiving a happy sigh from the voice beside your ear. “Good girl, touch me the only way you can.”

And you do.

Your fingers move with ease, but you’re surprised by the mess you made her out to be. She’s fucking soaked, your fingers keep slipping, but you stayed put. You rub her clit softly, paying attention to the way she reacts. From the corner of your eye, more tears slide down her cheeks, this time with a sick smile plastered on her pretty face.

Her clit’s so swollen, so overly sensitive. Each time you circle it, her hips twitch hard underneath you, but not once does she ever pull away. Instead, she spreads herself wider, legs all wide enough for you. You lean back higher, sitting upright as she lets go of your face, her hands gripping your sheets instead to hold herself together.

Another cry, “You feel so good, so fucking good.” It only pushes you even more.

Her slick easily drips down onto your sheets, just as her tears did. She pools underneath your hand, her cunt pulsing around nothing as she stains your sheets as if they were hers. You leaned your hand lower, circling her tight hole, just to tease her–receiving another pathetic whine. Only to gather some of her slick, coating them on your fingers as you rub small patterns onto her swollen nub.

She’s so full of filth that you can barely gather any friction anymore.

It’s like she waited for this, wanted you in this way for so long. Now that she’s here, on your bed, on top of your sheets, completely naked for only your eyes to see, she doesn’t plan on leaving you any time soon.

Your knees rest on her side, leaning up just to watch her tears fall for you, mouth all swollen from your lips, sweat breaking down at the side of her temple, and some that clings underneath her full breasts. 

It’s a priceless sight, one you’ll never forget.

Her fingers wrap around your wrist suddenly, stopping you as you hesitate, thinking that you must’ve done something wrong.

“Don’t fucking tease me.” She cries, eyes nearly begging for it, “Fill me up with your fingers. Please, baby. Please.”

The sound fills your ears to the point that it's enough for the same sentence to repeat in your head.

You sigh softly, following her words thoroughly.

You push two fingers in, her pussy instantly clenching around you.

Manon’s head presses further into your pillows, back arching so perfectly for you, her breasts in the air, knees barely giving out to hold herself still. “Fuck,” She whimpers, head turned to your pillows just to swallow down the sounds and breathe in your smell.

You pump her in, your thumb finding a rhythm on her clit as your fingers move inside. You’re mesmerized by the sight, the way her cunt swallows you in like it was just molded for your fingers, wraps around it like it’s just made for you. 

She’s so wet, so drenched that your fingers slide in with ease, moves with such purpose. She reacts so pretty for you, each thrust has her arms thrashing out around you. Legs barely holding still by how easily you fuck her, so tight, so warm.

You’ve never felt so lucky.

To feel her, to hear her in a way that only you now could ever. 

You add a third finger inside, and she nearly screams.

She sobs into your pillow, drool falling onto the pillowcase as she cries into it. Your scent lingering in her nose as she inhales it, her tears drenching the fabric. She feels so full around your fingers, can’t stop pulsing, clenching by how good you’re making her feel.

“So good.” Another sob, quieter. Your wrist begins to ache, but her encouragement furthers you in deeper.

You curl your fingers in at the spot she likes, earning another whimper. You force yourself deeper, your knuckles reaching inside of her cunt, loosening her up.

Just as you were about to force your fingers in deeper, her hand reached out to cup your face once more. Eyes and lips swollen, sweat sticking onto her skin, breathless from how worked up you had gotten her.

You fuck her through it all, every shudder she gives you, every breathless moan she lets out. You take it in, you want it all to yourself because every single reaction she gives you, everything she owes you, it all belongs to you now.

Her hand slowly trails lower, behind your neck. She makes you lean down, forcing yourself to put your weight onto your knees, but even then, you never stop thrusting inside of her—the sounds echoing onto your walls. Her pretty cunt squelching, pulsing, wrapped around your skin. Your thumb rubbing soft patterns on her little nub.

It’s only when she brings your other hand, carefully, gradually making your fingers wrap around her throat.

Your eyes widen at the realization.

She wants you to choke her.

Manon nods, laughing sickenly, acting as if this were an innocent request.

“It’s okay,” Her tears glistening underneath the light, “Choke me.”

You exhaled shakily, you had no choice but to listen.

Your fingers wrap around her throat, squeezing them almost immediately. Manon’s mouth widens more for you, her spit drooling out at the corner of her lips as you grip her throat harder, making her take it all in.

“Yes–” She gasps, not before choking slightly as your thrusts begin to feel much harsher, faster inside of her cunt that it's soaking everywhere. Your sheets, hands, it's nearly too much for her. But she wants to take it all in, wants to be good for you, show you how much she wants you. “Fuck–”

Your thumb presses hard in the middle of her throat, right where it bobs as she swallows, the act has her eyes rolling back, head smushed further into your pillows. You feel her cunt pulsing so tightly that it forces your fingers to stay still, her legs shudder tremendously, arms straining to clutch against your sheets.

All you could do was watch how pretty she comes for you.

Manon finally falls apart for you, your hand wrapped around her neck, the other sinking deep into your cunt, watching the way she comes down from her high.

“You did so well.” You immediately prepper her with small kisses all over her face, whimpering at how soft you suddenly became after fucking her thoroughly. “My girl, my pretty girl.”

The name has her heart clenching.

She leans up, reaches a hand over you to pull you into another kiss. Not before she switches your position with hers, making you lie on your back, her mouth never leaving yours as you did. Pulls away just in time, that has you swaying forward, already missing the touch on your lips.

Her lips trailed all over you, your own tears nearly breaking free again just by the feeling of. She presses another few kisses on your lips, then one to each of your cheeks, trails higher to kiss on the underside of your eyes.

She gives the same attention to your jaw, kissing her way down to your neck, each of your breasts, down your stomach, and settles in between your thighs.

You’re drenched.

It’s like the sight of your cunt unlocked something inside of her. She spreads your legs wider for a better view, letting the stretch hurt you just a bit. You ignore it, the sight of her eyes on your pussy was far more important than worrying about anything else.

Manon presses your thighs back to either side of your cheek, rubbing the skin softly against hers, sighing softly. You can’t help the whimper that falls free from you, like she’s engraving your skin onto hers, turning her head just slightly to give a kiss on your inner thigh. Her eyelashes flutter on your skin as she watches your breasts rise up and down, your uneven rhythm of breathing becomes more apparent.

Her hands dig into your thighs, and before you know it, her tongue slides against your folds.

You moan instantly, the sound uncontrollable.

She tastes you out slowly, letting the taste linger on her tongue. She pulls away briefly to spread your lips in front of her, the act having the blush rise on your cheeks. Your lips pull apart, exposing your needy clit, all swollen, your tight cunt just below it, clenching over nothing.

Her lips wrap around your clit, sucking it in harshly. 

Your back nearly leaves the mattress, but she forces a hand down on your stomach to keep still. You can’t help but cry from her mouth on you, her tongue already swirling around the small nub, switching between sucking it and licking it up.

Manon leans down lower, teasing your entrance with the tip of her tongue as she scoops some of your slick, letting it fall to your clit as she leans back up. All before repeating the same thing over and over again, leaving you breathless.

“Manon–” Her name falls out like a prayer. Her eyes meet back onto your face, eyes watering again, mouth red and swollen from earlier.

It urges her, she can’t stop anymore.

She grazes your clit with her teeth, making you jolt, her name breathless around your mouth. Manon flicks her tongue on you, small, careful patterns that you couldn’t help but grind your hips deeper into her mouth. Her nose bumps into you slightly, inhaling the filth that falls out of you. You were so desperate for it, practically begging for more of her mouth on you.

She senses it too, your dripping down into her mouth, forcing her to swallow everything you give her. It falls from her chin, and some leaks through your sheets. 

“All mine.” She mumbles. Manon eats you out messily, like she was starved for days, and you were her final meal. Eyes rolling back as if she was getting off by your pussy in her mouth. “This pussy is mine. You’re mine.” You whimper at her voice, dripped into possessiveness. 

Your hands tangle into her scalp, her hair trapped in between. You braced yourself, feet flat on the mattress, hips lifting your ass just a bit. You make sure her face never leaves your cunt, pushing her into it further, barely able to even breathe. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. You began fucking her face relentlessly, her tongue messy all over your cunt, slightly dipping into it before swirling the tip of her tongue back onto your sensitive clit. Her hands lowering, digging her nails into your ass, each of your thighs wrapped around her face, that even if you closed them just slightly, she’ll suffocate around you.

Manon slurps in haphazardly when her lips wrap around your hole, your taste pools into her mouth with each, the taste filling up her senses that it has her hand reaching down to her stomach, in between her thighs–to play with her clit, just from the taste of you alone.

You were too close, too near to notice how desperate she was becoming just by you flooding into her lips. She swallows it all down, her throat bobbing as she sucks all of your taste in, your slick is all that she tastes.

Your hips become loose, your orgasm reaching into you. The pattern of your rhythm on her mouth starts to become uneven, her lips never leaving your pussy, drunk on the taste, too good to tear her mouth away from.

When she tests something out–dipping her tongue inside of you fully, your walls clench around the muscle almost immediately. Right there and then, you finally come, and she swallows it up, gulping everything down because it's all yours to take.

You fall apart, just as beautifully as she did.

Your chest heaves heavier, your heart pounding in your chest that for a brief second, it's all you hear. Until you felt her tongue lapping around your cunt again, not to stimulate, just to clean. She shushes you softly before you could release another whine. Your eyes close, your energy already gone. But a knowing smile falls upon your face.

Manon climbs back onto you, her bare skin meeting yours as it did before–it's only when she reaches higher to rub your cheek with her thumb, the palm of her hand against your skin, that you open your eyes.

Beautiful.

She’s so beautiful.

Manon smiles with you, and you plan to make that same smile stay on her face for as long as she’ll let you.

Your head turns just to meet her hand, you kiss the skin softly. Her breath hitches, but the soft smile remains on her pretty face. You were gentle with her, as you always were. She didn’t think she was worth it enough to even deserve such kind acts from you, not until now. Not until you showed her that even her flaws were what made her perfect.

The softness of it overwhelms her—it’s not hunger, not desperation anymore, but something far better, hope. It scares her how much she wants to sink into it, to let herself believe she could live inside this moment forever. The moment the two of you made

You feel her thumb trace over your lips, lingering like she’s memorizing the shape of you. Her smile wavers, not from doubt like before, but with delicacy that she knew she might not be able to leave you behind as she did before. That you made her feel brave, you made her feel seen when no one else would even think to try.

And before you knew it, her lips were pressing onto yours.

She doesn’t taste like cigarettes anymore.

She tastes like you.

Manon smiles on your lips, a laughter breaking through like she still didn’t believe that this was real. She pulls away to press a kiss on the side of your jaw before burying her nose into the side of your neck, her body falling on top of yours. You immediately wrap your arms around her like it was made to be there.

“I love you.” Manon murmurs, the words barely audible, lips stuck onto your skin. But she said it, and it was real, and it was true. “I don’t know if I deserve to say it out loud, but I do.” She breathes you in, “I really, really do.”

And you know she means it, because her heart finds the same rhythms as yours do. Her heartbeat pounding against your own chest, the only other sound of her breathing was the sound of her heart. And you just knew, you wouldn’t be able to let her go.

Your head faces hers just in time as she lifts your own, “I love you.” You repeat the words as you lean in, “You don’t have to deserve it, you already have it.”

“It’s only ever been you.”

Manon's smile widens, the curve of her mouth stretching her face. The sound of her laughter fills the silence all around, not until you take her breath away for what had seemed to be the hundredth time as you steal a kiss.

And in that kiss, her lips on top of your own, touches in the warmth of her laughter that stays stuck in between you. That makes her realize that there’s nothing else to run from—because for the first time, she’s finally home.

Manon knew something was wrong with her.

No, she didn’t “knew”, she knows.

She was aware that she was thinking about some things she shouldn't be. She knew how to read lies from people's expressions; how to see right through them. And she knew how to get them to say the truth, even if it was cruel.

She was strict, hard to the core. Manon liked to carry this elegance of hers without an ounce of effort. She knew how to demand attention without even trying, and she knew what weaknesses were worth hiding, not that anyone was smart enough to really figure her out.

There was something about her that not everyone could name. But in all honesty, she never perceived her as anyone special. All she carried was confidence–that’s what makes her flawless.

Though it was much deeper than that.

Confidence wasn’t the only thing that could explain why she knew about things before they even happened. Conversations quieted down wherever she walked. People adjusted themselves even without her instructions, like they knew what would happen if they didn’t listen. Confidence could command attention, yes. But this was different.

This was anticipation–because Manon didn’t just see people.

She studied them. Not in a way that it felt subtle, there was intention underneath it. With the slightest precision, like the kind that didn’t take much to figure a person out. She always took her time. It never took long. All she needed was a few seconds, in some cases, sometimes even less. That’s all she needed to understand the simple structure of one’s being.

People liked to believe they were layered, like there was something truly special behind themselves. Complicated, hard to unwrap. As if there were parts of them hidden deep enough never to be reached. But Manon had never found that to be true. She believed that everyone had something to reveal. Whether it was a lie or the truth, it wouldn’t be too hard to figure it out.

But not everyone deserved her attention. She picked carefully. Not at random, nor out of boredom. Someone worth the effort, someone worth picking parts out of. She didn’t want to point out someone’s flaws; that wasn’t the point. Or at least someone who wasn’t entirely obvious.

Being obvious was uninteresting. There’s no satisfaction when uncovering something that’s already halfway exposed. There’s no thrill in that. It almost feels less like discovery and more like confirmation. That’s being repetitive. Predictable.

Manon didn’t have any use for that. She didn’t need it.

But what she wanted wasn’t exactly perfection–far from that. Being perfect was only another form of being obvious, being polished so carefully that it’s more like transparency. What was worth her time wasn’t being flawless; it was tension. One that wouldn’t give itself away all at once.

A hesitation that wasn’t really all that careless, perhaps controlled, enough to really feel something. That was where things became interesting. Because control meant awareness. And that’s what she needed. The only problem was that most people didn’t have that.

People had reactions, yes. They revealed something that belonged to them without meaning to, but Manon noticed everything.

That’s why she chose this job.

Every little detail is paid with discreet attention.

It wasn’t just creation, it was art. An observation made visible to the eye. It’s a translation of what people try to hide into something they would willingly wear. Fabric draped over one shoulder, the structure of a seam, the weight of a hem–it all mattered, it all meant something. Even colors weren’t chosen at random; they were purposely put together to make a statement. Each sketch was perfected, the lines' intention to be made tangible. Something that felt real, too real to ignore. 

But it’s the person who wears the piece that brings it to life.

Because the fabric isn’t just resting on the body, it bends with each movement, exposing energy–expressing it. The simple way of someone tilting their head, pausing, or even shifting their weight can turn the piece of clothing into something entirely different without the intention of doing so. And yet, every thread, each fold, the cast of every shadow across the fabric material forces a story without knowing it. They’re the reason it comes to life.

Not everyone sees its true beauty. People don’t realize how their own bodies can speak when no one else is looking.

Manon does.

She sees that when a person hesitates, like just the sense of the lack of control of one's movement, it can allow the tension to be seen, even when they try to hide it. The slightest shift can betray more than words ever could.

She doesn’t need someone to perform for her or even notice her presence. Because the real art has contradictions. Parts of someone’s act can resist being controlled. And she likes a challenge. Not exactly playing a game, but something slightly difficult to put pieces into. That’s what gets her attention.

The only problem was–she’s still looking for that missing piece. Someone to challenge her, someone unforgettable. Not someone loud, not someone obvious. Someone she wants, who she needs. 

She believes today wouldn’t be any different than the rest.

The same models moving studio after studio, searching for a job that would give them something–recognition, validation, purpose–anything that made the repetition feel worth it. But she saw right through them. None of them carried the one thing she sought. None of them felt natural. It was as if they were all taught to do the same things, fixing their posture, practicing their expressions, becoming too aware of their own selves without realizing the real meaning behind the art.

They controlled themselves, but even then, none were convincing. No piece of fabric could mask what truly hides beneath the clothes. Models weren’t statues, they moved. No matter how hard they tried to perfect themselves, there's always something that can never be fully concealed.

But what Manon needed wasn’t perfection nor the flaws, it was what held in between.

Balance.

Being balanced meant being aware without having to perform. A walk that moved naturally, having both control and the ability to have instinct, existing all at once. Having those traits meant it couldn’t be taught again or replicated. Someone who already had it all. She wasn’t going to waste her time teaching someone who didn’t already understand what this form of art meant. She needed someone who loved this as much as she did.

It needed to exist before her. The ability to move without anyone's expectations, before the jobs, before the clothing that had been sewn in together, before the stage itself, it was something innate. It cannot be mimicked, no matter how many hours of dedicated practice or critiques. It must live in the way they breathed and carried themself without judgement. Yes, hard work meant something, but it could never create what was already there. Because the moment it was taught, it lost what made it real.

And Manon only worked with what was real.

So when she pulled up to the studio, the line outside was already terribly long. Evidence to indicate that it was just another evening of wasting her time to have to sit through rehearsed steps, smiles that began to ache, and the same agonizing act of those who pretend they think they’re the one, an attempt to pretend to have charisma she had seen too many times before.

Even in small, subtle ways. The way they fidgeted with their hands, looking at their faces through the glass, straightening their posture, everything about it felt calculated. She didn’t need to step out of the car to see the anticipation and the nervousness masked with confidence on their faces. She didn’t have to guess the adrenaline they must have been feeling. It was all so obvious that she had already found it quite tiring to even think about.

She didn’t bother hurrying, as if there was nothing urgent to reveal. She already knew none of these people had what she needed. For a few minutes after she parked her car, she sat there, glancing through her rear mirror, watching silently as the hope on all their faces either began to grow or fade within seconds of waiting.

So she waited. Watching more people stepping in line after another began to feel gruesome, and she hadn’t even walked inside the building. Everything about this felt restless, almost frustrating. Because she doesn’t need the crowd to impress her, she needed one person.

It was a few short minutes after that she received a call from her phone, the ringing bleeding through her ears. She glanced at the name of the caller, cursing softly under her breath as one of the managers of the casting appeared on the screen. 

She finally walks out of the car, feeling calm, per usual. Bored even, moving with grace that somehow made the line of people grow even more restless from her appearance. Even with sunglasses that covered her eyes, hiding the bored expression upon her face, it was enough for heads to turn. 

Nobody spoke, no one had tried to catch her attention as if it would do anything, even if they did. They all pretended to be unaffected, as if they weren’t frantically preparing themselves just a few minutes prior. And that’s just one out of many things that she hated about what people did, pretending. Performative. 

Manon didn’t glance at them, didn’t give a single acknowledgment to the attention she had drawn. Unbothered. People moved aside as she went towards the front door, letting the doors push inwards as she stepped inside, only to be faced with another huge crowd, filling the studio. 

She’d think she should be getting used to it by now. But the sight of the studio packed with models still carried a weight of frustration. She moved through them without another look, going towards the casting room.

The noise closes behind her as the door did, shutting it with a soft thud as the rest of the casting directors caught their attention on her. It felt immediate, like she felt recognition settle in between their facial expressions, as if they knew her presence could not be ignored.

Manon didn’t acknowledge them. She walked past them just as she did with the models. She settled in between them, taking the empty seat right in the middle. Taking the seat felt less like joining them and more like completing something that’s already meant to be there.

People began to settle in as she did. Some were fixing papers, pens tapping against the table, postures straightening even before the casting had begun. Everyone in the room understood.

She placed her sunglasses in the corner, eyes steadied, and hands clasped together like nothing in the room could unsettle her–as if she had already seen everything there was to see before a single model had even stepped forward.

Conversations started to quiet down once the first model was called in.

There was expectation on the faces beside her, hoping for someone to bring in what they needed. But as soon as the model took a step forward, moving too precisely, the walk too rehearsed, it faded just as quickly.

It was flawless, indeed, but it felt empty enough that it clouded everything else that was meant to feel real. Every step felt weightless, every turn executed with practiced ease. There was no hesitation, nothing to catch on, nothing to fix, nothing to question. This was the problem.

Manon’s face stays motionless.

She doesn’t ask for her name, she doesn’t glance at the profile that was handed to her. She just stares. For a fraction of a second, her eyes squinted, but just enough that but just enough that it almost suggested something. Almost.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The slightest shift of her hand was enough, a quiet signal passed without looking away. The model frowns, leaving a room without the slightest recognition, meaning that nothing she had practiced or perfected was enough to please not just Manon, but the eyes of anyone in that room. The one thing a model could fear.

Next.

Another model walks through the door, posture already fixed before they had reached the mark.

She already knew this would be the same. The same controlled breath–the same understanding of how they should look rather than how they exist. This cycle repeats so often that it’s almost hard to forget what really seemed real.

She watches, and nothing changes. The model begins to walk, but Manon’s face hasn’t changed even after the second one leaves the room.

Another one walks in, and then another.

Nothing changes.

Each one felt like a robot coming in and out. This casting might as well have been a rehearsal for statues, their steps moved without purpose, faces incredibly beautiful–yes–but none had the lasting impression that she sought out for. Nothing to remember by, nothing to hold onto once they had left the room.

Manon leaned back against the chair, whispering a few words to her right. The other casting director stared at the current model, waving a hand away. The model left with a frown, a scene that replayed itself over and over as the evening dragged on.

She sighed, tapping her pen with impatience before scribbling yet another model off the list. Another face, but another disappointment.

The line of models was still long. They came and went, everything that they had practiced, control, movement, none paid the efforts of what should be real and what had pretended to be. Manon’s eyes followed every step, every move, but nobody there had caught her eye.

Minutes stretched into hours. The room grew more silent as time passed. Creative directors and managers tried to persuade her to choose some of the models who had shown potential and whom they thought were the right fit. But Manon disagreed. 

Their voices vanished into the background, empty compared to her own judgment. Their suggestions and beliefs carried no weight because none of them knew what she was truly looking for. After all, it was her word that mattered. It was her show, her clothes that were going to be put on this one model.

When things began to feel hopeless, she was ready to pack her purse, already preparing to leave yet another casting call.

But then the door opened again.

You.

Manon’s hand froze over the pen.

You walked in with false confidence. Underneath, you were nervous–but real. And she saw right through you.

You didn’t have that same practiced posture that everyone else had, not the way you tensed your jaw too hard that it was nearly unnoticeable, or the way your step almost faltered before correcting yourself.

It’s not perfect.

That’s exactly why she didn’t look away.

Your throat pulses the second your steps end. A brief pause. It lingers enough to be noticed, not by anyone, but only to her. You try to will yourself back into control, but you’ve been caught. Your eyes flick onto hers, just enough to catch something in them without knowing what they truly hold.

You swallow again. And she notices.

Her grip on the pen tightens. She’s no longer writing, not moving either. As if she can’t focus on anything else but the figure standing centered, right in front of you.

The manager on her right whispers something, but you heard it all too clearly. “She’s not the one.” Some of the staff agreed, some stayed silent.

A stylist chimes in, glancing at her clipboard, “Her shoulders are tense. You can see it in the neck. She’s going to freeze under the lights.”

A creative director nods with a frown, shaking their head. “She looks too unsure. She won’t carry the confidence we really need.”

Humiliation rises in your chest, you don’t speak up, you can’t. Preserving your pride was instinct, a shield against the judgments that didn’t understand what they hadn’t seen. This wasn’t fair. You knew that.

They didn’t even give you the chance to walk or speak before their opinions flew out like spilled ink. Your anger began to cloud the embarrassment rising inside you. Every whispered comment, every judgment passed without knowing, pressed against your ribs, demanding to be acknowledged.

But even then, Manon doesn’t move. Her eyes can’t seem to look away from you. Doesn’t acknowledge their insults over you. Doesn’t falter–doesn’t soften. It was as if she knew there was something about you that the rest of them didn’t care enough to find more of.

But she did. She wants to find out more about you, the way your inhale and exhale feel less like breathing and more like a rhythm trying to steady itself, or the heavy rise in your chest betraying the tension it coils you attempt to hide.

Every little detail, every fraction becomes too consuming at just the sight of you standing so incredibly still. The unconvincing act of masquerading as the mortification slowly engulfs you. The way you tried to hide the trembling of your hand over the other. The calculation you try to uphold, slowly fading from the cruelty of their words.

No, it wasn’t just that. 

There was something genuine in your act that no amount of practice could copy.

Others lacked the authenticity you held. She could see it in your eyes that you didn’t need this job, you didn’t need to prove something like everyone else did. 

You were doing it for you.

Just as their voices began to mix, Manon's hand raised.

Silence overcame the room.

“I want to see you walk.”

The words felt like they were bouncing off the walls, the floors sinking beneath you, and you stood in the middle of it all. This wasn’t a challenge, nor was it a demand. An invitation, a promise you can’t really wrap your head around. Her eyes were screaming through you, as if she was daring you to continue further.

The director leans forward, mouth barely open to prepare for an excuse. “Manon, we can’t–” She stops him, pressing her palm flat against the table, a loud sound breaking through the walls. The act was enough to shut him up.

It feels like the first time all over again. Standing in a room full of directors and designers, their eyes judging you all over. The fear, the excitement rushes in. Even after hundreds of casting events you attended, this was different. You knew that.

And so did she.

Because she wasn’t judging you.

She’s seeing you.

“Show me yourself. Not what you think I want to see.” She says lowly, her breath faltering for a second when she catches the surprise in your eyes.

Your hands clench at your sides, heart beating hard against your ribs. It’s no longer an embarrassment that you feel. Not entirely. Not quite sure.

Your throat closes again. All eyes are on you, and for the first time in a while, you truly feel seen.

“Okay.” You nod quietly, releasing the clench of your jaw as you speak. our feet shift almost imperceptibly, testing the floor beneath you. Their eyes are digging into you, but none of them matter. All that matters is her.

The first step felt careful, nearly hesitant. There was an immediate notice in between your moves. 

She settles in her chair, one leg crossing over the other. Not even the faintest of reactions washes over her face as her gaze pierces through you. Not even when your steps become more confident, something unspoken passes in between.

After a moment, your steps quicken a bit, enough that it seemed natural. At least the semblance of it did.

Manon rests her chin over the palm of her hand, leaning forward on the table. Your feet stutter just for a fraction when her tongue pokes out to wet the bottom of her lip, as if watching the way your body hesitates in all the right places does something to her.

Her thighs press tighter together.

You can feel her focus on you alone, like a silent current that tugs at the space between every step you take. There’s this quiet intensity, it’s sort of strange, not quite unsettling, but it’s just something hidden beneath her eyes you can’t fully name. Only the darker shade of the color of her eyes and the way they narrow just as she observes you all around has your voice shoved deep within your throat, unable to come out.

When your legs reach right where they started in the middle of your floor, your body carries a slight tremble that matches the rhythm of your heart hammering in your chest.

Nobody dared to say a word.

The atmosphere’s no longer bothersome. It’s the kind filled with stillness.

The creative director next to her nods, as if he were finally acknowledging you. He turns to Manon, glancing at the portfolio of your face in his hands, dropping it loosely on the table. He leans forward to glance at one of the managers sitting against the wall, then looks back at you. You don’t even break eye contact with Manon because you knew whatever he was going to say next, you wouldn’t really be able to comprehend. Not with the way her stare felt like it was the only thing you knew how to feel.

He sighs, “We already have enough models for the show.” He tells her, but Manon isn’t listening. She can’t.

How could she?

Her gaze is anchored to you, tethered by some hidden desire that you aren’t really sure if that was it or if she was just good at paying attention. Nevertheless, it was insistent, as if it refused to loosen its hold no matter whose voice was trying to tear her away from you. It could be perceived as illogical, but that didn’t matter either.

What mattered was how she just couldn’t look away, no matter how hard she wanted to. Her eyes caressed your body, the sole image of you with a silhouette attached from behind. It burns, just looking at you. It nearly hurts. Her eyes captured every curve you own, every shape, every hesitant breath you released from your lips, fuck, you were so close, but so far away.

Just imagining being closer to you was something she refused to let herself want, like it was a crime, as if she shouldn’t even be thinking about it. Manon’s restraint slowly becomes difficult to control, closing her eyes as if it would help. But it doesn’t, because knowing your presence standing still so close, is already stained–pressed up against her eyelids as if reality itself feels overwritten.

“We can make space.”

The words hang in the air, unspoken, released. Her voice almost seemed detached, but she knows exactly what she’s saying. To her left, the manager stiffens, “Manon, you know we can’t just–”

She doesn’t care.

“We will make space.”

Not once did her eyes dare to look away from your own.

Your breath gets caught up in your throat again, and you realize your pulse has been visible the whole time—every beat, every quiet breath–she’s been silently cataloging. Her head turns to the right, just slightly, never breaking eye contact with you. Her voice is still low as she whispers, “I want her.”

And then her head turns right back to you. Simple and forward. Jaw straightened, eyes calculating your features as if she had just found the piece she’s been searching for all this time. When she speaks again, it’s much louder, enough for you to hear her, to feel it.

“I want you.”

Her eyes don’t waver, never flinch–they put you in place, but it’s not with anger or demand. It’s recognition. Ownership, almost, but not yet. 

You now realize how fully she’s seen you, even without a single touch or a step closer. Every breath you take, every twitch of your hand, she’s already memorized.

Goosebumps form along the line of your arms, and suddenly, it feels like your feet are glued to the floor because you can’t seem to move, or even breathe steadily.

Manon’s lips almost curve upwards, just almost. In that moment, you felt recognized, free even. You were excited, happy, of course, and yet this was only the beginning of something entirely new. If only you knew what she really meant when she said she wanted you.

And in that silence, you realize you’ve already been claimed, even before you take another step.

1:00 PM.

That’s the time you’ve arrived.

The building is entirely packed. It stands tall, too many floors to count, so that even just looking straight up at it could hurt your neck. Cars are pulling in and out–someone rushes out the front door for a quick call. Different designers, managers, and even the models all carried the rush of the same mindset, time. It was as if it was urging them forward.

Voices overlapped one another, heels clicked against the floor in uneven rhythm, racks of clothing glided past through doors, brushing against elbows and hips without apology. It was the kind of energy that seemed uneasy for others, but to you? It was everything you were already used to.

The door opens as you step inside, and the chaos that follows soon swallows you whole.

“Careful!’ Someone yells as they pass by you, hands full of neatly stacked fabric, barely sparing you a glance. Someone else calls out for measurements at the other side of the room. A corset is being tugged too tightly. A zipper nearly breaks. Somewhere further away–laughter breaks through the noise, but it leaves just as quickly as it came.

Everything moves–everything except you.

There were too many things happening all at once. Your eyes continued to follow every motion with quiet precision. You know the feeling of urgency, the time limit, the way people lose themselves within the pace. This type of scene never really overwhelmed you, and at times, you kind of liked the feeling.

Yet, still, something about today felt off.

Your fingers flex tightly by your sides, as if grounding yourself could mask the noise surrounding you. Everywhere you look, some faces are unfamiliar, voices that blend, movements that were too fast to follow. You stood there awkwardly, almost like a mannequin.

By the corner of your eye, someone notices you and hurriedly rushes over to you. There’s a clipboard in her hands and glasses that are barely hanging over her nose bridge.

“Name?” She speaks over the noise, voice expectant.

You answer, your voice steady despite how your blood rushes over you, the feeling can’t quite stay still.

There’s a pause as she scans the list. Before you knew it, the creative director–the same one from the casting last week hurries over, already remembering your face. He stands over her shoulder, also scanning for your name before looking back at you.

“You’re late.” He says flatly. The woman checks your name off. “You should’ve been here an hour ago.”

That alerts you. Your mouth opens, but there is no excuse formed on the tip of your tongue. Because you weren’t late. You know you weren’t.

Then something weird happens. Both the woman and the director go quiet, their eyes flicking toward you, voices trailing off mid-sentence. Their tension isn’t that noticeable, but you feel it when their eyes are back on you. You blink, confused. You hadn’t said or done anything. Why were they staring at you like that?

He clears his throat, eyeing the message printed underneath your name. “Oh.” He mutters. Oh? What kind of reaction is that? There were so many questions swarming through your mind that you could barely manage to think.

“You’re with Manon.”

You freeze. Nobody ever personally works with the head director all alone. Not in a hurried setting like this. Your head glances left and right, but she’s nowhere to be seen. A tight knot begins to form in the middle of your stomach, just in time before your pulse spikes. 

You’re nervous, obviously. Anticipated almost. You wanted to speak, to ask why with the sudden change of plans. The director notices your confusion but doesn’t explain. 

He keeps the moment short, “I’ll lead you to her.” He turns to the woman, nodding before she turns to leave. When he faces back towards you, his lips form a thin line. “She’s been waiting.”

Now you’re feeling suffocated because you’re following him two steps behind, squeezing through the crowd of models and employees, past the rack of clothes, the voices, the noise. He leads you to the elevator. As soon as you stepped in, you watched him carefully, eyeing his hand when he pressed the one with the number ten on it. The highest floor in the building. It doesn’t soothe your nerves whatsoever.

The walls feel too close. The air feels too thick. You swallow, dry, and your hands flex at your sides, gripping something invisible to steady yourself. You try to tell yourself to breathe, but the tightness in your chest refuses to ease.

But then the elevator dings, and you're suddenly being welcomed to a world you’d never forget.

The entire top floor is unusually quiet, the opposite of the one you were just in. One step, and the room manages the sound loud enough to echo. Huge, modern paintings decorated the walls. There were fabrics and outfits displayed on mannequins in a neatly matter. One wall was entirely covered in mirrors. The room felt so loud, yet there was no noise other than the lack of rhythm in between your breaths.

Your eyes soon follow the invisible trail of line towards the middle of the floor. There she stands, waiting, not moving, not speaking, eyes already watching you.

Manon.

You hear the elevator close behind you, realizing that it’s now just you and her. Every instinct in your body screams at you that this isn’t normal, or maybe it was your paranoia. There was just an unclear line between the two ideas.

Your heart beats quicker than any thought that could be formed in your mind. It’s only then that you realize that maybe the room you stood in doesn’t exist around you, only her does. Only the way her eyes never leave you, the way she’s already memorized you before a word is ever spoken.

Finally, she tilts her head. Her face doesn’t change when she sees you. But you knew you had her attention entirely. Something about it made your head dizzy.

“You’re late.”

You swallowed. You’ve been told that already, and yet? It feels much sharper when it’s coming from her voice, forming the words from her lips. There’s no anger in between the syllables, but it wasn’t soft either. 

“I’m not–” You manage, voice catching inside your throat, weak against the intensity of her gaze.

“You should know better than that.” Manon adds.

There’s silence after that, sitting in the tension that lies in the space between you and her.

She turns away, sitting on the couch behind her. You can’t help but eye her outfit. Black slacks and her white blouse, the tops nearly unbuttoned. Your head turns away before she could catch you staring at a place where you shouldn’t, but by the look in her eye, it seems that it was too late for that. She pats the empty spot on the couch next to her. Your feet follow without registering any of this.

You leave space in between as you sit down. Manon closes that said space before a word could leave your mouth.

She places a hand on your knee, the warmth radiating off your jeans. It’s gentle, soft even, but not heavy enough to keep you in place. Just there, settling her hold over you.

Your eyes meet her own. It’s the first time you’ve seen her up this close. Her hair’s neatly straightened, makeup polished but not bold, yet somehow it feels like she’s also studying you as carefully as you’re studying her. As if she were two steps closer.

“You need to understand,” Manon starts, her voice enough for the warmth to deepen within your skin. “This isn’t just a job.”

She continues, the grip on your knee growing tighter. “It’s not about the show, the clothes, or the cameras. It’s about you–how you move, how you breathe, how you exist when nobody’s telling you what to be.”

“When you walked for me,” Manon inhales softly, as if the memory itself has already gotten her far too deep. “You weren’t perfect, but you weren’t careless either. That’s what I need.”

Her hand leaves your knee, and it was only then that you finally released the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

She leans forward, handing you a few papers of different designs and sketches. You analyze them carefully one by one, each one had their own characteristics, its own voice. They were all drawn beautifully, every line critiqued into one place, every sketch had its own purpose.

She observes you, taking note of the slightest gasp you took once the designs were handed to you, the way your eyes seemed to light up from the drawings. She tries not to let it affect her too easily.

You're watching the designs, she’s watching you.

Her eyes can’t erase the way your features fall into place so flawlessly. You move without care. You feel free without needing someone else’s approval. She leans back slightly, still close.

A corner of her lip lifts upwards, “These,” she glances at the collection, “Aren’t just my designs. They’re instructions for the way everyone else perceives you. Guidelines for how I want the world to see you. Not the other models, not the camera, not anyone else–”

“Just you.”

Manon exhales shakily, “And maybe just for me.”

You’re momentarily caught off guard by the sudden way her words feel intimate, too intimate. Your jacket feels too hot, the designs in your hand tremble beneath your fingers, and suddenly the space between you seems too close–or too far.

She’s still fixated on you. Analyzing every small detail in the way you move. You aren’t sure if it’s from curiosity or calculation, but the attention on you feels much more personal now that you’re here.

“Do you understand?” Her breath is hot near your skin, her lips nearly twitching. Almost a smile, but her eyes still share the same intense look within them.

You nod.

She seemed satisfied with your answer, despite the lack of words. She gives you a light smile. “Then it’s settled.” Manon walks up from the couch, taking the sketches from your hands.

“There are 5 months before the show starts,” She says as she hangs the sketches on the bulletin board near the couches. “We’ll need to work on your walk–your timing, your control.”

“Until then, you’ll be spending your time on this floor.” She pauses to turn her head slightly, looking to you over her shoulder, “With me.”

This makes you look up.

Questions began to swarm in your head. You don’t quite understand. Shouldn’t you be with the other models just a few floors down? Why was she personally working with you out of the hundred models, casted the same way you were? There were so many questions clouding your mind, you didn’t register her presence growing closer to yours as she walked over to you.

Her gaze grazes every inch of you. The furrowed brows forming in your expression, the slight hitch of your breath, the way she could see every question forming through your thoughts without having to say them out loud. She traces every little detail about you without you even knowing.

“I don’t work with people I’m unsure about.”

Your throat becomes dry.

“And I’m not unsure about you.”

“The question is,” Manon stands over you, your view covered from her waist. “Are you?”

The question hits harder than it intended to.

You swallow, knowing the answer before your mouth could form the sentence. Your heart already knows that you were made for this. You weren’t ready for this opportunity to get taken away from you. Especially if this was with her.

“I’m not.” You say, loud and clear.

Manon’s eyes squint, nodding her head. She isn’t surprised, not exactly impressed either. She was satisfied with your confirmation, though. And for a while, she studies the way your movements catch between confidence and desperation, balanced between a fine line. Her hand reaches out, and before you know it, she’s pulling you up from the couch, matching her height.

“Good.”

And then she smiles, not with warmth, not with temptation either. Just a small smile, enough to send shivers down your spine.

“We’ll start now.”

You’re standing in front of one of the mirrored walls, the reflection of your own posture suddenly more noticeable than before. Behind you, you hear a soft glide of one of the racks being pulled closer to you, the metal hangers of different fabrics and designs brushing together.

“I’ll be taking your measurements now.” Manon’s voice comes from behind, calm, unlike you.

She’s taking one of the pieces off the hanger, carefully taking a deeper look between the designs before she notices what you’re wearing through the mirror. Your leather jacket hugs you tightly around your figure, and your jeans fit quite the opposite. 

She turns around, dropping the shirt on a nearby table. “Lose the jacket.” She says simply.

It was a simple order, nothing out of the ordinary. You were used to this anyway. This was your job. Simple as that. It didn’t take away the way your blood began to rush in your body, the heat radiating off so quickly that you think she may have felt it too. You release a trembling sigh, deliberately taking the jacket off, revealing your white shirt underneath.

Manon takes a measuring tape, walking towards you. Then, through the mirror–her jaw tenses. Head cocked to the side as if she still wasn’t pleased enough.

The measuring tape hangs loose by her side as she steps behind you. Another step and her chest would be pressed against your back, but even now, without even touching you, it already feels too much. The awareness, the temptation that slowly begins to withhold its control.

“Are you wearing anything tighter underneath this?” She eyes your face, then the clothes you’re currently wearing. She’s right, they’re too loose, not good when she’s trying to measure your angles and figures for the pieces she’s trying to perfect on you. A frown is apparent with the way she’s staring at you, and for some reason, you care a little too much about the way she’s looking at you, as if disappointing her really meant a lot to you.

You shift awkwardly, still watching her through the mirror. Your voice is low when you answer her, “Just my bra.” You swallow, “And my underwear.”

Silence follows.

Her breath soon grazes your skin by your neck, and an evident shiver follows through your body.

“You don’t mind taking these off then?” Manon glances at your shirt and jeans, “Do you?”

You inhale sharply.

Again, you were supposed to be used to this. You do this for a living.

But why does the room feel like it’s closing you in from the inside?

She waits for your response. Her authority speaks louder than her words. Her presence, her being as a whole, you’re all too aware of it. Her head tilts to the side, either silently questioning your silence, or that maybe–she enjoys watching you squirm.

You don’t answer her.

Instead, your fingers trail to the zipper of your jeans. The metallic cool of the material nearly burns your touch as you drag it lower, before your hands find the waistband of the denim. Your fingers can’t stop shaking from the nerves crawling up your skin, but you drag the fabric down anyway. Slowly.

Soon, your jeans pool around your feet.

The air around your legs becomes cold. Too cold, chills form along your thighs. There's a physical pull underneath your skin, and it’s not from the air itself.

You hear an evident inhale from Manon.

It’s barely there, but with the silence surrounding you, it was the loudest noise. You let her sculpt your legs with her eyes, imprinting the sole image of you into her mind. The slightest shiver you see within her shoulders and her breath hitting your skin has your head turning away, looking anywhere but her.

And even now, not once, will she look away from you.

Your fingers held the ends of your shirt, gripping the fabric so hard that your nails dig into the cloth. Nearly piercing through. Your hands begin lifting it, your torso, over your head, revealing your skin.

The shirt lies next to the jeans.

You stood still. Bare air hitting your skin. You feel exposed, you are. Yet, the only eyes on you were your reflections and hers.

Manon doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t acknowledge the tension in the space sitting underneath you both. But even then, you see the faintest tremor over her bottom lip, and another shaky exhale escapes her lips.

You’re naked, not really, but with her eyes on you? It already feels like you are.

Manon’s jaw clenches tight, the muscle tightening along the line. Her eyes fixated on every curve you owned. The swell curve from behind all the way towards the ones that curve underneath your breast. You hold in your breath once your eyes catch the way her throat bobbles slightly, as if she were swallowing something that wasn’t meant to be tasted.

Your eyes trail lower, her hand nearly twitching against her sides. You don’t know what any of this means. Maybe this was just an act to her, maybe this was all in your head. But the way she’s staring at you feels far more real than anything you’ve ever felt before.

Her eyes catch your own through the reflection.

You look away again.

She takes a step back. You weren’t sure if you felt relieved or disappointed.

“Alright.” She breathes, grabbing the measuring tape. “Stand straight.”

You adjust instantly, shoulders pulling back, chin lifting just slightly. You watch yourself–or her, through the mirror. You look more intentional and professional as you are.

She leans forward near your ear, “Not stiff.” Her voice is firm.

Before you can correct yourself, her hands are on you, light but precise. One settles against your shoulder, pressing it down just enough, while the other adjusts the angle of your arm. You shudder without intending to. She feels it.

“Relax,” Manon whispers.

She corrects your posture, her palm lying flat against your back. The warmth of her hand almost burns through your skin.

“Don’t control your body. That’s how you hold tension in places you don’t need.” She advises, her chin grazing your shoulder as she straightens your shoulder a little more.

You try to focus–you really do, but you keep holding your breath, and every ounce of your muscle suddenly becomes weak when she’s this close.

You’re still not quite there yet, but she still picks up the tape. The material brushes against your skin as she works, efficient, adjusting, writing numbers you don’t even hear. You flinch when the material feels a bit cold on your skin.

She glances up at you.

“Breath normally.” She reminds, stern, serious.

You’re trying.

The tape slides around your waist, then higher, then lower again–each movement controlled, intentional. Then she reaches down, jotting something on a nearby clipboard before your body turns slightly to watch her with your own eyes–not through the reflection.

That was your first mistake.

Manon catches you. Hands immediately holding your arms tight, setting you in place as you once were before.

Her breasts pressed against your back before you could utter a word.

“Stand still.”

Your chest tightens almost immediately, the air feeling too small in the space between your ribs. You can’t move even if you wanted to. Her hold on you doesn’t give you a chance. She adjusts you again, firm but careful, her hands tracing along your sides to reset your posture.

“I know you’re not new to any of this,” Manon whispers, her lips nearly grazing you, “So I’m not sure why you’re not understanding anything that I’m saying.”

Shame falls upon your features.

You look at the floor, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need apologies,” Her voice grows firmer, her patience running out. “I need you to listen.”

Your pulse quickens, but you obey, letting her hands guide you. The touch stings. You can’t feel anything but her. And somehow, in that tension, you feel exposed, yes–but also seen in a way no one else has ever looked at you.

She continues after lifting your arms, wrapping the measuring tape around one.

Manon maps you out with careful precision. Every detail mattered. One incorrect mistake and the entire piece could be ruined, that’s how much this project meant.

Your fingers curl slightly at your sides, trying not to fidget, but the heat crawling up your neck refuses to leave. Her eyes on you, scanning, noticing every subtle shift in your posture, every tiny twitch you didn’t mean to make–you just can’t get over it.

Her hands linger a moment too long, adjusting your elbow again, and you flinch. Not loudly, barely perceptibly, but it’s enough. You feel her sigh behind you, your heart quickening at the reaction.

And then it happens.

The second mistake.

The tape slips just slightly at the wrong angle, and your arm tilts toward yourself without meaning to.

You feel her sigh, her breath hitting your shoulders.

“This isn’t your first time.” She reminds you, dropping the measuring tape loosely on the floor. You watch from the mirrors, eyes looking anywhere but her.

You nod, trying to form an excuse. “I know, but–”

“If you know, then why can’t you do it right?”

Your stomach twists.

Manon turns around. Disappointment is visible through her features. That alone affects you more than it should have. She pushes the rack of clothes somewhere near the couch, before she suddenly pauses–turning back towards you.

Her eyes land on you hard. Maybe she’s reconsidering something she had already decided.

Something shifts within her expression. It was never soft, but it wasn’t with annoyance either. Something more hidden underneath.

Her heels echoed against the floor with each step she took closer to you, closing the space between your back with her front.

Your breath hitches when you feel her breasts fully pressed up against the skin of your back.

“You’re thinking too much,” Manon says, eyes growing dark.

You glance up–quickly, only to find that she was already staring into your eyes before you could process anything that’s happening. Your body tenses, and she feels it. She notices. Of course she does.

“Do you know what your problem is?” She asks quietly, a hand reaches towards yours from behind. The touch almost burns.

You don’t answer. You’re not sure if you can.

Her thumb rubs slightly, just enough to keep your focus locked on her. But you’re anything but focused.

“You’re trying to be what you think I want,” She says. “Instead of just being what I already chose.”

Her hand squeezes yours. The pressure of her hand isn’t painful, but it’s enough to bring you back from the swirling thoughts going in circles around your head. Your thoughts freeze, caught somewhere between what she’s saying and what you’re feeling.

Manon notices the lack of eye contact you’re giving her. She doesn’t like that. She wants your eyes on her. She needed your eyes on her.

When she tests further, leaning her chin down, your pulse on your heart almost breaks the space in between your ribs.

A soft kiss presses against your shoulder.

You both shudder at the contact.

Your eyes close at the touch. The soft warmth of her lips, the faint smell of her lip gloss, her hand over yours. You can’t breathe, not even for a moment. But you’re afraid of breaking whatever it is that she’s trying to do. You knew this was wrong, you knew you only had one job to do–but you just can’t find the will to stop whatever she’s doing.

You feel her lips curve upwards, a faint smile falling on her features.

“Oh?” Manon laughs quietly, the vibration sending shivers down your skin.

The touch lingers, piercing something through your mind and whatever words you were trying to say because none seemed to be coming out. When your gaze finally cuts back to her, there’s something faint within her eyes. The sight almost drowns out everything else.

“I chose you because you didn’t force yourself to control.” She murmurs, pressing another torturing kiss to somewhere higher up your neck. Her hand leaves your own for a second, grabbing a handful of your hair–pulling it to the back.

“Or maybe that’s what you need.” A kiss behind your ear that makes your thighs squeeze together. “Learn to control yourself.”

Manon hands release your hair, trailing her palms to the small space behind your back, before moving to your waist. Her hands settle at your hips, fingers digging in deep, you almost think it’ll leave an imprint. 

She’s taking her oh so sweet time with you. Judging the reactions you’d make for her or the way you can’t seem to think properly when she’s touching you just like this. You’re still breathless, still sensitive, and maybe that’s what she loves. Loves seeing you squirm beneath her touch.

She tilts her head, nose pressed deep into the side of your neck. You let out a quiet exhale, her hands trailing towards your stomach, getting used to the feeling of your skin against hers. Her eyes scan your thighs, all the way to the spot on your throat through the mirror.

Her eyes linger a little too long on your neck. A sudden idea forms in her mind. One hand stays firm by your waist. The other? Slowly trailing upwards. You’re letting these soft, quick breaths to steady the rhythm of your breathing, but nothing really works.

You feel every graze of her nail on your skin, the coolness of her ring against your warmth, the way her fingers wrap around your throat like it’s meant to be there.

Your thighs press harder together. You’re soaked, so wet. You knew that.

And she did too.

“Manon.” You gasp, hearing her name out of your mouth only makes the grip on your neck tighter.

“Is this okay?” She asks, pressing small kisses down your neck, to your shoulders.

You nod, almost immediately.

The confirmation relaxes her. Her hand trailing higher, you feel her fingers steady your chin, tilting your face toward hers. For a moment, you don’t register anything else. Not when her lips press hard against yours.

It’s not soft, but it’s slow, like she’s taking her time trying to understand what you like, who you truly are.

You gasp against her lips, she swallows the sound down, her throat bobbing. She pulls your chin lower, your mouth opens enough just for her tongue to slip inside your mouth. You both moan at the contact, her tongue flicking hard around yours.

She’s so close that it’s breaking through every little thought you had of her. All your senses were suddenly invaded by her. Her touch, her scent, the way she feels in your mouth. You can’t even tell where your thoughts begin and where she lies.

You can taste the lip gloss she wore. The feeling hits hard, pooling somewhere in your stomach. You're trembling in her hold. Her nails digging into your chin doesn’t help the nerves screaming inside of you. You have lost every ability to think about anything else but her.

Your kiss grows sloppier, her taste dripping into your mouth. With this angle and her hold on you, you can’t do anything but stand and take whatever she wants from you. The way you shake underneath her touch, the way you breathe into her mouth, the way she expects you to do anything you say just to please her.

The kiss breaks apart, and suddenly, you’re already craving for more.

Manon doesn’t let you think. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. She moves your chin towards the mirror. You can’t help but take in how you really look right now. Her hands on your body, her front still pressed against you, both of your lips were swollen and wet. But in her eyes, you were already beyond perfection.

“You need to learn how to control yourself when you’re told.” She whispers, her chin leaning against your shoulder once more. “Learning how your body works, the way you move, is better than perfection itself.”

Her warmth leaves your body, and you’re already missing the feeling of her body pressed against your own. She walks around you, however, circling you like she’s thinking hard on what to do with you.

She stops in front of you.

“When I tell you something,” Manon leans forward, enough for her breath to fan over your lips, “I expect you to listen.”

You shudder.

“You’re told to do something, you’ll do it.” She leans towards your ear. Her hands move past your waist, her fingers lingering higher towards your back.

You feel her unclip the bra strap.

She removes the piece of fabric altogether, letting it drop to the floor. When she pulls back, you hear her exhale shakily. Your breasts come into view, your nipples hardening from the air alone.

“Pretty.” She tells you that the praise makes your pussy drench your panties. The wet patch was visible to her view.

“It’s okay when I kiss you, right?” Manon asks, pressing a light kiss to your lips. “And when I kiss you here?” Her lips trail lower to a spot on your neck, underneath your jaw. Your cunt already pulsing from her kisses alone. “Or here?” A kiss above one of your breasts, that one makes you release a small whimper. Just enough for only her to hear.

Her smile widens, not soft, not gentle either. The type of smile that makes your thighs squeeze together.

Manon presses another kiss on your other breast, her kisses growing lower and lower. One in between the space of your tits, one on your stomach, and one just above the waistband of your panties. 

She’s so close to your cunt. Her breath fanned over the flimsy fabric. Your folds imprinted on the cloth, just begging to be freed. She’s already on her knees once you see her take off your panties.

God, you’re wet. So soaked already. Your clit peeks through in between your glistening folds between your thighs, already slick and swollen. So pink, so puffy, just begging to be licked. Your hands are already on her shoulders to ground yourself. You’re too breathless, too turned on to be thinking of anything else but her mouth on you.

“Let’s see if you can stand still while I taste you.”

The first lick makes you whimper.

Manon doesn’t like moving too fast. She takes her time with you. Tasting everything that pools into her mouth. You’re sweet, but too wet. She loses friction.

She swirls her tongue on your clit, painfully slow, drawing out small patterns that have your body hunching forward. Your jaw grows slack until you feel her nails dig into the space behind your thigh, reminding you of your only instruction.

Stand still.

“Oh fuck–” Your eyes roll back behind your head, your hands digging into the fabric of her shirt.

A slap hits hard at the side of one of your thighs, earning a soft gasp from you.

“Did I say you could talk?”

Tears swell up in your eyes, blurring the line between you and her. You can’t really form a sentence, not when her mouth’s all over you.

“Answer me,” She murmurs, sucking your clit into her mouth particularly hard.

You shake your head, “N-No.”

“You like to misbehave.” Manon spreads your legs wider, shoving her mouth deeper into your cunt. “Even when I let you use my mouth.”

You shake your head, but there is no use in denying it. Your legs began to tremble over her, using her arms to hold you steady. You gasp when you feel her spit right on your clit, before swirling the small nub over her tongue.

“Such a messy pussy.” She sighs, using her thumbs to pull your folds apart, revealing more of your swollen clit and your tight cunt to her. You can’t stop staring at her. The way you drench her mouth, the way she wants more of you.

“Don’t look at me,” She tells you, fluttering her eyelashes at you. You try to respond this time, you really do. But you still can’t, not when you feel her tongue shoved inside your cunt, repeating the action, flexing her tongue against your walls in criminally slow pumps. Her moan vibrates through you, your pussy clenching over the muscle.

She takes one of your hands, placing it on her head. “Look at the mirror.”

And you do.

Fuck, it’s better this way. Just watching her through the reflection, watching you? The sight alone is almost enough for you to cum quickly.

Manon’s kneeling between your thighs. Her ass sticking out just to move closer to you. Her hands won’t leave your thighs, loving the way her nails dig into the soft flesh. She’s still fully clothed, and yet, just watching her like this has your thighs trembling over her mouth.

Her tongue pumps in and out of you, a gush of wetness pooling on her tongue. Everything you give her, she swallows happily. Just making a complete mess over her mouth.

“That’s it,” She mumbles through your folds, moving back up to pay attention to your clit, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks hard on your clit, “You like watching yourself through the mirror, don’t you?” 

“Please.” You sob. Your body feels warm, sweaty, and in between your thighs–you’re making a complete mess.

“Please?” She questions, “You don’t even know what you’re begging for.” Her voice vibrates, wrapping her lips around you. You’re getting closer, you can feel it.

You cry harder, hot tears falling down your cheeks. It seems she likes this particular look on your face, the way you cry just because of the way she makes you feel. You can see it in the way her eyes dilate, the way her tongue moves faster on you.

Suddenly, she lifts one of your legs over her shoulder. She adjusts herself underneath you until only her head is visible between your thighs. The sight makes you whimper.

“Go on,” She urges you, pressing her tongue flat on your folds, “Fuck my face.”

You swallow. You’re too dizzy, and your vision is blurry from the tears. “W-What?”

“I’m asking you to use my mouth. I’m telling you to use me.” Manon sighs, her tongue lazily drawing circles around your nub as she waits. Her patience is growing low.

You shudder slightly, “I can’t–”

Her hand lands hard on the side of your thigh, earning another whimper from you above.

“You said you’d listen.” She says, moving her head back. You groan at the sight of her drenched mouth. “So do it.”

Your throat grows dry, but you follow anyway.

Manon moans when your hands grab a handful of her hair, your nails digging into her scalp. The pain doesn’t bother her. It only makes her drench her own panties, trapped underneath her pants. When you finally force yourself into her mouth, you both whimper at the contact.

“Fuck.” You grind into her mouth slowly. Adjusting yourself to the way her tongue feels around you. Your clit peeks through, rubbing yourself on the muscle of her tongue. She urges you to move faster.

Your hips begin to move sloppily. You feel yourself getting closer with this angle. You feel her tongue shoved inside your cunt, moving more as your slickness combines with her saliva.

“I’m going to cum.” You cry, trying to stand still as much as you can.

You feel her moan through your folds, drawing gentle patterns all over your little nub, trying to reach you to your orgasm.

“Go ahead,” You shudder when her fingers dig harder into you, “In my mouth. I want it in my mouth.”

It doesn’t take long before you can no longer stay still. Your hands dig into her hair as a gush of wetness drenches her tongue, your orgasm following through. You feel Manon moan at the taste, slurping hazardously as she sucks it out of your tight hole.

You can barely catch your breath.

Her lips don’t leave your pussy, drawing out your orgasm slowly. When you feel it becoming too much for you to handle, you gently shove her face away. Her arms caught you before you could fall.

Manon pulls you into her chest, her arms holding your body gently. She kisses the top of your head, smoothing some of the strands that stick out of your hair. Your body feels unsteady, like everything that just happened–everything she pulled out of you, hasn’t really settled back into place yet. Your legs don’t quite cooperate, your breathing is still uneven, and your thoughts are slow to catch up.

Her grip adjusts slightly, keeping you upright when your weight leans into her more than you intended. She doesn’t let you pull away, even if you try.

“The bathroom’s on your left,” She whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of your cheek. “Go get yourself cleaned up for me, okay?”

You don’t respond, but she feels you nod into her shoulder.

“Breathe,” Manon says quietly. “We’re just getting started.”

Even as she tells you to go, she hasn’t released you from her arms yet. She doesn’t want to, not when you’re this close to her, not that whatever just happened–didn’t feel like a mistake than it should have.

Her hand slides down to your arm, steadying you as she finally allows a bit of space to form between you. Only enough for you to move.

You take a step back, legs still unsteady, your body not fully your own yet. For a second, you think she’ll stop you, to pull you back, correct something, say something else.

She doesn’t.

Your body’s already turning towards the bathroom, not before you hear her whisper something not too far from you. Your breathing halts once more.

“Maybe now you’ll understand how to control yourself.”

The words settle differently this time. Not like an order.

Like permission.

“Did you get the fabrics that I ordered?” Manon asked over the phone.

There’s a pause. A faint voice filters through the–too muffled for you to make out, just a blur of explanation. The person continues to ramble through the speaker, but you can’t really tell what they’re saying.

She leans back into the swiveled chair, sighing when the voice on the other end stumbles over itself, a nervous jumble of apologies and half-formed sentences. Her patience is growing low when the continuous explanations don’t end there. Suddenly, she lets out a small, quiet gasp, hoping the person on the other end missed it.

She places the phone on the desk, next to the pile of papers. She presses the speaker button on the screen, and the voice on the other end becomes louder, more urgent, but still entangled in words. It’s almost incoherent now, a rush of sentences that don’t quite connect. She pinches the bridge of her nose. Every word feels doesn’t even make sense. But that’s the least on her mind right now.

“Wait–slow down,” Manon says, but she isn’t talking to the person on the phone.

She lifts her skirt, revealing your face between her thighs.

You’ve been there for a while now. Today, you were supposed to practice different styles of walks for the show. She even prepared new designs to show you. One thing led to another–you’re currently on your knees, under her desk, tongue licking through her folds.

It’s been like this ever since the first day. You’re already a month into this, and everything about your life seems to have changed. You tried to actually do your job, perfecting your walk, her taking your measurements, sometimes adding input for new designs. But every single time, your mouth always ends up between her thighs, or her fingers inside of you.

Even outside of her office, you’re with her, either walking down quiet streets late at night or sitting across from her at dinner while the city shines around you. Sometimes, more than some, you’d end up in her bed in her penthouse, her back pressed against your front–her warmth combining with your own. 

Sometimes, you think she’s beginning to find out more things about you when you don’t even notice.

At first, it feels like a coincidence. She’s supposed to be observant–good at reading people, good at her job. That’s just who she is, you kept thinking.

But then it happens again.

And again.

Not once have you questioned this dynamic. You weren’t prepared for this. You’d never expect this kind of attention from her. You still don’t know what she really sees in you, despite having hundreds of models during the casting.

You thought maybe she had taken a liking to you. But deep down, you’re unsure if it’s just that–or something way deeper hidden somewhere underneath her gaze and discreet touches.

Every time you’re in the same room as her, her eyes are always on you. No matter what you were doing or where you were, she’s always there, always watching.

And it’s not just noticing. You can feel it in the way her glance lingers, in the way she tilts her head ever so slightly when you move, like she’s drawing you out without anyone else noticing. Without you noticing. And even til’ now, you’re always wrapped around her finger.

Because you could never say no to her.

She’s been soaked the minute you arrived.

Come coated your tongue almost immediately. Your lips wrapped around the small nub, sucking hard on the flesh. You kept your strokes torturously slow, intending to drag out her teasing as much as you could, but it seemed Manon didn’t mind.

Manon lets out a breathy laugh, soothing your hair with your face in between her thighs. The sound sends signals all the way between your own legs. She was extra careful with you, caressing your head and fixing your hair; it’s the least you can do when you’re eating her out so nicely.

With each pass, you paused to swirl her tongue in small circles around her clit, and it had her moaning quietly–hoping the person on the phone won’t hear–pushing her hips against your face each time.

The man continues to complain about something else, but Manon wasn’t having it. She pressed the red button on the screen, ending the call as soon as your tongue circled her entrance, teasing the tight hole.

You can’t help but stare up at her. She’s sweating, her hair isn’t as neat as it was this morning, and her lips are almost as swollen as yours from the kissing you had earlier. She was stunning, there was no doubt about it.

Manon tugs on your hair, earning a low whine that causes her thighs to shake around you.

“You learn well.” She praised, you whimper through her folds, shoving your tongue inside of her. “That’s what I love about you.” Manon sinks into the chair further, hitching up her pencil skirt to settle around her waist. You used this opportunity to spread her legs more.

She grabs a handful of your hair before pushing your face even more into her. “Gonna make me cum in that pretty little mouth of yours?” She asks, breathless.

You don’t respond, you can’t. Literally.

Come began sliding down past your chin. She’s drenching your mouth so much that it's getting hard to keep up. She held your face for a moment before using her hips to grind into your mouth.

“God,” She whimpers, her nails digging into your scalp, “You’re going to make me cum.”

You flicked your tongue repeatedly against her clit, the nub becoming more swollen and sensitive. Manon tries to fix herself on top of the chair, but your mouth latched onto her was difficult to adjust.

“Right there, fuck.” She mumbles, licking her lips. Just watching you like this, using your mouth to get off, she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. “I’ve been teaching you well, haven’t I?”

You whine.

“You know how to use that mouth when you’re told.” A faint smile appears, her painted nails digging harder through your hair. 

You thrusted your tongue back and forth, curling it now and then. “Yes–” She gasps, “Use your tongue right there, baby.”

The pet name has your own thighs squeezing together. You tried to reach up, wanting to see more of her skin, but she doesn’t let you–slapping your hand away. This earned another whine from you. She’s still wearing her shirt, and you wanted it off. Completely.

“Be good.” She reminds you, “Fuck, I’m getting close.”

Manon's grinds began to grow more sloppy, using your face to her liking–not even caring if you could even breathe or not. The chair began to squeak against the floor, but that wasn’t stopping her from her orgasm.

Just before her thighs began to tremble around your face, you heard the elevator ding.

Your heart drops.

She looks down at you, scrambling to fix her skirt while pushing you further underneath her desk. You follow through, your heart hammering inside your chest.

You don’t know what would happen if someone were to see you like this. Getting caught in such a position? Even though you knew Manon owned the whole thing, your reputation was the only thing that she could not help with.

“Stay quiet.” She whispers, shoving your shoulders back. “I mean it.”

You obey, sliding further, the wood of the desk pressing against your back. Her skirt finally falls into place, and she exhales sharply, straightening in her chair. Her eyes meet yours for just a second–a warning, a look you know all too well. The kind you don’t question. The kind you don’t want to know more of. 

You stay frozen, caught between the adrenaline of the near-exposure and the shame that sinks below in your stomach. You know better than to make a sound. You know better than to expose either you or her like this.

Right as you duck your head underneath the desk, you hear footsteps growing closer.

The door bursts open, and the manager storms in, papers clutched in one hand, a clipboard in the other. His face is flushed, his eyes wide, and his skin sweating, like he’s caught in the middle of a panic attack.

“Manon, I’m sorry to storm in like this, but one of the designs is completely off–did anyone even check this before sending it to production?” His voice trembles, breathless from rushing over to this office. He barely registered your crouched form under the desk. Your hidden, that’s what’s important to you right now.

Manon’s annoyance is through the roof. Her jaw is tight, hands are gripping the edge of the desk. Her patience is gone. “You think you can just come in here without further notice?” She says lowly.

The manager freezes for half a second, glancing at her like she’s being unreasonable. “I know, and I’m sorry, but the designers don’t know what to do. And production is already happening!” 

She’s stressed and definitely pissed. You don’t like seeing her like this, knowing her, you wouldn’t want to be that man right now.

Your hand reaches out, holding her calf underneath the table. Manon sends a piercing look at you, her leg tenses under your touch. She shoots you another look, her eyes narrowing in warning. Stop.

You don’t.

Instead, your thumb brushes lightly against her ankle, slow, distracting.

Above you, her composure cracks–just barely. She inhales sharply, shoulders stiffening, and for a split second, her focus slips from the manager entirely. The manager doesn’t seem to notice the difference in her appearance.

“We can’t just ignore this.” The manager complains, waving the papers in her face. “If this goes out, people are going to–”

“I know,” Manon says. Her voice isn’t as steady as before. “I heard you.” She shifts in her seat, trying to regain control, trying to ignore you.

You press a kiss to her knee.

Her breath hitches, and it’s noticeable this time.

The manager gives her an odd look. “Manon?” She swallows, trying to shove you away. But it’s not working.

Your kisses trail higher. Your lips are still wet, drenched from earlier, pressed onto her skin. You lead your kisses on her thighs, then in between.

Her hands grip the desk harder.

You're testing her patience. You knew that, but the thrill in you was too damn alluring not to ignore. Your hands find the bottom of her skirt, hitching it back up as it once was. Manon doesn’t stop you this time, she can’t. Not when the manager was right there, watching her every move.

“Look, okay–” Her voice freezes once your tongue glides along the slit of her folds.

She coughs, sweat soaking through her shirt. “If the alignment’s off, then it’s not a full redesign–” Your lips latch around her clit, sucking hazardously. “–W-We can fix that,” She stutters.

Her hands dig into your hair, much harsher this time. It only makes you suck hard on her pussy.

She swallows, throat bobbing nervously. She’s still pissed–only not that the anger is directed towards you. The thought has your tongue drawing small circles around the nub. You feel her soaking your mouth, your chin, even the chair–as if she was getting excited at the thought of getting caught, even when she’s this pissed off.

“Manon, I’m telling you, they already tried opening the original file.” The manager says quickly, words spilling out. He paces once, then stops, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t even notice the slightest tremble on her body.

Your tongue is back inside of her, curling the muscle. Manon jolts at this, before biting down her lip, laughing it off. He doesn’t question the odd behavior, too busy worrying about the designs.

“Something’s not matching up–it looks fine on the screen, but when it prints, it’s slightly off–like it’s stretching or something.” He sighs, walking back and forth in front of the desk.

You hear him walking closer to the desk, and you freeze. You’re trying your best to be quiet, especially when he’s this close. But not even that could stop you.

Her climax was still super close, and only growing closer with each pass of your tongue over her clit. She continued to grow increasingly wet, suppressing a moan when she felt you thrusting your tongue deeper to lap the fluid up eagerly. 

Another deep probe of your tongue made her hips stutter sharply. Manon can barely contain stillment of her body. It was hard, especially when she’s this close to coming.

“C-Can we do this later–” Your tongue draws faster, your nails digging into her thighs. She tasted even better with the fear of getting caught in the back of your mind. “I’m in the middle of s-something–” She swallows a moan, clamping her thighs between your head.

He glances at her, frustration mixing with nerves. “We can’t wait this out! The production team is asking for this now. I just need to know if we are shutting it down or not–”

“I said–” Manon closes her eyes, growing increasingly wet while you lapped up through her folds. 

A shaky exhale escapes from her lips. It’s hard to form a sentence when you’re so good with your mouth, drawing small–torturous patterns in between her folds. She releases another sigh, her fingers straining to grip the arms of the chair.

“We’ll do this later.” She adds, her voice firm. “Now get out.”

He exhales sharply, still frustrated, holding the clipboard against his hip. “I can’t just walk back in there without an answer,” he pushes. “They’re expecting–”

“Then give them one,” She cuts in, finally looking up at him. “Pause the line–that’s your a-answer.”

“L-Leave.” She stumbled over her words, a gush of wetness leaking out of her cunt, onto your mouth.

The manager huffs. Unsure what else to say. He chooses not to. With a resigned nod, he gathers the papers and the clipboard, his movements quick but tense, and walks toward the elevator.

The soft click of the elevator doors closing echoes through the office. It’s only when Manon pulls you away by the hair, your mouth detaching from her cunt.

A small groan leaves your lips. It’s swollen and wet from her slick. Your eyes feel heavy, but you can’t feel anything else but the taste on your tongue. You try to lean forward, but she doesn’t let you.

She pulls you by the shirt, dragging you out under the table before pushing you back onto your knees.

“You think this is funny?” Letting go of your shirt. Your hands let go of her legs, falling back onto your lap. You shook your head. Nothing about this was funny, but you just couldn’t help it.

“No–” You look down at her feet, staring at her black heels. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“Then why did you do it?” She leans lower, grabbing your jaw. You feel her nails piercing into the skin, it makes your own fingers dig into your pants.

You try to steady your breathing, but it isn’t working. “I just wanted to make you feel good–”

“Doesn’t mean you should do it when there are other people in front of me.” She brings your chin up, her gaze hard, stern. It makes your stomach twist in a way that it shouldn’t. “You promised to listen.”

“I know, and I’m sorry–” She let go of your jaw, much harsher. Shame falls upon your face.

“You’re sorry? For what? Trying to humiliate me?” Her voice grows louder, unwavering, holding you in place with nothing but a look. She leans back against the chair, arms crossed over her chest.

The weight of her words hits hard around you. Every word was a reminder that you overstepped–that you disobeyed. Her breathing rises and falls, barely containing the anger rising inside of her.

You’re about to form another excuse, but the words don’t come out.

Manon presses the back of her heel to your chest.

Your breath hitches.

The hard curve of her shoe digs just enough to remind you of her control. The pressure is there, the kind of pain that makes your body tense and your mind race with every single thought you had of her. It hurts–but in a way that makes it impossible to look away, impossible to forget, impossible not to feel entirely under her control. The control you lacked.

Every inhale becomes shallow. The pain is enough to affect your breathing. She presses harder, noticing the effect she has on you. Tilting her head, she measures your behavior, the way you act when you know you’ve done something bad.

Another apology forms in your mouth, but you can’t speak. The truth is, you’re frozen not just because of her authority, but because part of you wants to be under it, wants to feel the pressure, the control, everything she owned of you.

Manon laughs, the sound making your heart twist. “Does it hurt when I put pressure here?” She presses the heel harder against the fabric of your shirt. Even through the cloth, it hurts. It hurts in a way that you like.

Your eyes shut, palms sweating above your pants, “Or does it feel good?”

Her questions make your thighs squeeze together. When your silence continues, the heel digs deeper into your chest. You can’t move. You weren’t allowed to. So you settled, staying still just as she likes.

You nod, humiliation swarming in your stomach. “Yes.”

A brow raises. She wasn’t expecting that answer from you.

Suddenly, she drags her heel lower, past your breasts, your stomach, in between your legs.

The tip of her heel grazes the spot between your thighs, pressing hard over your cunt.

The touch makes you jolt, earning another hard press against you. Your body shudders, warming up from the combination of embarrassment and pure want. You try to hold yourself still, but it’s getting harder to manage when she’s torturing you like this.

Your pussy soaks through your panties. You can feel yourself drenching the fabric the more she pushes. You can’t even look her in the eye.

“Do you like it when I press my heel here?” She asks, holding her foot still.

Your answer is immediate.

“Yes.” You gasp.

Manon smiles.

“Okay,” Her heel pauses right against your clit, your folds sticking to your panties. “Then show me.”

Your throat closes. Her voice was enough to look back up at her. You see the way she’s observing you, quiet, intense. Not like before, it’s more alerting. As if she were daring you to go any further.

“You want me to…?” You question, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was something in the way that she looked at you that you couldn’t seem to unfold. It’s not quite with admiration, nor was it like before when she first met you. It’s almost as if she saw everything right through you. The way you act, the way you obey so easily for her–knowing that you would never have the strength to deny her.

She knows it.

Her smile widens, “Grind on my leg.” She says as if it were the simplest thing, “And maybe then I’ll decide if you’re forgiven.”

You freeze.

The demand has blood rushing up into your face.

But you know better than to refuse.

You positioned yourself, each leg on either side of one of her own. You fixed her leg in between your thighs, placing her heel underneath your pussy as you begin to hump her leg.

“Good girl.” She praises, caressing your hair as you pressed a small kiss to her knee, before resting your cheek on it as you moved beneath her.

You feel yourself soaking your panties. Though with the pants you're wearing, it’s hard to move. But just seeing her watching you being so pathetic, it doesn’t even matter. 

Your clit pulses hard, each grind pressing right against the small nub. Your grinds begin to feel more sloppy, desperate, humping against her leg like a dog. Her hand rubs your head gently, urging you to go faster.

There’s something intimate about the way her leg is trapped between your own. You feel your walls clench around nothing every time the top of her heel centers on your little nub, enough for you to hump against it.

Your hips move in small patterns, holding her leg in between you to feel her closer. It’s clear that you’ve never done anything this humiliating before. The pathetic expression on your face grows more filthy. Your mouth’s open, drool spilling out at the corner of your lips, dripping onto her skin. But she didn’t mind, not when you looked so good, so filthy–all just for her.

“All mine to ruin.” Manon sighs.

Your thighs clamp harder around her. Your orgasm getting closer.

The tip of her heel presses hard, right at the center where your clit pulses. A loud whine releases from your mouth when she begins moving her shoe against you.

“Manon–” You cry. You can’t help but press your face harder onto her thigh, letting her hand comfort you.

“I know.” She whispers, “You can do it. Cum on my leg.”

Your fingers dig harder into her skin. “I’m gonna–” Your body begins to shudder, hips bucking, thighs clamped so hard around her. Your cum leaks out of your entrance as you finally cum against her. Another thrust of your hips and you’re collapsing against her, body trembling as you feel yourself soaking your underwear, some leaking through your pants.

Manon removes her leg from you, and you’re already whimpering from the loss of contact.

Your body collapses on the ground, shaking tremendously. You can’t form a single coherent thought. All your thoughts were filled with her in an unhealthy way.

It takes you a minute to register her hand pulling you back onto your knees, holding your chin to meet your eyes.

She gives you a quick kiss on your lips, the touch nearly burning you.

“Wasn’t so hard to listen. Wasn’t it?”

You don’t even know anymore.

You never really questioned Manon’s behavior.

She was always touchy with you from the start. She always has this intense look in her eyes whenever she’s staring at you. You knew that.

​​You just didn’t realize how far it went.

At first, it was small things. Her touch lingered in spots that didn’t need to be detailed during fittings, her hands adjusting details that didn’t need fixing, her gaze following you even when there were dozens of other models in the room. You knew you had her attention. From the start, she was honest about that.

But then it became something else.

She always knew where you were.

Before you would even say a word, she’d already be there–waiting in the next room, standing just close enough to catch your attention, like she’d predicted your every move. If you were late, she would notice. If you left early, she’d notice that too. If you thought about talking to someone for a little too long, her eyes would find you across the room, intense and unblinking. Like she’s sending bullets through you and whoever you were talking to.

This isn’t wasn’t just about control anymore.

This began to feel something deeper. Something that’s been building quietly, patiently, long before you ever thought to question it.

And her gaze felt almost unsettling.

It never felt soft. It never hesitated. It follows. She follows. Her eyes track, settling on you, which feels almost possessive, like you’re something she’s already claimed without ever saying the words out loud.

You first realized it when she began offering to drive you home.

At first, it felt harmless. Thoughtful, even. When fitting sessions turn drags on, you always had the kind of exhaustion that made it easy to accept without thinking twice.

She would take longer routes, creating small conversations that felt very personal. Some were about your life, things you never talked about with anyone. But even then, late at night, you always somehow answer every question without a second thought.

But maybe you were just overthinking.

Still, you notice every time her car stays a little longer than she needed to when she would drop you off. Or how she started to refuse showing you her designs, as if maybe you had something to do with them. Or when every fitting session, you always end up breathless, her touch lingering all over your body.

You thought it was admiration.

If only you knew it was something else entirely.

Your thoughts soon vanish once you hear heels clicking on the floor from behind you. Your posture straightens, facing the mirror. It’s almost automatic now.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been showing up late.” Manon states, the elevator closing behind her as she walks towards you.

You swallow, “I had some issues with traffic earlier. It’s nothing–”

“Traffic?” She repeats, tilting her head slightly, like she’s already sensing a lie before it could leave your mouth.

She stops just in front of you.

“There was no traffic this morning,” She says calmly. “You left your place at 8:17. You should’ve been here by 8:30.”

Your breath catches.

She doesn’t blink.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. She hums, almost thoughtfully, like your silence is answer enough. “That’s what I thought.” She says, taking a step closer to you.

“You’re not late because of traffic,” Manon continues, her tone even. “You’re late because you think you can get away with it.”

You fall silent. You can’t find the words to respond. She stands in front of you, her hand underneath your chin, making you look up at her. You can’t see anything else but her, you can’t think of anyone but her.

“I don’t like it when you lie to me.” She tells you, the grip on your chin tightening. Your jaw clenches underneath her touch. You’re unsure what kind of game she’s really playing at. You aren’t sure how to feel about it either.

Her thumb caresses slightly, not letting you look away. “You should know that by now,” She murmurs, quieter, but somehow heavier.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you say, leaning into her touch. Even though you knew there was something off about this entire situation with her, you still didn’t want to disappoint her. 

After all, she did mean a lot to you.

Manon sighs, trailing her palm higher towards your cheek, caressing the skin softly. She leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your other cheek.

“Forget it.” Her lips form a thin line, before letting you go altogether. You stood there, dumbfounded–unsure what to do next.

“Let’s just start.” She says, voice hard against the surface–like none of it ever happened.. All you could do was nod. But even as you move to follow her lead, something lingers. 

This is how she is.

She knows exactly when to push, when to pull back, when to blur the lines just enough to keep you off balance. It’s never accidental. Because she knows exactly what she’s doing. And not once have you ever complained.

But perhaps it was all in your imagination. 

Maybe you were reading too much into it. Maybe the looks, the touches, the way she seemed to always be there, was just all in her head. Maybe it was just her nature, her intensity, her way of working. Her way of seeing you.

You try to convince yourself of it, over and over again.

Because even at the end of it, you would never want to hurt her.

It was the day of the show.

The energy backstage was chaotic around you, a mix of nerves, anticipation, and complete tension. Stylists moved with precision, assistants ran from one room to the next, and the faint smell of hairspray and fabric hung thick in the air.

You’ve spent months practicing your walk.

Every step, every turn, every subtle sway of your hips has been pressed into your memory until it feels almost automatic. You have spent hours in front of mirrors, in empty hallways, under harsh lighting, repeating until even your mistakes became predictable. 

And every hour, every minute, you were spending every second with her.

Nobody knew what really happened when you were with Manon, but everyone could just tell that something was going on between you two. The tension lingered, and every stare was pressed a little longer than it should’ve been.

It wasn’t just a professional connection anymore. It never was that. There was something more underneath the touches and even the kisses. You’ve felt it.

You just weren’t sure if she felt the same.

It’s not like you were good at hiding it either. You’ve spent more time in her place than you did in yours. Paparazzi had photographed the two of you during many different outings. And it wasn’t like you were mingling with other models, doing the usual social outings, or even practicing your walks with them. It was like she kept you hidden from everyone else, as if she wanted you all to herself. It was undeniable that she favored you compared to any other model participating in the runway show.

It didn’t take much to guess what happens behind the curtains during fittings.

Just like where you are now.

Your makeup is already flawless, your outfit perfectly fitted, every detail meticulously in place. The lights backstage captured you perfectly. Every piece of fabric and linen was stitched with care.

Beyond the curtains, the crowd of guests is already gathering, murmurs and laughter crowding through the grand hall. Cameras flashed sporadically, reporters were jotting down notes, and special guests whispered to one another, eager to catch the first glimpse of the show. It was clear that you, Manon, and everyone else who were preparing for the show had put in every little ounce of effort for this.

But no one knew what was really happening backstage.

Once your outfit was on, Manon was already watching you from afar, even when she was supposed to pay attention to the other models who were still getting ready. But she had pulled you aside, her arm tugging you to one of the rooms far away from everyone else, where no one could disturb either of you.

She took you down the hall, where it was empty, her head looking back and forth just to make sure no one was looking at the two of you.

Before you knew it, your back was pushed against the wall, her mouth already all over you. You feel her nipping at your skin, not caring if it left a mark or not–even when you were minutes away from walking on the runway.

Adrenaline was flowing into your veins. The nerves from the show and the fear of getting caught in a position like this have your heart racing. You should be used to this. The way she always steals you away just to have you underneath her.

“Fuck, I’ve waited all day for this.” Manon sighs against your lips. A low groan fell out of your mouth. She presses her chest against yours, feeling that the layers of clothing are becoming too hot on your body.

“Were you thinking about me?” She suddenly asks, letting you watch the way she sticks her fingers into her mouth, coating them with her saliva. You let out a quiet whimper just by watching her.

She takes them out, trailing her hand past your chest, down your stomach, in between your thighs. You feel the wetness of her fingers through your pants, sliding them beneath your panties.

Both of you groan at how wet you are.

She began to stroke your slit slowly, gently spreading your labia to gather cum on her fingers. You couldn’t help but squirm against the wall every time she avoided touching your clit.

“I know you were,” She sighs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Always this wet for me.”

Manon leaned down to place her lips to your throat, sucking harshly at your skin.

“Manon–” You reminded her, you couldn’t risk getting a hickey on your neck, especially when people are beginning to notice what was going on between you two. “You can’t–”

“I know.” She tells you, finally slipping her fingers past your folds, rubbing small circles around your needy clit. “And I don’t care.”

You felt your cunt clenching around nothing from the honesty of her words. She toyed with the small nub, drawing different patterns on it while pressing her lips hard against any exposed skin.

Your body began to tense up once you heard voices behind the door, footsteps following along. But it seemed like Manon wasn’t planning to stop any time soon. “Thought about you the entire time, every time I sit down, I can still feel your mouth on me. The way you touched me as I taught you to.” She tells you, shamelessly, as if it were that simple.

Another whine leaves you. “Stay quiet.” She says. You can’t help but nod, biting your lip hard. You’ve been practicing how to stay quiet whenever she pulls something like this. 

You begin to cry out when three fingers slip into you roughly and immediately start fucking you relentlessly. Already forgetting that you needed to be quiet.

She continued to pump into your cunt, scissoring her fingers and curling them against your walls. “Fuck, I can’t.” You sobbed, face pressed hard against her shoulder.

Manon curled in her fingers, testing your willpower. “Be quiet.” She whispers into your ear. Your nails dig into her blazer, scratching on the fabric. You’re already getting closer just from her fingers and her words alone.

Her thumb presses hard against your clit, drawing circles around the swollen nub while pumping her fingers in and out inside your cunt. Your pussy clenches hard every time you feel her lips suck the spot near your ear.

“Manon.” You whimper out her name, letting her know you were getting close.

Suddenly, her free hand reaches towards your neck, feeling the full press of her thumb right at the center of your throat. Your mouth hangs open, but no sound falls out when her entire hand squeezes your throat firmly.

Your pussy immediately clenches hard around her fingers, finding it difficult to move inside of you with your clothes still on.

Thought, she began scissoring her fingers inside of you, stretching you out even more. Your hips started to grind into her hand, desperately humping against her, your clit bumping hard against her thumb.

Before you could cum, she let you go, slipping her fingers out of you, releasing your throat from her hold. You could cry just by how she’s handling you. You needed a release, even if it meant embarrassing yourself this badly.

Your lips open to complain, but she doesn’t let you. She turns you around, your front pressing against the wall. You let out a small gasp, the sound choked up once you feel her hand sliding up your chest, her fingers wrapping around your throat as they once were.

She tightens her grip, the air in you slowly fading out. Her fingers slip back in, with much more ease this time, shoving her fingers inside you, toying with you just as much as she wanted. “Do you feel that?” She murmurs in your ear, her breasts pressed against your back.

Your hands fall flat on the wall. There was no other option for you but to take it. It feels better this way. The way she was choking you, the way her fingers split you open with ease. 

You nod.

“That’s right,” Her fingers curl in again, “All you get to feel is nothing but me.”

A shallow moan falls right out of you, and your cunt clenches harder. You're close, you’re so far gone. “Please.”

“Go ahead,” Manon whispers, trailing her lips towards your own.

One final thrust, and you’re falling apart in her arms.

A gush of squirt soaks the palm of her hand and your panties. Your cum soaking through the fabric. She turns you back to face her. You bury your face into her shoulder, containing your moans, quietly sobbing against the cloth of her jacket. You feel her other hand letting go of your throat, soothing your head, slowing down her thrusts as she continues pumping you in, much more slowly.

“We’re not done.”

Your body shudders. You can’t help but look up from her shoulder, her eyes dilating from your reaction alone. 

You nervously laughed, but Manon’s expression didn’t change.

She wasn’t joking.

“Manon,“ You say her name again, mind blanked momentarily, prompting her to elaborate. “I’m going on stage in 5 minutes–we can’t–”

She shakes her head. “Exactly.”

A brow raises. You aren’t exactly sure what she means by that. You just know you have less than ten minutes to step in line with the other models before anyone starts noticing that you and Manon were gone. And you needed to change, your cum messily stained on your panties isn’t what you need when you’re about to walk. The show is literally starting soon, and you couldn’t afford to be playing any of her mind games right now.

Before you could speak, she spat on her hand.

Your eyes watch her slowly, carefully. You feel your throat swelling hard, almost like it felt something is stuck in between. You lost your ability to breathe a long time ago, but now? Now it’s unbearable.

She lets you watch, seeing the sight of her spit in the middle of her palm–some sticking it to her bottom lip as she makes you stare at what she does next.

Your mind crumbles when she slips her fingers back into your panties, coating your pussy with her spit.

You take a sharp inhale, her spit mixing with your cum.

“You’ll walk the runway like this,” Manon whispers over your lips, a faint smile on her face. 

A whimper leaves your breath.

It’s warm, combining with the mess you already had in your panties. You’re afraid that it’s going to sink into the other clothes you had on, and you’re scared of people seeing you like this. But it seemed that she didn’t care. Not when she presses a kiss to your lips, not when a small laugh leaves her mouth.

Manon leans towards your ear, “And every time you move, you’ll think of me.”

The show’s about to start.

You’re already in line with the other models. Some were in front of you, some were behind. You were stuck in the middle, ready for your call. One by one, each model takes a turn down the runway. Nobody talks, and the adrenaline is high.

Out in the audience, every guest sits perfectly still, eyes fixed on the stage. Cameras flash occasionally, but for the most part, the room is quiet, expectant, like the entire world has paused just for this moment.

After months of preparing for this moment, you feel ready. You’re nervous about your walk, how you look, and the way things will go.

But every small shift, every slight turn, you still feel her.

Your thighs are still soaked. Every time your leg lifts, you feel your cunt clenching from the mess she made you in between your legs. A reminder of what she did to you, a reminder of who you really belonged to.

Even the air itself almost feels unbearable, as if you had to move your hips carefully. But most importantly, you’re afraid of getting caught. Just one drip down your legs is enough for hundreds of photographs to be taken of.

Each exhale and inhale doesn’t match the same rhythm. Your heart pounds louder. Even with layers of clothing carefully placed on you, you feel exposed–too exposed that it almost feels uncomfortable.

Your back arches, straightening your posture, a soft gasp leaving your mouth when you feel a gush of wetness sinking into your panties. It’s still there, knowingly.

You couldn’t do anything about it. This is what she wants.

And all you have to do is listen. To follow instructions, to be good.

Before you know it, your cue is almost ready. The assistant next to you lifts an arm up, halting your movement. You pause, shoes planted, posture immaculate, feeling the tension twist in your stomach like a spring. Your heart races. It’s been like this from the start, and yet, every instinct whispers the same thing. To stay steady.

One of the other assistants fixes the fabric behind your back, and you momentarily shiver. Not because of her, but because you see her. You also help fix your outfit, gently pressing down onto the fabric, straightening everything that was placed aligned. Your fingers tremble unsteadily when their limp at your sides, and you know it’s not because of the show itself.

Because she’s out there in the audience, waiting for you. As if you were walking–just for her.

Your legs begin to tremble before you even begin to walk.

When the assistant whispers through her mic, you exhale, trying to relax your breathing, but it isn’t really working. Your chest feels tight, and your cunt clenches around nothing when a glimpse of her face comes into view. But it’s too late to go back now.

You take the first step.

The floor beneath your shoes is cool and smooth. Each step feels like it’s echoing louder than it should in the silenced tension of the room. The runway stretches before you, bright lights washing over every edge, every seam, every movement you’ve practiced a hundred times.

Your posture remains perfect, your chin low as you were taught, and still–each step felt heavier than it should be. Because beneath it all, the thrill is still there, the awareness, her.

Manon’s eyes are on you.

Tracing every curve, every step you take, every small release of your breath that you think nobody notices, but she did.

Always.

She already sees your surrender before you could even blink.

You can feel her even without turning, her gaze alone consuming you as a whole. 

You’re supposed to be paying attention to yourself. To forget everyone and anyone in the crowd. That was what you were taught. But you just can’t.

Not when her gaze keeps lingering. Not when you can still feel her touch on every inch of your skin. Not when you can still feel her mouth in between your thighs, like she’s there with you on stage, the slick staining your skin–a reminder of everything she’s made you out of.

Manon sits in the front row. Her legs crossed over the other as they always did. Her posture–probably better than yours. Her hands are intertwined with each other, pretending to be as composed as you are right now.

You know she isn’t.

For the first time, she isn’t. Because the control she usually has is mixed by something stronger, something tighter in her chest. She’s leaning slightly forward in her seat, subtle but impossible to ignore, as if she’s seconds away from standing up and walking right onto the stage to claim you.

Everything feels almost overwhelming, as if it’s all coming down all at once. You just weren’t prepared for the moment that finally happens. 

And even as you make your way back to where you first were on the runway. The applause doesn’t come, it wasn’t that kind of show anyway. Only small talks, only the expressions on everyone's faces were all you could see as you walked, hoping that none of them saw what was really happening to you.

You feel your pussy clench again, your clit pulsing just for something to stimulate it. And as you thankfully make it to the end, a drop of cum slowly sinks down one leg, and you’re already rushing to somewhere where nobody could find you.

Because every motion you make is a reminder of her awareness. You feel her everywhere. All of your senses are completely blinded by her. You feel nothing, but her.

The way it’s supposed to be.

The crowd sees a model.

You see her.

And you’re afraid that she'll be the only thing that matters.

You rush to a room–any empty room.

Everything that just happened on the runway feels like a blur. Your steps were intuitive, your body moving before your mind could even catch up to what you were doing, every flicker of the crowd and every flash of the cameras already fading into memory. Except her.

Her touch burned. Her scent is still on your clothing. Her voice claimed every thought you had in your mind. You thought you could make it all go away, but nothing seemed to be working.

You need air. Space. Anything to forget about tonight.

The door clicks shut behind you, the faint sound of the ongoing show still pounding through the walls. You lean over the desk placed in the room. You reach underneath your pants, frantically trying to wipe away every reminder of what had happened, a reminder of her. But nothing was working. It was all too much.

But then you hear the same rhythm of those heels.

Her.

Your chest tightens. You didn’t expect her here. You didn’t expect anyone. The show was still going. She shouldn’t be here with you.

The door opens slowly. Manon steps in.

She finds you immediately, breathing heavily over the table. The face you make is already filled with tension and something else hidden beneath it. A frown replaced on her face.

“Manon, you have to go.” You tell her firmly, your fists clenching hard together.

Her eyes trail downwards, watching your nails pierce your palm. Her face doesn’t change. In fact, it hardens.

“I’m not leaving.” She tells you. The words send shivers down your spine.

The words hit harder than you expect, sinking deep into your chest. You can’t help but take a step back. And she notices it, of course, she did. Because she takes one step forward, fixing the space in between you.

The room feels too small. It seems like the walls are closing in on you, and all you can see or even feel is her. Everything you do, she’s always lingering. Always filling up your senses with your own, and you don’t know how much you can handle because of it.

Your voice wavers, “You can’t stay here.”

“I can stay,” Manon whispers, voice low and intimate, “Because I should stay. You’re mine, even if you think you aren’t. Even if you fight it.”

Every inch of the space between you has changed, every shallow inhale tells you that she’s there, claiming it all. Like it’s meant to be. The way she perfected it.

“You’re not thinking straight,” She adds, a hand moves, slow, deliberate, caressing up to your jaw and tilting your head so your eyes meet hers. There’s no warmth here. It’s long gone now. No softness, no gentleness beneath her stare. Only control

Control that you never had.

“I’m not yours.” You try to say, but even the words in your mouth don’t make sense. Because even you knew that was a complete lie.

Her lips curled into the smallest, faint smile, but it wasn’t genuine. In fact, everything but her smile hardens further. And she leans in just enough that your breaths mix. “You already are,” She whispers over your mouth. “Even when you think you’re not. Even when you try to run.”

Her other hand trails down, cupping your cunt through your pants–through your underwear, and she already feels it.

The mess, her mess. 

It’s all still there.

You shudder, already feeling the need to collapse in her arms when every other part of your mind tells you not to. That you shouldn’t. Your fists unclench slowly, shoulders tensing as your chest pounds. And her smile widens. Because she knows that you’re already far in too deep to go back to where you began. 

Your arms try to push her away, to get as far from her as possible. But every time you do, her grip tightens, and soon her smile is wiped off her face completely. No matter how hard you try to escape, every part of your body says otherwise.

At first, she thought you were art, the embodiment of something to be studied, refined, perfected under her careful hands.

But somewhere along the way, that changed.

Art was something to be admired, to be appreciated by. But not you, not anymore.

Now? You were never meant to be seen by anyone else.

You stopped being a project. You became an obsession. Her obsession.

You were no longer something to present to the world, not something to be admired from afar–but something to keep. To hide you from everyone else. To only have you to herself. The way it’s meant to be.

And in that moment, you finally realized that this was her plan all along.

She never meant for you to become a model. She made you into something you weren’t before.

Hers.

Not who you were, not who you could be–just the version of yourself she could shape, control, and claim. With every little thought of yours, every step you took, every choice you thought you made on your own–had been under her long before you even noticed. Every late night, every whispered correction during fittings, every touch that seemed permanent, it wasn’t mentorship. It wasn’t admiration. It was possession.

Her eyes lock on yours one last time, dark and certain, and she whispers, almost like a promise.

“Because no matter what, you’ve always been mine.”

The first time you met your boyfriend was on a Saturday night at a bar that you frequently go to on special occasions.

It was nearly midnight, and you weren’t even drunk yet. A shot here and there, but you were never the one who got careless, even when it was your special day.

You sat at the bar, a drink in your hand as you swirled the liquid in the glass. You seemed bored, and you were beginning to feel like it after spending almost a few hours at the same place. Your friends desperately wanted to stay at the bar, get drunk, and maybe go to a club after. However, you couldn’t say the same.

It’s not like you didn’t enjoy the bar; you usually love it. It's only when you spend another tiring day at work, exhausting yourself for no real reason, on the only day when you should be the one relaxing, enjoying your day as you should. 

Yet you didn’t want to be that kind of person to spoil the mood, not when everyone was already this excited and drunk.

The air lingered with its own intoxication. Filled with bittered, alcoholic breath of its own sense. Chatter spread through the crowd like wildfire, sweat remained on skin to skin, it was just all too much for you to even breathe in. You couldn’t even think through your own thoughts as if you were being suffocated.

Everything was just bland to you, you don’t feel the thrill of the rush as you used to when you walked into this bar. None seemed to interest you in the slightest. You tried your best to have some fun, you really did. You went and danced with your friends, drank, talked to a bunch of strangers that you won’t remember in the morning.

It wasn't until you saw him as you turned your head to the right.

You were expecting to face your friend and let her know that you wanted to leave.

Instead, you were faced with this guy. His hair slicked back, only a few curls began to loosen up in front of his face. He was wearing a jacket, the kind that already gave you the vibe to stay away. He leaned against the bar with the confidence that most guys lie about, no drink in his hand as if he was just there to play. And this grin on his face, you couldn’t name what it was–but you were intrigued by it.

He didn’t even have to say a word; you should’ve known by then that you should’ve just stayed away. He doesn’t speak to you at first. His head faced the bartender to order his first drink of the night before correcting himself to order two instead. You watched the scene unfold with a raised brow.

You don’t know what this guy wants from you, and you’re unsure if you even want to know what happens next.

You let it happen anyway.

The bartender sets both of the glasses in front of you and the guy. You don’t pick up the glass. You were afraid to. But you watch the way he picks the drink up in his hand, sipping it slowly when he finally turns to look back at you once more.

“You don’t want to be here, do you?” He tells you, taking another sip as it burns down his throat.

You’re unsure how to even react to that.

“Do you tell that to all the girls you find at the bar?” You squint your eyes at him. 

He laughs, voice deeper than before. “No, just you.”

That was an obvious lie that no one could even miss, but somehow, you did. Perhaps you had more drinks than you thought that night. With whatever you had taken, your line of thought began to blur by the minute.

Just as you were about to turn your head away to stare at the chip marks on the counter, he says something else.

“How about I take you somewhere you would actually like?”

You blinked. Some stranger, some guy, already deciding what you like and don’t like. He had this confidence that most would find extremely cocky, someone to avoid. You weren’t sure why you didn’t.

“Somewhere I would actually like?” You repeat back his words, even though they sounded off coming from your own mouth. “I don’t even know your name.”

He shrugged, his grin never faltering, even when you questioned him. “Doesn’t mean I can’t guess.” He adds, “My name's Shawn.”

You couldn’t respond to that as quickly as you could. You’re too confused to, too lost. All you could do was stare at him oddly. He stares right back. Still confident, annoyingly confident.

“You’re not gonna tell me your name?” He smiles, tilting his head like he was challenging you.

You shrugged, unknowingly, a smile creeping onto your face. “Guess you’ll have to earn it.” You challenged right back, his grin widening for you.

That should’ve been a warning right there and then–that all he saw in you was a challenge.

You should’ve stopped him, told him that you weren’t interested. You should’ve gone home that night, it would’ve saved you all the energy and time you wasted on someone who didn’t even care as twice as you did. 

You wished you could’ve taken it all back.

You ran out of the bar, forgetting your friends that you came with, as he led you out of the bar with his hand in yours. You should’ve hated the way his hand felt around yours, but at the time, it just felt so right.

He kept his promise about taking you to places you’d actually like.

They were simple, basic even, you should’ve cursed yourself for being too easily impressed by the bare minimum.

He walked you down the streets, turning the corner to the nearest 7-11 convenience store. That was the first thing you could’ve pointed out about him. He was cheap and lazy, unwilling to spend enough on a good time. You were just too clouded by the thought that he was different at the time.

He bought the two of you slushies, you got the cherry-flavored, while he got the blue raspberry. You both walked out of the convenience store–laughing your asses off as he told you a story from when he was in college. It wasn’t even as funny as you remembered that not even now you can't seem to remember it.

All the stores and cafes were closed at this time until he spotted a diner across the street. You thought butterflies were swarming in your stomach when he held your hand with warmth. If only you remembered that it was just his sweat.

As you walked inside the diner, he held the door out for you like a gentleman would. He let you order first, even ordering another side of bacon alongside your pancakes just for you. And after you ate, he took the paycheck before you could even glance at it, not that it was that expensive anyway.

But at the time, it made your heart flutter.

Most of it was a blink of an eye, but you still remembered the way he never let go of your hand, even as the two of you sat in the back of the taxi. His face couldn’t seem to wash away that grin of his, and neither could yours.

When you arrived at your apartment building, he didn’t have to get out of the taxi just to tell you how much fun he had with you, but he did. 

And when he stood in front of you, just as you were about to leave, you couldn’t help but go on your tippy-toes, his hands already on your waist, your head tilted high, his tilted low, pressing your lips onto his.

That should’ve been your last mistake. Already kissing a guy when you weren’t even sure if you could’ve called that day a date. 

You should’ve hated the way his hands felt so gentle on you, but you didn’t.

Now you stood at the same apartment that used to be just yours, now shared with Shawn. 

It’s been months since the two of you made it official, and almost everything–even you, changed.

Another mistake–letting him stay with you.

The space that was only meant to be filled with you was now filled with him. He crowded and hoarded his own things around your spaces. His clothes are scattered all over your room, with his gaming setup occupying nearly half of the space. He’d eat the foods that you bought for yourself–he doesn’t even wash his own laundry.

That should’ve been more than enough of a reason for you to leave, but you still stayed.

But as you walked up the stairs towards your apartment door, you already knew something felt off, way off. You sensed it so easily. It was a familiar feeling anyway, the familiar ache in your chest, the same way you overthought about the same worries swirling in your head as all of your deepest regrets and thoughts came falling into your mind.

Each step carried a huge amount of weight on your feet. As if it was trying to pull you from taking another step. You should’ve listened to your head instead of your heart.

Your key was trembling in between your fingers, unlocking the door in front of you. Your breath felt weird, strangled in a sense that not even you could explain the sensation. But you were suddenly feeling all scared–afraid about what you were really thinking, was becoming true, again.

As the door swung open, you already knew.

He didn’t even dare to hide it from you anymore.

You don’t cry once you walk past a shirt that you know you don’t own. You weren’t filled with rage as you glanced at the pair of tights dangling on top of your couch.

Your hands don’t clench against themselves as it did the first time, you were just, calm. Unexpectedly peaceful despite knowing what might come next with each step that leads you closer to your room. The undeniable weight placed onto your heart made your chest tremble within your ribs, a feeling you could not just shake off.

When your feet stood in front of the bedroom door, you heard all the noises, similar to the first night that got your heart broken. That night, when he gave you yet another reason, worse compared to the other ones, a reason for you to hate him, underneath all the pain within lies in your heart that you knew you couldn’t erase so easily.

You hate how you don’t hate him enough.

A certain voice fills your ears as you lean forward enough to hear breathy moans, the same ones–coming from the same girl that you caught last time. You just knew it was her.

The hate should be swirling inside of you, it should be there. You have nearly all the rights to feel as livid as you were before. Yet somehow, you don’t and you can’t find the rage in you to even care, or to even have enough pride in yourself to care that your boyfriend, the one that you thought you were in love with, is fucking some other girl.

You sighed with your eyes closed, turning the knob to open the door anyway.

The expression on your face seemed like you didn’t care, that you knew this was gonna happen again. But still, that didn’t stop your heart from breaking each time.

Your eyes open, and all you could do was stare.

The breathless sigh leaves your mouth at the moment your heart breaks a second time when you’re faced with the man you loved on top of the same girl from the first time. They were in your bed, in your room, inside your own home. This home was yours first, only yours, and he still didn’t learn the first time to not ruin your things, especially your heart.

The sheets were a mess, covering their lower halves. You stare at the priceless image of their faces, breathless as yours, face flushed, heads turned to look back at you.

This was the second time you’ve seen the same girl, in your bed that was meant to be shared with you and him. Now that spot was taken in slick sweat with another girl’s hair on your pillows. You wanted to curse her out, and then him, but the words got stuck in your throat.

Shawn’s mouth was slack as he saw the crushed look in your eyes once more. His brows knitted, almost as if he were the one getting cheated on. He looked sad once he saw you, and you just wanted to slap that frown off his face because you were the one who should be feeling this hurt, this rejected, not him.

“Wait.” He immediately scrambled, the sheet covering himself as he tried his fastest to find his boxers somewhere thrown in your room. You were already walking down the hall to leave the apartment before you could hear the rest of his empty pleas.

You walked faster when you heard him behind you, his intense breathing stenched in the air that you could barely breathe evenly. Your eyes were already at the brink of tears, but you held yourself together because you knew he didn’t deserve your tears or you at all.

He nearly catches you, his hand on your wrist tight. His touch alone was enough for your head to turn suddenly, giving him a look of pure disgust; his fixation on you deflated once you pulled your arm back.

“Please. Just listen to me.” You let out a laugh at what another pathetic excuse he made. “She doesn’t mean anything to me. This was a mistake. Please, you have to listen.” Another beg, the lie piercing through your already fragile heart.

Another lie he’d give you would be like a piece of shredded glass, toying at the sides of your heart, you couldn’t bear to listen anymore.

You could hear his voice from behind you, but you knew he wouldn’t follow you, he wouldn’t chase you. And that should’ve been the first sign you sought out of him, he didn’t have an ounce of respect for you to beg you enough to stay, to come back.

But he doesn’t, he stays at your door, staring as you walk away.

And as you walk, you still don’t let all your feelings out. You didn’t sob as hard as you did the first time he cheated, you weren’t clutching your chest, nor did your knees buckle so that you couldn’t stand any longer. You didn’t do any of that this time around.

Even then, a single tear fell down your cheek, but nothing else–nothing more came after that.

The ache remains.

It was too dark, too cold in the night for you to even be out here. You intended to stay at home, get some sleep, but instead you left your own home. 

But you weren’t afraid, scared of what may come next. You were brave, brave enough to leave.

The pain still stains inside your chest, and you weren’t sure if you could get over the way your boyfriend leaves you hurt time after time. You’re not sure if you could keep up with it any longer. You’re unsure if you could keep this act up, being brave, or pretending to be. You didn’t know the answer to that either.

You hated that you relied on him too much, too much that you’re conflicted if you should actually leave him this time. Even after countless times he managed to betray your trust, you stood on the ground still thinking of him, caring for him.

You knew your mind was fucked enough that you didn’t really want to leave him despite hurting you in the worst way possible–a second time, and that wasn’t enough to push you away.

You hate yourself for loving him.

And as you walk alongside the sidewalk, his name still lingered in your throat, the image of him kissing another woman cursed your mind, his voice pleading for you to stay. That was the only thing that you were sure enough was going to haunt you for the rest of your days.

Everything just felt numb.

You stuffed your hands into your pockets, each breath forming fog as you inhaled and exhaled. Everything just felt a bit colder as you didn’t even care if you ended up getting a cold by the end of this.

The city lights continued to shine even as your own light inside of you was nearly shut out. But you kept walking, one step felt heavier after another. Other voices drifted across the street, crowds filled with laughter, and music came from the nearest buildings. None of them went through your head.

The emptiness gnawed inside your chest when the night carried on without you, even in the midst of your quiet agony. The picture of his smile that once gave you courage, safety, the late-night calls, promising to see you soon, swearing that you were the one, all of it was the endless lies that sank into your brain, believing that everything he promised, everything that made you trust him, all fell apart.

And as the night grew darker, your legs couldn’t seem to stop walking even when you had no idea where you were going. You just wanted to be away from him, your apartment, everything that caused you enough pain.

You began walking towards a park along the sidewalk. From the corner of your eye, you see a familiar silhouette, hunched over on a bench, hands covering her face. It was dark, so it was unclear if you recognized this person, but you walked closer anyway.

Her hair covered her face just a bit, her hoodie holding her together as the more you got closer, the more you saw who she was.

As you stood, your feet in front of her own as she sat, your presence coming into her view as she uncovered her face, your shoes into her sight with her head held low.

You stared harder, noticing the dried tears on her face, outlining her feelings outright to you. The sight alone had you worrying for her, your eyebrows knitted as you watched the tremble of her lips once her head lifted to yours. It was only then that you got to see the pain within her beautiful features that had your chest aching even more from the sight alone.

“It’s you,” Lara tells you, head lowered to stare at the waistline of your shorts.

Her voice was unclear, there was no trembling within her tone, but you swore you heard a fragile crack in her voice that once had full authority, with confidence. Her defeated tone had your hands nearly clenching your fists together.

You don’t say anything just yet. Instead, you sat at the empty space beside her on the bench silently, both of your heads facing and turned to watch the stillness of the buildings in front of you.

You cross your legs on top of the other, stuffing your hands in the pocket of your hoodie. You cannot help but think that the silence was kind of awkward. It couldn’t be helped anyway.

You’re friends with Lara. But out of everyone in your friend group, you weren’t really as close to her compared to everyone else. Sure, you two got along, you both attended the hangouts, you’d sit next to each other, maybe a few texts here and there, but you don’t know her as much as you’d like to.

Lara was the type of person to know what she wanted, and she wasn’t afraid to get it one way or another. She dressed nicely, expensively, with this elegance, you never knew how to pull it off on your own. 

She wasn’t shy either, that’s why she was so likable. Had this presence of hers, incomparable to anything else, the kind that made people attracted to her, would laugh a little louder from her jokes, as if being near her was enough to make your breathing feel a little easier. 

You admired her from a distance.

When being this close to her, you often thought about her more than you should have. Even when you could’ve just talked to her, call her even, you never found the right confidence to do so. 

So you admired her from afar.

The small things, too. The way her smile would waver when she thought no one else was looking–or how her eyes sometimes, if not more often, would falter, losing their glint of her own shine when she spoke. Those were the things that were easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.

Perhaps that’s why you were startled when you saw her alone at this night, the shine leaving her body was an unusual sight to see. 

She was just a girl after all, not the performative girl that people wrote her out to be, not the one who she pretends to be.

Just a girl, makeup ruined, her hands wrapped around her own waist as if there was no one out there to hold her. Her vulnerable, true self. A sight that not everyone gets to see.

For the first time, she wasn’t the girl who seemed unreachable.

She was someone who understood.

The silence stretched longer as you sat quietly next to her. You don’t know how to start this conversation with her, especially in this vulnerable state that she is in. You didn’t want to scare her away, or pity her like you knew she would hate if you did.

You hated how you didn’t know her enough to be the friend that you should be for her.

Your hands clenched underneath the fabric of your pockets. Maybe you should leave, you thought, give her the space she needs, maybe she was feeling irritated that you just sat here and didn’t say a word to her. 

But you couldn’t.

Not when you glanced at her, her body still hunched over so that she couldn’t see your face, her arms holding herself. You couldn’t leave, not that you wanted to anyway.

When the silence became unbearable, suffocating your throat, you forced yourself to clear the tightness away before you finally spoke.

“We don’t have to talk,” You admit, looking back at the buildings in front, “But I’ll stay if you want me to.”

Lara’s head lifted once more, unsure that she heard you correctly. The moment she turned her head back to watch the way your eyes soften for her right when she does, has your heart quickening in a way that it shouldn’t.

You leaned back against the wood, head faced back to hers, watching her with every detail of her pretty features. Despite her smudged mascara, the swelling in her eyes, she was so beautiful. So so beautiful, you couldn’t even deny it.

She turned back, facing forward, before matching your position as she leaned back against the bench, letting her arms rest on top of her thighs, sighing deeply.

“Please stay.” She whispered, staring at the pavement as if it was humiliating to her to even ask for comfort. She wasn’t the one to ask for things, she was given things without needing to voice them.

You listened away, you stayed. 

Not because she asked, but because you want to. You really do.

Another shaky exhale, “My boyfriend–he,” A choke caught up in her throat, painfully swallowing it down, “Someone sent a video of him and another girl making out at a party tonight.”

Once you heard those words out of her mouth, you never thought your mood could get any worse than now.

The rage builds inside you, sickening you that you could feel it in your stomach.

Lara’s words kept replaying in your mind. They bleed into your memories, similar to the one with your own situation, that it was nearly hard to separate, to differentiate the two. It’s nearly laughable, the symmetry, the irony of it all. 

But here you are, sitting next to her with nearly the same situation that the two of you were in. You wondered if the world planned this out, that the cruelty of it lined out for both of you to feel this way.

The silence bruises you, heavier than before. You feel your own teeth biting the insides of your mouth, the taste bleeding through your thoughts as you imagine her boyfriend with another girl. The thought alone made you feel worse when you literally watched the same thing with your own boyfriend, that should’ve scared you, but you’re too blinded by hatred to even think about anything else.

Beneath all the hate, under all the blindsides of your enragement, you’re hurt for her. 

For the first time, for the first time you felt in a while.

You feel less alone.

You take out one of your hands from your pocket, ignoring the nail marks in the palm of your hand, as you hesitate when you lay your palm on top of her own fingers. The coldness of her fingers traced every single fibre of your skin immediately, but neither of you pull away.

Lara watches the way your hand gently lies upon her own. She’s surprised that she doesn’t pull her hand away than she normally would. She doesn’t particularly like physical touch, but when your cold skin touches her own, it feels oddly right.

When she senses that you’re about to respond, she cuts you off, bracing herself mentally.

“If you’re going to give me that same pity talk that everyone else does, don’t.” She whispers, you feel her fingers digging into her sweats, but even then, she doesn’t take her hand away from yours. “I don’t want your pity.”

You turn your head to watch her features. She’s not crying anymore, which makes you relax in your seat a little, but the facade in her eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

She seemed numb, as you.

Your worries don’t fade even when her tears are gone, your hand presses harder against her own, wanting to know that you still care. That you’re there for her.

You whisper low into the night, “I’m not pitying you, that would be pitying myself.” Then you laughed, but nothing of it was funny to you.

Lara looks back at you, eyebrows furrowing when the realization falls upon her. Her lips part as if she were going to argue, but nothing comes out. Instead, her gaze becomes softer, the truth settling in between the little space that the two of you left.

“Fucking idiot.” She whispers as she looks away, anger building inside of her chest as it did for you when she told you her situation.

You only shrugged, still staring at her. You didn’t realize it then, but you were already outlining the area of her jawline down to her neck that disappears into her hoodie. Swallowing hard when you see a vein showing.

She lifts her hand, and you almost thought that she was going to pull it back, only to upturn it for your fingers to lace with hers. The both of you watching the scene silently. It was supposed to be a moment of comfort, peace, a way to share each other’s pain in a quiet manner. But you couldn’t just lie to yourself when her touch burns through your skin, the numbness of you already leaves your body as her hand intertwines with your own.

You gulp the invisible knot down your throat, you’re just way out of your mind to be thinking like this. That’s all.

“I’d tell you to leave him, to save yourself the pain.” You laugh again, this one sounding more painful, “But that would make me a hypocrite.”

You tried to continue to talk, to speak more about the shared pain you two were feeling, but the brush of her thumb on your skin, delicate and slow, was enough to have your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain it. You don’t know why she was having this effect on you, or perhaps it was there all along. Still, you didn’t know.

“You’re not going to leave him?” Lara asks you. She wasn’t judging, but deep down she was hoping that you would.

And when you don’t, when you don’t say anything, her chest pained as if someone just punched her right there in the center. She knew she shouldn’t be thinking that way either, knowing her own answer to that same question.

“Will you?” You repeat it back to her, when she too doesn’t say a word, you nod wordlessly.

Anyone else would say that both of you were stupid. That it would be insane if you stayed in relationships that only tore you apart, that only would hurt if you stayed even just for a little longer.

But sitting in silence, next to each other, the world stayed still, the air stayed cold, but the heat of her palm warmed you more than any jacket or coat could ever, that even then, thinking logically felt distant. 

Perhaps neither of you were brave. Holding onto the familiarity of it all, even if it hurt more than healed. Lara let out another silent breath, almost defeated. But you understood her in the way not everyone could. That you had your own reasons to stay, as ridiculous and stupid as it may be. 

“I should go back. I gotta talk to him.” You told her, the words leaving your mouth already had a taste of disgust.

Before you could even get up, her fingers laced harder in yours, forbidding you to even think about leaving your spot on the bench. And this look she was giving you, it was just another set of confusion coming through your skin.

“Don’t.” She hesitates, but relaxes once you sit back down. “Stay at my place for a few days. At least until you made up your mind about this.”

Her words surprised you yet again. She wants you to stay at her place? That was unexpected coming from her. You knew Lara liked to keep her privacy, only her best friends and family were the only ones allowed to visit her. So when she’s handing you this offer, despite not being that close with her, your thoughts begin to fumble in your brain. She doesn’t stop making you confused over and over again.

Either way, you just couldn’t deny such an offer.

A few days turned into a week, then two, three, and before you knew it, you were staying at her place for more than a month.

You knew Lara months before, but it was only now that you’ve gotten to know the real her.

Not the girl that everyone assumed she was.

You figured out that she loved cooking, especially for others. You never really told her your favorite foods, but she somehow got to make every single one. And even one night, she spent the entirety of her night staying up to bake chocolate chip cookies just because you told her once that you loved them.

You've gotten so close that you even exchanged keys to both of your apartments. One for hers, one for yours. A rare thing that either of you usually does.

Every Friday night, both of you stayed up, watching different shows and movies until your eyes grew heavy. The glow of the TV always highlighted the dark area of her living room as the two of you sat through it. On some days, you’d talk through the whole thing without even glancing at the screen. And on other nights, sometimes the silence was needed. The kind that didn’t need to be filled with your voices, and maybe that was enough.

And on nights when everything seemed too heavy, too tough to worry about, she’d tilt her head slightly, letting her head fall onto your shoulder.

Not once do you move away when she does, even when you were sure that she was sleeping. You’d sit there, turning off the TV and staring at the ceiling, wondering when it ever became this natural.

You weren’t the only one who felt that things were a bit different.

Lara hasn’t felt her usual self in weeks, not at least until you arrived.

She noticed the little things, too. You’d hum under your breath, the same tune of your favorite song, whenever you cooked beside her, chopping up the vegetables instead because neither of you trusted yourself near the stove.

How you laughed so easily when she’d tell you something funny, even if it was dumb. It still made you smile–that deep down, even when she doesn’t know it herself, she makes it a mission every time to bring that same, adorable smile she secretly loves to see upon your face.

She never asked too much of you at times when you genuinely wanted to be alone. Whenever your boyfriend would spam call you or the endless messages, you just wanted to hide yourself in the guest room of her home, hiding from everything just to process your thinking altogether. But you knew that even when she was giving you your space, you never felt alone, not when she’s near.

And at times, at most, you don’t hide. Not from Lara. 

When she knocks at your door when you cry yourself at night, almost every time you get up from the bed, in a hurry, opening the door to see her eyes, shedding with every pain that reflected hers onto your very own. 

She’d cradle you as if she were planning to never let go of you. She stroked your hair as you cried into her neck, clutching onto her shirt like you wouldn’t want her to let go of you either. 

Her scent would always fall onto your skin, gentle and soft, and you hated how much comfort it gave you. How much you desperately craved her presence near you whenever you felt this vulnerable. Because you knew you weren’t supposed to want something so selfishly from her, she doesn’t owe you anything. But even then, she never pushed you away, and she stayed, just like the time she asked you to stay. 

And at times when everything seemed to be quiet, she’d whisper comfort words into your ears. Filled with bliss, filled with love. Sometimes her words would be too quiet, enough to forget, but because it was coming from her, all of her scared words filled with meaning that you don’t know just yet, you remembered.

You wished to forget, because it only reminded you. Remembering meant knowing just how much you really relied on her.

Silently, you hoped that the feeling would fade, even a little. Because you knew that you started to care more than you should. Thought about her more than you should, craved her more than you should. 

But it didn’t. It grew worse.

You kept repeating the same useless sentence, You have a boyfriend, and so did she.

And yet, it never seemed to go through your head.

The fear grew as time did. The fear when you realized her arms felt safer around you than they ever had in his. That you cared more when you’d hear the faint sounds of her footsteps near you, that every laughter, every word she’d admit into the air for only you to hear, was engraved into your mind.

And when the nights came, you repeat the same cycle as it began. She knocks on your door, and you answer.

You answer every time.

So now, the two of you sat in the same living room, all too familiar with your surroundings. The TV flickered on for both of you, the scenes of the movie playing, but neither of you really paid attention.

Tonight felt particularly heavy.

Just a few hours before, you were on a call with your boyfriend, arguing for hours on and on about where you were, that he promised to come get you and talk about everything that was happening. That he wanted you home and that he promised to be better.

You hung up the phone before it could get any further, before it could get any worse than what it already was. 

You just weren’t ready to face him just yet. The thought of him, his voice, everything about him made the rage in you build up once more, and then it slowly dies down, replaced with the pain he inflicted on your heart. Reminding you that all of his promises that once sounded true were just another lie to make you fall for him. And yet still couldn’t say the words that you promised yourself to say to him, that you were done, that you’ll leave.

You were too focused on the words in your head to realize that Lara was looking at you, intensely, forgetting about the TV altogether.

Without saying anything, you feel her hand wrapping around your arm, tugging you closer to her that now your arm and thighs are pressed against hers, that was enough to make your breath hitch in a way that it shouldn’t. Your eyes never left the coffee table, staring blankly at it while Lara’s eyes never left yours.

After a while, you spoke after the silence between you grows, the voices on the screen blurring out.

“Sometimes I think I’m the problem.” You admit, your eyes watering already from your words that have been stuck in your brain these past few weeks. Lara’s mouth parts as she was about to tell you otherwise, but you don’t let her, not yet.

You force the words out before your throat can close entirely, “Like I get it that I can be too much, or maybe not enough. I don’t know anymore.”

Her hand falls on top of yours, squeezing it tightly as you did for her on that day on the bench. The warmth of her skin on yours alone has your stomach tensing up. She lets you continue, she doesn’t argue, even though what you’re saying about yourself is an absolute lie to her.

“I keep going back to him,” you tell her, almost as if you’re telling it to yourself. “But he still doesn’t change. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one who keeps fucking it up, every single time, maybe that’s why he won’t change, not even for me.”

You stare up at the ceiling, making sure a tear doesn’t fall even though they're already flooding in between your eyes. “I hate feeling like I’m not enough.”

Lara still hasn’t said anything. It only makes the hurt in you grow, the silence unbearable, haunting you even. Not until she faces you, her entire body turned to you with her full attention, because she truly believes what you were saying about yourself was absolute nonsense, that she wished you knew what she thought about you.

But really, the reason she can’t find the right words to say to you was that she was feeling all the same things that you were. The vulnerable state that you shared with her was the only truth in between the cracks of all the lies that you once were told. That you, were the truth in her eyes.

Lara’s heart couldn’t help but flutter–or ache for you. The way your shoulders slump and your cries are nearly about to break, she couldn’t help but worry, to care for you.

Every word you’d admit was a reflection of her own heart, reminiscing about the same things that you described in your own words that she tried to hide from everyone else, but not to you. Because you, out of everyone, knew what pain she too was feeling, you were the only one who felt the same ache.

She wanted, needed to tell you that none of it was true. That you were enough, more than enough. That he was stupid to even think twice about betraying you with the way he did, that if she were yours, she wouldn’t even hesitate to have you in her arms, not a thought to waste when thinking about you.

She couldn’t. Thinking that those weren’t the words that you wanted to hear, she shouldn’t even be thinking like that anyway. You weren’t hers, and she wasn’t yours either. You both belonged to different people.

But God, she’d pray if things were different.

Instead, she leaned closer to you. Pulling your hand closer, your body turning to face her as she did to you. And at the exact moment you faced her, your tears finally fell. And as they did, you couldn’t help but close your eyes, making them fall harder. You can’t open your eyes, afraid that if you do, she’ll give you a look of disgust, judgment, and you know you won’t be able to handle that if it were coming from her.

She doesn’t, she could never, when all she wanted from you was you and you alone.

Lara couldn’t deny it anymore, not when her dreams are filled with you instead of him. Your voice haunted her mind, your skin burned on hers, her chest always tightening in a strange way when you gave her the sweetest, most delicate smile. The way she always outlined your face whenever you looked at her, the image tainted in her memories.

It was wrong, and she knew that.

And still, she doesn’t hesitate to pull you into her arms. And the second she felt your heartbeat against her chest, she swore her own heart was doing backflips in her ribcage.

Her touch finally allowed you to cry, not the sobs like before, this wasn’t like the other ones.

The vulnerability in you mirrored her own. She held you so preciously that you didn’t even hesitate to bury your nose in the crook of her neck, the area that lined out her neck to her shoulders. Even when your eyes were pooling to your heart’s extent, you couldn’t help but inhale her scent deeply. And you didn’t stop, not even then. 

Lara shudders when she feels you inhale sharply, her hand reaching up to stroke your hair. “You’re enough. You’re more than enough, and I hate how he makes you feel that you aren’t, not when you mean so much.” She tells you.

You drag your face upwards, and not once does your skin leave hers. Your chest heaves too much, at an uneven pace, matching hers, as if you were running out of breath. Your mind was way too clouded, too high, but not even that could erase her name from your head.

Lara pressed her cheek against yours once you moved upward. Rubbing against yours once she felt you press even harder into her skin. She can feel your breath near her ear, the quiet gasps, the small tremble underneath your breath. It’s driving her insane by how close you are to her. There was practically no space between you, but neither of you wanted to move away.

“You’re worth it, if only you can see yourself the way I see you.” She breathes into you, her free hand slowly dragging its way under your shirt, her palm searing at the warmth of your bare skin on your back, your touch has her pulling you impossibly closer. “None of this is your fault, none of it is.”

You sob harder in her arms, her words meant so much to you. You were so ashamed of yourself, but even she could see the light through your cracks, something you couldn’t see in yourself.

And you let her rub your back underneath your loose shirt, you let her stroke your hair, tangling it in her fingers just to pull your head closer to her skin. You don’t even flinch when her nose brushes the side of your cheek, reflecting your own actions as she breathes in your skin into her own scent that has her sighing in relief. Your heart clenched at the proximity between you two that you don’t realize that the things you’re doing right now aren’t what friends usually do.

Your point proves itself once you feel her lips pressing against the underside of your jaw. The act has you letting out a tiny whimper, unexpected, but real, and it only makes her breathe you in even harder.

Her lips trail higher, kissing both of the areas under your eyes where your tears left trail marks, then each of your cheeks, your nose, and your forehead. All of which had you gasping for air, your heart nearly jumping right out of your chest by how delicately she’s treating you, the way you deserved to be treated.

This was wrong, so wrong, all of it and everything in between it was wrong.

Neither of you nor Lara felt that way, not when she swallows hard when she feels your lips kissing her neck, soft and warm, each one filled with a hidden promise. 

And when she lifts her head, cupping your jaw in her fingers, rubbing your chin with her thumb, her mind begs her not to move her thumb upwards, just enough to touch the bottom of your lip. You leaned your head lower until she was cupping your jaw fully, pressing soft, gentle kisses to her fingers.

Lara pulls your chin higher, forcing you to look into her eyes through your teary ones. You then realize that her eyes were nearly watery as yours were, truly mirroring the similarities between you.

But it’s when Lara leans in, with nothing holding her back, sealing your lips with her own in a forbidden kiss.

The way both of you sigh into each other’s mouths says everything that needs to be let out.

She guides you softly, pulling at your chin for your mouth to open, which is when she finally gets to feel what you really taste like. Her tongue tastes yours, letting it flick softly as she swallows you up. You taste like butter and salt, from the popcorn from earlier, but the taste feels much better when it’s in your mouth.

She can’t stop moaning into your mouth, that you can barely keep up to swallow them down. You taste the desperation, but more so, you feel all the unsaid words pouring into you with this kiss. All true, certain, everything that you denied before.

It’s not desire that she seeks, it’s everything that she’s been holding back. Every broken piece of your heart, every pained cry you let out, she takes it out of you, settling to carry every heavy weight off your shoulders just so you could be happy. And you let yourself melt within her, your hands clutching harder into her shirt, nearly tearing the fabric with your nails.

The kiss isn’t rough, but it wasn’t fast either. Lara takes her time, figuring out the taste in your mouth, the way she couldn’t breathe properly, by how close you are. And the way you were clinging onto her like she’s all you need? She feels like she’s about to faint.

But what she knew she couldn’t forget the most were your lips, how she dreamed of them at night when she should be sleeping. How plump and pink your lips felt around her, how you obediently let her in without a question.

Lara tastes the eagerness in your mouth too. Her hand falls back under the line of your jaw, outlining it with her thumb, which makes you let out another quiet sound for her to take in. And she does.

All her senses were filled with you. The scent of your hair, the flavor of your lip gloss, the warmth of your skin. You alone are all she could ever think of. You molded into her arms like you were meant to be hers.

Until you realized you weren’t.

You weren’t hers.

The realization has your eyes widening at the fact that you weren’t hers, that you were meant for someone else, and you were kissing someone other than your boyfriend. All the guilt soon rages over you and the bliss that was once there, the peace, the calmness of it all, soon began to wash away in the blink of an eye because you couldn’t stand the thought of hurting Lara, you couldn’t do this to her.

You don’t want to take advantage of her vulnerability. Not when you, out of all people, got to see the true her behind eyes that lie through themselves.

Your lips part from hers as you watch the way her eyes open, her lips practically leaning towards you because she’s already missing the loss of your lips on hers. A hand on her chest prevents her from going in further, and the action alone pierces something through her chest, like a knife thrown at her.

You stumble back, your hand not leaving her chest because you don’t trust yourself if you let go. Afraid that if you do, all you’d do would be pulling her back in for yet another hidden kiss.

The moment you do, regret falls upon you like rain. Because now Lara’s crying, like actually crying. You know you won’t forget the image of her lips, ones that were on yours just a second before, now trembling with the same rhythm as her chest did, a tear falling like she just knew what you were going to say next. You won’t even give her the second to brace herself.

“I can’t do this.” You choked, words stumbling out of you.

As you got up from the couch, so did she, walking towards you as you walked back. “No.” Was all she said, completely terrified.

Her hands latched onto your wrists once you held her shoulders as if her knees were about to give up if you hadn’t caught her at the right moment. “I don’t want to hurt you.” You tell her, biting the inside of your cheek from saying the truth that you desperately want to let out.

Lara laughs, but the tears on her face tell you otherwise that none of this was funny. “You think this doesn’t hurt me?” Her voice cracking, her control becoming loose. 

“This is wrong.” You whisper, lying through your teeth. You wished to believe that all of this felt wrong to you, but everything about her seemed so right.

“Wrong?” She scoffs, the word sounding like an insult. “That’s what this is to you? Wrong?”

You’re speechless, another knot forming in your throat at her accusation. You want to tell her that it’s not what you mean.

“You have no idea, do you?” She takes a step back, finally giving you your space, your arms falling back to your sides.

You knew she was about to continue. Whatever she says will pull you in that easily. Not from her words, just by her alone. And you couldn’t do that to her, drag her into a deeper mess that you made on your own. She deserved so much more, she deserves the world, more than a pathetic excuse of what she calls her boyfriend, more than what you could ever offer her.

She shouldn’t be with you, the thought swarmed into you. 

“I’m sorry.” A final whisper, another tear falling, and before she could catch you, you’re already storming out of her apartment, not looking back to see if she was chasing after you.

You just left, her kiss still burning on your lips.

You stormed out of the taxi as quickly as you could, running up the stairs to your apartment, fumbling the keys in your hands. 

Your tears haven’t stopped falling ever since you kissed Lara, and God, you could still taste her. You’re afraid the taste won’t go away, that’ll just keep on coming back to you, the memories, every moment you shared, all of it was gone now, just because you weren’t brave enough.

The door swung open, and everything stayed the same as the time you left. It was unusually quiet, noticing that your boyfriend wasn’t around. And you were glad, you don’t know how you’d react if he were here, knowing that you were crying about someone else that wasn’t him. That your tears were used on someone else that you cared for deeply.

And you know it now that there was more to it than caring for her.

You walked to your room, dropping your keys onto the floor because you felt so defeated.

What scared you even more was that you felt worse, so much worse than both of the times that your boyfriend cheated on you.

Her kiss carried more weight than all of his betrayals combined, that terrified you.

You just stood there. Your surroundings stayed the same, the photo frames on your wall, the couch where you sat, the blank stare of the TV, all of it stayed the same except you. Nothing felt the same anymore. Not after you spent most of your days with the girl you dreamed of being yours, the person you should’ve been with at the start if only you were just brave enough, the girl who clouded your mind, your heart, and your entirety of your own being.

Her kiss still lingered on your lips, bringing up your fingers to brush over your bottom lip, choking down another pathetic sob when you realize that you won’t be able to feel her lips on yours, maybe not ever again.

Every part of you still remembers everything about her. Everything that she did, everything about the girl that she was. Paralyzed with the touches she left on you, regret deep within your system.

There was nothing else that you could do. You broke her heart as you did with your own.

You dragged your feet to your room, arms limp at your side. You weren’t sure what you should do now. All you could feel in you was guilt, pure guilt, betraying your own promises to her when she trusted you with every word she’d told you. You just didn’t know what to do.

But then you hear the faint sounds of the keys unlocking your front door, your heart immediately sinks. You thought your boyfriend was already coming back, and you just weren’t ready to face him again, you didn’t want to deal with whatever he had to say.

You stayed still at your spot in your room. Just staring at the doorway where your door still swung open, ready to face his eyes on yours. The faint sounds of footsteps began to grow closer, and you take a shaky exhale, hands clenching by your sides.

The silhouette stood right in front of you, but it wasn’t him.

“I wasn’t done talking.”

Lara stands at your doorway, watching the way your jaw loosens, your mouth parting, and she can’t help but stare at that too. She throws the spare keys that you had given her weeks before somewhere on the floor, taking another step before the door clicks behind her. Trapping you and her in your bedroom.

The bedroom that you and your boyfriend shared. This was your room, and she was standing in it. The girl you kissed.

“Lara, please go.” You begged quietly, not having the energy to raise your voice higher than it is.

Her expression on her face was unreadable, but you could just tell that telling her to leave affected her more than it should. “No.” She responds.

“No?” You questioned, taking another step toward her. She doesn’t move from her spot.

“You heard me. You don’t get to run out like that.” She spits back, her face growing irritated, “You’re going to hear what I have to say to you and then you can decide whether you want to kick me out–or I stay.”

You stayed silent, and that was enough for her to go on.

Her gaze locks onto you as she starts, “This isn’t easy for me, you know.” She shudders slightly when your eyes keep staring at her lips, naturally wetting her bottom lip with her tongue. “Knowing what you’re thinking about, the way you feel, the way you look at me. And yet you don’t even realize it.”

You swallow her words, dripping into your ears, “You don’t get to tell me how I should feel.”

“I’m not. I’m telling you to stop denying them.” Lara takes another step closer.

“Do you even have any idea about the way you make me feel?” She’s breathless, her hands reaching out to cling to your shirt. “You make me think about things that I shouldn’t be thinking about. You make me want things that I shouldn’t be wanting.”

“And the way you talk so badly about yourself, like you’re worthless? Her voice cracking at the last word, “Do you have any idea what that does to me? To hear you talk so terribly about yourself when all I see is someone I care about more than anyone else I’ve met?”

You feel her hands tightening around your shirt, unable to let go. “It hurts me knowing that you’re hurting for someone else that doesn’t even see you like the way I do.”

You shake your head, denying it all as if everything that she was admitting to you was all true. Even now, you couldn’t admit the truth on your own, and that frustrates her.

“What do you want then?” You ask her, your head swaying forward. Unsure if you were feeling a bit dazed or if you just wanted to be closer to her.

Lara’s forehead catches yours, her breath on your lips, making you inhale shakily. And then she pours it all out, all for you to listen. “You know what I want.”

“Can’t you see that this was never about you and your boyfriend or me with mine?”

You glance down, watching the way her hands held your shirt so tightly that you begin to fear that they were going to bleed through your shirt. You gently unclenched her fists from your shirt, entangling your fingers within her own. It’s only now that you truly realize the kind of effect you have on her when you gaze back into her eyes, only for them to close, her breath shaking underneath you.

“This is about us and how we feel. I don’t care about the excuses or the guilt or even them. None of them ever really mattered–not until you kissed me, not until you came.” Lara squeezes your hands, wanting to paint the picture of your hands together into her head.

“I don’t regret that kiss. Not when I pictured it in my head way too many times that I lost count because of it.” Her forehead presses harder against yours, nose brushing. Just an inch closer and she’d get to taste those same lips she’s been dreaming of.

“But if you do–” She closes her eyes again, “Say it now.”

“If I can’t be the one for you, then promise me you’ll at least leave him,” Lara begs, opening her eyes just so you could see that she means it. That she can’t stand it, not a second longer, if you stayed with someone who only hurts you.

Desperation grows within her, distraught that you would actually stay with him. “Please. I’ll be better than him, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

You thought about her words for the longest time, letting your hands hold both of you together. The time seemed to stop when her eyes didn’t leave your own. They bore into yours, filled with all the words that you couldn’t say out loud.

Without another word, you began to push her back, each step making her take a step back until her back hit the front of your door. She lets go of your hands, pressing them onto your stomach before trailing them higher. And this time, she finds the courage to trail her hands up your chest, towards your neck, before cupping your cheeks, caressing the skin that left traces of your dried tears.

And you let her cradle your face, turning your head just slightly to press a kiss at the palm of her hand, both of you smiling at the contact. 

You lean in to finally capture another kiss from her that you’ve been dying to steal all night.

Lara pulls your face into her hands closer, lightly tapping your cheek, letting you know to open your mouth for her. And you do, you listen. Not before she swipes your lower lip with her tongue, toying with the plumpness of your lips that she’s so obsessed with. 

And as your mouth parts, you soon notice the difference between this kiss and the first one you had with her. You weren’t careful this time, nor were you hesitant, because this time, you were more than sure that you knew what you wanted.

Your mouths collided with need, the urgency, the want, your lips fit perfectly on hers like you dreamed of them to be. She guides you softly, tilting your head just at the right angle for her tongue to slip into yours. You moan at the taste of her warmth.

The obsession of your lips doesn’t go unnoticed, especially when teeth keep scraping against your tongue, before sucking it into her mouth. Too addicted that she’s slowly chasing for more.

Her lips wet your own, the heat pooling into you.

Your hands didn’t know where to go, they trailed along her body as if you weren’t thinking. You caressed her all over through her clothes, her stomach, her arms, your fingers trailing underneath her sweater before moving upwards to cup her through her bra. You knew you were becoming addicted to her voice when she let out a low moan in your throat, vibrating through you.

It’s becoming more sloppy, both of you breathing hard into each other, swallowing the sounds, every single one filthier than the next, spit nearly dripping out the corner of your mouths. But it doesn’t, she makes sure to drink up everything that you give her, taking it as her own.

Lara lets go of your face for only a moment when she feels you tugging at her shirt, you gently drifting it up her arms, off of her shoulders, letting the fabric dangle on your fingers before dropping it on the floor, disregarding it, leaving her in her bra.

She doesn’t let you process what’s happening before she tugs on the waistline of your pants, you nod at her carefully as she pulls them off of you, stepping out of them to kick them elsewhere.

You were about to pull her in for another kiss when you suddenly begin to miss her lips so soon, not until she stops you, forcing you to watch the way her hands go behind her back, unclipping her bra, dropping it on the floor next to the other discarded clothes, her breasts falling free.

So fucking beautiful.

You’ve never felt so lucky. Not because of her body, but how she was willing to show you a side of her that only someone as important as you were to her, got to see how truly pretty she was.

The corner of her lip tilts, slowly reaching down to shrug off her pants, matching you, standing tall with confidence radiating off of her as the only piece of clothing covering her cunt, all waiting for you.

And she makes you feel it. 

Lara gently takes one of your trembling hands, pressing them deep into the fabric of her panties, cupping her. The touch has you admitting out a soft whimper, eyes nearly shutting tight, but you force them to stay open just to watch the way her smile widens. She was soaked, so wet that the fabric nearly became transparent, reflecting her desires onto the palm of your hand.

“You feel that?” She whispers on your lips, pressing onto them with a quick kiss. “That’s all because of you.” Her voice dripped with want.

A trembling sigh falls out as you begin rubbing her pussy through the cloth, a bunch of incoherent whispers release out of her mouth as you do. Your lips trace the small areas of her skin. Her lips, cheeks, jaw, the outline of her throat, her collarbones, pressing a kiss on each tit before taking a nipple into your mouth. Swirling it into her mouth, letting it go with a pop just to repeat the process on her other breasts. In love with how her breathless whimpers turn into loud moans.

You can’t wait any longer, nor could she. Your lips went higher to her neck, sucking on it, teeth and all, before soothing it with your tongue. Her fingers dig into your hair, stroking and tugging at it. Your hand grips tightly at the curve of her waist while the other one falls lower, pulling down her panties until it stops at her knees because you really couldn’t wait any longer to feel her.

Your finger tests it out, outlining her slit–and fuck–she’s drenched. 

Lara hasn’t stopped whimpering once you began rubbing at her through her panties. But now that it wasn’t covering her any longer, no barriers in between, you can finally have her the way you want.

Your fingers slip through, rubbing small circles on her clit. The touch nearly has her knees buckling, but you catch her in time before she can fall. 

Her eyes were already rolling back at the sensation that you’re giving her. Slow, so steadily, that it was painful.

She makes you look back into her eyes, watching how her pupils dilate or the way your eyes trailed lower to watch how swollen her lips really were.

It only makes you rub her needy clit faster. The swollen nub is becoming more sensitive, you can feel each twitch of her hips, each buckle, every quiet gasp she releases onto your lips. You claim them all because she’s letting you have her, to claim her as your own.

“Fuck, is this how I make you feel?” You whisper, receiving a quick nod and another trail of endless whimpers. She’s so fucking drenched that it’s slipping down her inner thighs. The more you rub small patterns on her clit, the less friction you have. 

She's making a mess of herself, but she’s too far gone, too lost in the feeling of you to be worrying about anything else. Not when you’re making her feel this good.

Her cunt soaks your hand, sometimes switching between your fingers and your nails to test out what she likes. And you could really tell that she loves the scrape of your nails on her puffy clit especially when her moans become this pitchy sound, loud enough for your neighbors to hear.

Lara grinds into your hand as if it were a toy. Fucking onto it as if she didn’t care that she looked this slutty, this pathetic to rub her desperate pussy onto your fingers, helping her through it as you rub firm full circles around the nub.

But just as you were about to insert a finger inside of her cunt, you hear another set of keys unlocking the front door.

Fuck.

The both of you froze.

You hear footsteps, heavier, louder. 

Your boyfriend was home.

He probably saw your keys on the floor in the living room that you had dropped earlier, that made his footsteps grow louder–towards your room.

“Babe?” Shawn yells, you can see his shoes underneath the crack of your door. “Are you in there?” He asks, knocking on your door.

You couldn’t move, and even breathing felt impossible at that moment.

In that same moment, you realized the situation you’re in. You stood in the room that you shared with your boyfriend, the same bed that you two slept in, his clothes–his belongings surrounding the room.

And here you are, fingers drenched underneath another girl’s cunt, completely naked, filled with sweat and slick. But Lara wasn’t just another girl, not to you. 

She was more than that now.

You mentally cursed your boyfriend in your head, interrupting a special moment that you were having. But you don’t want him to know, the thrill slowly begins to excite you.

He was right there–in front of your bedroom door, Lara’s hands still wrapped around your wrist, now trembling against your skin because she knew he was there too.

Your stomach drops, but the rush doesn’t leave you. It can’t, it can’t when you have something more important to focus on, to think of–right in front of you.

Just the thought of it alone heightens your nerves. What if he opens the door? Sees your hands slick with wet heat, your fingers nearly pushing inside her cunt? 

As you were about to pull away, Lara didn’t let you.

Instead, Lara wraps her fingers around your wrist harder, forcing two of your fingers inside of her cunt.

Your eyes widened at her own darkened ones. She let out a breathy laugh, then smiled shamelessly.

Fuck, she feels so good around your hands, so tight, clenching around just two of your fingers already, and she’s this turned on because of you that you nearly forget that your boyfriend still stood at the opposite side of your door.

She manually uses your fingers to fuck herself, noticing that you were too shaken to move at all. Lara lets out another whimper, a bit louder–but unintentional that nearly has your sweat sticking down your back because if she lets out another single sound out of her mouth, you could get caught.

She won’t stop smiling, even when she leans in with another sick laugh, the sound vibrating in your mouth with your fingers squeezed around her slick. You can’t focus, too nervous, too turned on to even function properly.

“Don’t stop now,” Lara teased, smiling on your skin, “Go on, fuck me.”

Panic arises in you once the doorknob begins to rattle, but that only pushes her further, her weight on the door, but that doesn’t stop her from practically fucking your hand, using it for her own benefit.

“Please.” She nearly cries when you still haven’t moved, “Don’t pay attention to him, pay attention to me. I need you to fuck me.”

Her desperate encouragement furthers you, finally pumping her fingers inside of her, your eyes lowering to watch the filthy scene of your fingers going in and out of her with ease because she’s really that wet.

Lara’s eyes roll back into her brain, mouth parting when she lets out a high whimper, your heart nearly dropping at the sound.

She grinds into your hand greedily, letting go of your wrist to claw her nails at the back of your shirt, using most of her weight on the door to hold herself together.

“Hey, can you let me in–I know you’re in there.” Shawn voices out. You were too focused on Lara that you forgot he was still there, “Unlock the fucking door!” Another yell, but you don’t listen.

Her eyes locked onto yours, her smile turning into a sickened grin as she pulls a hand down back to your wrist, forcing you to add another finger in her, before burying them deeper into her that you’re fucking her knuckle deep. The stretch has her gasping, whimpering, too loud, and she’s shaking so much that it’s vibrating through the door.

You don’t respond right away, not until you clasp your hand over her mouth, her head flat on the door as you force down the filthy sounds she’s making.

“Stay quiet, can you do that for me?” You lean into her ear, making sure it is low and quiet. You thrust in deeper, hitting all the spots that she likes. When you feel her nod slowly, eyes glassy, mouth breathing into your hand, you continue to fuck her the way she deserves to be fucked.

“Leave.” Was all you told him, yelling louder through the door. That only makes your boyfriend grip onto the door handle from the other side harder, his anger building up.

“Can you just let me in and talk about this?” Shawn yells back, now banging on the door. “You haven’t answered any of my calls in fucking weeks, and you’re telling me to leave?”

His words fall in one ear and out the other without processing any of it. You couldn’t, not when Lara is beginning to fall apart in your hands so beautifully, her mind all fuzzy and drunk on you, her pussy swallowing your fingers all the way in. 

Even as her muffled moans fall into your palm, the squelching, the filthy noises from her cunt are even louder. You’re afraid that he’ll notice, but that doesn’t make you stop.

“You’re gonna make me cum.” She sobs into your hand. You didn’t register her words at first, her voice incoherent, lips pressed on your skin. Until you watch the way the twitch of her hips freezes, shuddering intensely as you gaze back up onto her face, her eyes rolling back.

You nod, forehead pressed on hers. You watch closely as she falls apart in your hands, “Give it to me.” You whisper on the back of your hand.

And she does, you watch the way her thighs clamp around your hand, your other hand muffling her moans beneath as she trembles out her orgasm, coming down beautifully just for you. All for you to take.

Lara comes so perfectly, so pretty for you, and all you do is stare because you’ve earned it.

Your ecstasy doesn’t last when you hear his aggravating voice once more. “I know you can hear me–just let me in!” Another bang on your door, nearly breaking his wrist as he kept rattling on the doorknob.

You ignore him again.

Instead, you force Lara to watch you suck the cum off your fingers, slowly taking it out, leading the mess on your hands to your mouth, sucking each finger deliberately slow as she suffers silently at the way you moan by the taste of her on your hands.

Her head’s spinning, too tired and exhausted, she can barely feel her legs, but that doesn’t stop her from wanting more from you.

Just as she was about to pull you in for another kiss, you don’t let her.

As you took your hand from her mouth, you turned her around. Lara lets out a surprised gasp–not before you bend her, her hands pressed against the door, head nearly banging on it as you pull her hips towards your waist. Eyeing the arch of her back, her ass hanging out all for you.

Lara’s chest heaves at the sudden movement, now facing the door, her tits hanging low as you bend her over. She tries biting back the whimper that nearly escapes when she feels your hand all over her. Both of your palms moving her hair to her shoulder, giving more access to her skin. 

Your hands start at her shoulders, caressing the skin softly before gradually moving lower. You led your hands on her spine, rubbing the sweaty skin gently–leading them to her front, cupping her tits in your palms, pulling and twisting each nipple, earning a moan from her.

“Can you stay quiet just for a little longer?” You whisper as you ask nicely, giving a kiss to the spot underneath her ear as you feel her nod again for you, desperate for more.

She feels your touch warming her skin until your hands are on her ass, giving light slaps to each cheek, loving the way they feel on you. 

Lara whimpers again, already forgetting your promise to stay quiet for you.

You sigh anyway, your fingers sliding through her ass, down her cunt, teasing her clit again before moving upwards to tease her entrance.

When you hear her shuddering, you just know it can’t be helped that she loved being vocal–loud even. You bring back your other hand, sliding up her back, her neck, then to her lips, holding it with equal force as you did earlier, forcing her to choke back down her moans.

“Why aren’t you opening the fucking door? I live here too, you know.” Shawn interrupts you just as you were about to ease your fingers back in her, poor Lara already humping your hand, wanting more. He bangs the door a few more times, almost leaving dents. “Open the door!”

You had enough of him and voice–everything altogether.

“Get out. I mean it, Shawn.” His name leaves nearly giving you nausea as you speak back. Lara seemed to hate the way you said his name, too, forehead pressing harder–her nails scraping the door.

You hear his loud breathing, “I’m not leaving! Not until we talk and not until you forgive me. Just let me inside!”

His words angered you once more. It seemed as if he had a habit of ruining your mood, you can’t stand it anymore. “Leave! Get out before I call the fucking cops on you, I swear to God.” You spit back, your anger seething through that it doesn’t take another second longer before you thrust your fingers back into Lara’s cunt, eyes widening again at your fingers filling her up. Your words didn’t even make sense, but all you really cared about was for him to leave.

You began to fuck her relentlessly, pulling her face with your hand back into your body, her back arched as you held her up from behind, the palm of your hand slapping her ass as your fingers pushed in and out.

She pulses around you, a hand falling down the door, catching herself when she holds the doorknob, bracing herself. Her knees barely give out, but you make sure to hold her together, her pussy pulsing around your hands. Your touches filling her up so nicely, just the way she wants, just the way she craved for it.

Shawn hasn’t said anything, just standing there. Tormented in silence. If only he knew that your fingers were knuckle deep inside a girl’s pussy, you’d pay just to see his reaction. But at the same time–you don’t.

You don’t want anyone else to watch the way Lara comes down the way she does, so greedily, so perfectly that her body fits so well against yours. Only you want to be the one to see her in this vulnerable state, all bare and naked just for your eyes.

And she does too, responding to your thrusts as she humps her ass back into your fingers, her cunt molding into the shape of your fingers. And you plan for her to stay that way, only your fingers. Only you.

“Baby.” Lara cries as you lean down towards her, turning her face to your own as you uncover her mouth, covering it with your lips instead, swallowing everything she’s giving you.

Her inner thighs slicked with her mess, your touches furthering her into a second orgasm. She’s close again, and you want to take it out of her, into your own.

“You can give me another one.” You whisper against her lips, earning a shake of her head. She doesn’t stop you, nor push you away, even when she’s becoming overly sensitive–too overwhelmed. “Yes, you can, you can take it.” You urged her, your fingers loose inside.

You finally hear Shawn walking away, giving up. His footsteps became faint until both of you were sure that he had finally left, his keys shaking at the front door, locking it.

The thought alone that he’ll never know what you and Lara were doing in the room where he stood, the room filled with his belongings and things, the room that you two shared, all stained with Lara’s scent, her body, claiming you into her own.

As soon as the two of you heard the front door lock, you finally let go of her face altogether, her moans releasing, lashing out through her true natural–and loud volume. Vocalizing how good you were making her feel, how deep she’s taking you.

“You’re gonna make me cum again.” She sobs, her eyelashes fluttering on your cheek. Your hand snakes upwards, cupping one of her breasts. You nodded greedily, wanting her to give it to you again. 

And when you thrust in hard, curling your fingers–she falls apart for you the second time. Watching in disbelief at how lucky you are to stare at how beautiful she looks as she comes.

You hold her together before her knees actually give up this time. All you could do was kiss the skin, the kind that sticks to her hair from the workout you two did, how you kiss her through it. Relishing the moment because you finally got to have her the way you wanted, just like how you imagined it to be.

However, it seemed that Lara wasn’t stopping now. Regaining her energy that quickly because she soon realized that she hadn’t touched you yet, hadn’t watched the way you’ll fall apart for her. She plans to take it all in, to memorize the way your breath catches in your throat, how sensitive you’d be against her hands, whether you’d be loud or quiet. Either way, she wants you–everything that you’ll offer to her.

She fully stands up, ignoring the sting on her ass after you slapped it a couple of times. Fully taking off her panties–still stuck on her knees, dropping them on the floor before she pulls you in for another filthy kiss. Messier, more greedy.

It doesn’t last long when she keeps pushing you towards your bed, bringing your arms up to take off your shirt, letting it fall next to where her stained panties lie. 

“I’ll make you forget about him–gonna make you think of me and only me.” She smiles, a wicked grin plastered on her face as she cups you through your own panties, whimpering when she presses harder, feeling at the drenched area where your mess sticks to your cunt. You wanted them off, desperately, almost suffocating you by how much you need her.

Lara ends your suffering as she pulls your panties down to the floor, you stepping out of them before she finally takes you into your bed.

Your senses are immediately filled by her, the taste of her lips still lingering inside of your mouth as she kisses you, your sense of smell breathing in her hair as you turn just when she latches her lips onto your neck, her nails digging into the side of your waist.

Her chest heaves when you feel her marking you up, and you let her because you want to be hers. You want to belong to her.

“Gonna mark you up.” She softly whimpers, the sole idea of you actually belonging to her clouded everything else that she was thinking about. “You’re gonna be mine, and he’s gonna know. Everyone will.”

Your head digs into your pillow, giving her more access to your neck. Gladly marking you up, covering your skin with small bites, soothing each mark with her tongue, your skin swollen from her lips. 

Her hand continues to rub on your clit, becoming swollen each time she circles it. 

“Do you trust me?” Lara suddenly asks, prepping a kiss on the corner of your lip.

You do trust her, with everything you own. “I do.” You whisper, staring into her eyes because you do mean it.

Lara leans back up, staring at you with everything she has. She pulls your legs closer, kneeling on your bed. She manages to take your breath away once again when she spreads your legs out for her, reaching down to toy with your clit softly, shushing you when you begin to whine.

She lifts one of your legs up, setting it on your shoulder. That’s when you realized what she wants, what she’s about to do. And you’re already whimpering, and she hasn’t done anything yet, but it only makes you crave it.

She smiles, eyes darkening as she stares at your open cunt, lips all pink and puffy, clit swollen from earlier.

Lara doesn’t stop there, not realizing she’s holding her breath the second she scoots her hips closer to yours. You watch as one of her legs goes over your own. Finally bringing her pussy onto yours, both of you whimpering at the wetness, the slick that both of you created.

She begins grinding into you softly, her clit brushing over yours, her folds drenching your own. It’s nearly too much, but you force yourself to take it. You can’t stop twitching, the bundle of nerves overstimulating you as her cunt presses harder on yours, your thighs clamped onto her own. 

“I want you so bad.” She admits, the truth burning in her throat, “So fucking bad–I can’t stand the thought of not being yours. I want to be yours so bad.” The words burn your heart, clenching inside your chest at how much she actually wants you. Not once have you ever felt this wanted, needed by anybody else. Until her.

She nearly cries by how could you feel, your bodies so close, your cunts grinding onto one another, soaking into each other. Your back arches off the bed, your nails digging into her thigh, while the other one doesn’t know where to hold, clenching and unclenching the sheets.

Her pussy pulses around nothing, her folds drenching onto you, you even feel the slick going down to your ass, ruining your sheets underneath. But Lara never stops watching your eyes, loving the way they become teary, too greedy for more, your sweat dripping onto your sheets just as your pussy was. Too dirty, too raw.

She turns her head slightly, rubbing her cheek onto your calf as it settles onto her shoulder, the stretch of your legs widening has you whining. 

“You’re so beautiful, so fucking unreal. I can’t even believe it.” She says, you nearly sobbing at her words because they meant that much to you. 

You grew louder once you felt her pressing small, sweet kisses onto your calf, smothering you with her touches because she’s that obsessed. Too drunk on your pussy to even think about anything else.

Your bodies devour each other, no space in between. Every movement was rough and needy, like she was starved and only you could feed her. Using your leg as support, because one more look from you already has her closer to the edge.

Lara doesn’t stop there. She reaches behind, grabbing her phone that she threw on your bed, tapping on her phone quickly to the camera, pressing record to film you. And you let her, staring at the way her smirk widens as she watches you through the phone. Putting the camera to your face–before lowering it down where your pussy rubs onto hers.

“Wanna save this,” She whimpers, “Maybe force you to watch this later, wanna know if you’d stay still or touch yourself to the way our cunts feel so wet, so messy together.”

You cried, letting go of her thigh to prop yourself on your elbows, trying to feel her deeper, sloshing–squelching all around her.

“Maybe I’ll send this to that boyfriend of yours.” Eyes darkening, even mentioning him as her stomach twisted disgustingly, “How pathetic he’ll feel knowing I’m fucking his girlfriend way better than he ever could? How right my pussy makes you feel compared to his small dick?”

She closes the phone, saving the video, throwing it behind her. Her focus back onto you, “But I won’t. You know I won’t. He doesn’t get to see you like this. Only I can.”

Your whimper breaks into your throat, “Lara.” Your voice broke, only strong enough to utter her name out. 

“He’ll never know the way I make you feel. Only us.” Lara tells you, giving another kiss to the side of your leg, holding you open.

Your head turns to the side, your arms giving up, biting your pillow because it’s becoming too much now. You’re close, you want to come–and she’ll make sure you will.

“Lara, please.” You sob, turning your head back to stare at her. Her hair sticking onto her temples, eyes teary-like just as your own, hands clutching onto your skin, her legs fitting perfectly in yours. 

She knows it too, she senses it. Making sure you come with her, she urges you, holding you out, humping your cunt faster to bring you over the edge, “Come for me, I want it.”

And you do.

You come for her, hard, your body jerking against hers, and then freezing. Unlike her, she doesn’t stop humping into you, riding out her own orgasm–making sure you come undone.

She comes down just as you are, mouth parting, eyes rolling back into her head, her head dipping backwards. You feel her hands, both her hands, her fingernails digging into your calf, pressing her cheek hard against it, both of your slick, dripping hard onto your bedsheets.

You catch your breath, your heart is beating way too fast. Nearly rushing out of your chest because you couldn’t believe that this was real, that you actually did this with her.

You should feel the guilt come rushing in, the regret. You should be calling this a mistake.

But you don’t.

It doesn’t feel like a mistake. It’s not, and you know it’s not. It was anything but a mistake because it was much more than that. With the way Lara looks at you like you’re her everything, her hands trembled at your skin, her mouth everywhere on you, her kisses lingering, her marks on you were carrying far more than just heat.

It wasn’t just crossing a line, it was about her.

You felt seen, wanted, loved in a way you thought you could never deserve such a thing.

You don’t regret it.

And she doesn’t either.

Every part of you ached for this, for her, in all the ways you didn’t realize you were starving for.

It was reckless. It may be wrong, but it was real.

Lara brings your leg down, her chest rising up and down way too fast for her own good. She collapses at the spot next to you, bringing an arm around her waist as she lies down to your side.

Her forehead presses onto yours, sweat cooling onto your skin, and all you can see in her eyes are all the things you’ve been searching for. She’s staring at you like she’s already decided what she wants. She already knew long before she could even dare to admit it.

Your lips barely brush when you feel her whispering, “You’re the only thing that feels, right.”

After a long time, you feel a genuine smile form on her face. The sight has Lara matching you, a wide grin forming on hers.

“I meant every word I said. All of it. I was always unsure about most things, not knowing what I wanted.” You press a kiss to her forehead, earning a shaky sigh underneath, “But when I’m with you, I do know. I do know what I want.”

You know what she means, but even then, you admit that you’re still scared. Still fearing that there’ll be obstacles with whatever decision you make next.

“It’s not going to be easy.” You tell her.

Her hands on your waist grip harder, “I’m not choosing easy.”

“But I am choosing you.”

You don’t stop smiling, and she can’t either. She already knows your answer anyway, that it doesn’t take longer for her to see it in your eyes.

The tension in the room that was once filled with loss, betrayal, and hate all fades away when you look into her eyes. Anything else doesn’t seem to compare to the girl in your arms. And for a moment, all the hurt in your heart for the past few months, every doubt, falls away.

Lara’s fingers trace small patterns on your back, eyeing your own eyes down to your lips, a reminder that this wasn’t a thrill or something that’ll happen just once.

Then, you suddenly start laughing, because all of it was too good to be true. Lara laughs with you anyway, in a similar way of thinking to yours. Her laughter fills your ears, and it is enough to let you know that this was where you were meant to be all along.

You walked inside the library. The same old scent of dusty books filling into the air as you stepped into the quiet place. Your earbuds were on, one of the books was already in your hands as you walked through the room, your eyes never leaving the words on the pages you’re currently reading as you found an empty seat to sit on.

It was night and it was cold, freezing even. You knew it was stupid of you to only wear a sweater that barely covered your shoulders and a lousy pair of jeans once you walked out of your dorm room that same morning. 

Goosebumps formed upon your skin, the cool air lingering onto you. You shivered from the feeling, trying to ignore the growing discomfort as you flipped through the pages more aggressively than before.

Your classes finished two hours ago. You had nothing else to do. You didn’t bother going back to your dorm room because you knew your roommate probably brought some guy up, once again, and you were certain enough to not relive the horror you once felt when you walked in that night with an unpleasant surprise.

All your friends were probably at the party that you were also invited to. They wanted you to come, wanted you to have some fun, but you decided against it. Everyone can tell that you were feeling a bit down lately, nobody knew why, except you.

Another sigh fell out of your mouth as your eyes stared at the same sentences you haven’t read as your mind was pulled back into your thoughts.

Your eyes closed, trying to prevent those same thoughts you were trying to avoid all this time. The mess in your head that you created yourself, you just couldn’t make it go away.

It was until you felt a familiar warmth behind you, you just knew. 

That same scent of honey, the warmth radiating off, and suddenly you just lost your breath altogether when you felt her hand taking off one of your earbuds.

Sophia slowly leans from behind, near your ear, her breath fanning against your skin as you feel her giggling.

“Hi.” Was all she said, before she leaned back, giving your space to breathe. You exhale nervously, trying your very best not to get so affected at the little things she does. Even though it was far too late and you were far too gone to even try to fix your feelings for her. 

You knew it was helpless and you knew yourself better that your feelings for her might not ever change, and you were afraid of that.

Sophia raised a brow when you didn’t respond back. Your silence becomes noticeably loud. She takes the seat next to you, dragging her chair impossibly closer to you, breaking through your personal bubble to peek at what you’re reading, or was trying to read.

“What are you reading?” She asked, glancing at the book, then at you.

You don’t respond right away, her face was too close. It was always like this, she gets close and you lose your ability to function to the point that both of you just found it normal. Everyone else with eyes could easily see how you felt about her, just by a glance. Your feelings are obvious.

So why wasn’t it obvious to her?

“Nothing, just a random book I picked up earlier.” You told her, shutting the book and placing it on the table. You took your other earbud off as well, shoving them in the pocket of your jeans.

Her stare becomes questionable, like she couldn’t understand why or how you’re acting so weird. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” She smiled, leaning back into her chair. “I texted you earlier. I was asking if you wanted to get lunch during your break or just hang out. Maybe we could get some dinner right now?” Sophia turns to you, undoubtedly with hope in her eyes, her fingers subtly going closer to your arm, like she’s teasing you. You pull away before she could do so.

“I already ate.” You lied.

Sophia just watches you, her eyebrows furrowing as she gives you this knowing look, like she could see right through you.

Silence grows once again in between the two of you. Not the comforting one that you guys used to have, it was now more awkward, more tension. And you hated it because you knew it was your own fault, that things changed the two of you and you had no one to blame but yourself.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” She broke the silence, you stared at your intertwined fingers on your lap.

“You ignored my calls, my texts. When I try to find you in the halls, your classes or your dorm room, you’re gone before I could get to you.” 

You can sense the pain in her voice. It wasn’t noticeable, however. It was easy for her to hide her feelings or what she was thinking about. There was no tremble in her voice, no voice crack, but you could tell that you ignoring her hurts her. And it was selfish of you, still avoiding her when you knew all it did was give her pain.

“Did I do something?” Her body fully faced you, to her you were too far away when in your eyes, she was too close. 

What she was saying was true. You grew distant in between. You couldn’t handle the feelings you weren’t meant to have for her.

You still haven’t answered her, you didn’t know what to say.

Your quietness only heightened her worrying.

“If I did, then I’m sorry.” She whispers carefully to you, afraid of saying something that might hurt you.

Before she could utter another word, you lifted your gaze at her. You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve just been more tired lately, it’s fine.” You lie, again.

Sophia just nods, not fully believing you. She knew you better than that but she also knew than to push you against your limits.

Instead she matches your smile. She looks down onto your intertwined hands and takes one into her own, holding it as she relaxes more comfortably on her chair.

She held your hand as if it was trying to comfort you when all it did was burn. It stung. You didn’t know why but you felt like you didn’t deserve to be this close to her. Your chest grew tighter as if your ribcage began to crush your heart when she suddenly squeezed your hand.

Moments like these leave you craving for more. You wanted so much more with her, not just as friends but more, nothing less. You couldn’t contemplate your feelings altogether, you just knew you miss her when she isn’t around even when you’re the one pushing her away.

“There’s another party in a few days.” She says a little after.

“I know you ditched the party that’s happening today and I know it isn’t really your type of scene but I just hoped–”

“I’ll go.” You stopped her rambling. Her eyes light up at this.

“Really?” Her voice, hopeful.

You laugh softly, squeezing her hand and reassuring her. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

Sophia immediately comes at you with open arms, squealing and hugging you like her life depended on it.

You try to ignore the way your heart begins to beat rapidly when her chest presses against yours. You could feel her heartbeat against your own.

“I’ll send you the address later. Meet up at the house exactly at eight, no take backs!”

No take backs, huh.

You arrived at the address she sent you. The air is already violating your sense of smell as the scent of sweat and alcohol remains, but you walked in nevertheless.

Some people recognized you, waving at you or calling for your name. It had been a long time since you actually came to a party, or at least one as big as this. The music on the speakers was exceptionally loud and there was actually a pretty good line up of alcohol displayed onto the counters in the kitchen.

You made your way through the crowd, looking for your group of friends. You try to ignore the discomfort of strangers' sweat flicking onto you from the dance floor and alcoholic breaths fanning through your nose.

It was when one of your friends, Lara, lowly whistled at you that caught your attention. You only pushed her teasingly before she made room to reveal the rest of your friends.

“So you finally decided to stop being boring?” Megan said, sipping her drink on the couch next to Manon, who laughed at what she said.

“You look hot though.” Dani walks next to you, shoving your shoulder a bit before smirking. 

You did go all out, it’s been a while so you thought it wouldn’t hurt to dress a little more pretty than your usual self.

After a while, the chatting slowly began to blur bit by bit. You were on your second drink by now and it only made your thoughts worse. Your mind began to drift back to Sophia, as it always did. You wondered where she was at the moment, or why she hadn't made an effort to find you when you arrived exactly at the time she told you to? 

No matter what you did or tried to do, you couldn’t seem to forget the way she looked at you and wished that there was more meaning in her stares as it did for you.

“Have you seen Sophia?” You whispered to Dani next to you in her ear.

She shook her head, “I haven’t seen her ever since I arrived. Maybe she’s late or something.”

You knew she couldn’t be, not when she was the one telling you to get here on time.

You excused yourself from the group, walking back to the kitchen in a daze. You felt lightheaded, not because of the alcohol, but because no matter how much you drink to forget, your mind always seems to come straight back to her like some stupid magnet and it was frustrating you. 

The moment you realized your feelings for her, you shut her out. You left her behind and it only made you want her more.

Now you’re stuck with the same excuse of how you simply just changed when there was more to that. Way more.

As you slurred your way into the kitchen, bumping into a few shoulders, you tripped onto one of the legs from the table, catching yourself onto the counter.

“You good?” You heard a deep voice coming from behind you. You turned around and saw a familiar face but you couldn’t seem to remember his name.

When you don't answer him, he wordlessly hands you an unopened water bottle. You mutter a small ‘thank you’ before nearly gulping half of it down. He laughs a bit, earning a hint of blush and some embarrassment upon your cheeks. You cleared your throat.

“I’m Dean, I’m in your stats class.” He told you, even though you didn’t really ask.

You nodded wordlessly. You didn’t mean to appear rude, but you couldn’t seem to focus on anything else except the same girl that has been haunting your mind all these years. 

“I don’t know if you remember but I gave you my notes a few times when you missed some classes.” That caught your attention, when you thought about it harder, he seemed right.

“Right, yeah I remember.” 

He gave you another light smile, before sipping down his drink. “So, you’re back to partying now?” He assumed.

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, a friend told me to come.”

“I see. Where’s that friend of yours then?”

Your smile falters. You’re pulled back to the reminder that you still haven’t seen Sophia at all since you stepped into this party.

“Not sure.” You try to shrug it off.

He hums, his posture turning straight as he stares down at you.

“Then you don’t mind if I keep you company? Don’t want you tripping all over the place.” He asks, tilting his head like he was daring you to respond.

That caught you a little off guard. But you surprised yourself with what you answered next.

“Okay.” You said lowly under your breath.

He then leads you back into the crowd, already creating another small talk about the classes you’re currently taking and whatnot. He was gentle and nice with you, making room through the crowd so you could walk easily, making simple jokes with you. Smiling at you when you laughed at what he had said. 

Making you simply forget the reason why you even came here tonight.

You just didn’t realize a pair of feminine eyes were on you the entire night, staring at the scenes that unfolded in front of her. Her mind was racing, but she didn’t try to let her feelings reveal themselves as if they were sacred.

She just watches silently.

It was Friday and you found yourself back in the library. You sat in a different area on a couch somewhere hidden between bookshelves. Your legs dangle across the sofa and you scan the pages.

Your fingers ghosting on the paper, your mind finally relaxing after what had seemed to be a long day of classes.

As you crossed your legs, your head resting against the arm of the couch, you felt a pair of soft hands covering your eyes. That same warmth pressing from behind.

“Guess who?” She sang, going nearer to your ear once more.

You didn’t need to guess.

You answered anyway, “Um, someone annoying?” You laughed once her hands uncovered your eyes as she playfully hit your shoulder.

Sophia throws your legs off the couch to make room for her, plopping herself at the area next to her. Her arms crossed over her chest, her leg one over the other. You set your book on the side table, turning your head to her.

As soon as she felt you shifting, she looked back at you. 

Her eyes were saying something, then again, nothing at all. You couldn’t really figure her out.

She scooted closer to you, moving her hair to the other side to rest her head on your shoulder, her arm brushing against yours.

You swallowed, hard. She never fails to take advantage of getting closer to you. And when you felt her rubbing her cheek on your shoulder, turning her head slightly just to breathe in the scent of you and only you, you swore you felt your heart screaming, crying rapidly.

“I didn’t see you at the party the other night.” You told her, trying your hardest to mask the trembling of your body. Trying to zone off the way her warmth felt right against your own.

She lifted her head, her eyes now on yours. “I couldn’t find you.”

Deep inside of you, you thought she was lying through her teeth. Then again, you never know what it was when you were with her. You hummed in response.

It was quiet again. However, it was less awkward than before. And before you knew it, you’re slowly growing more comfortable with her as you once were, despite the pounding of your heart thumping faster in your chest the more her touch hovered.

Suddenly, you heard a sound of one of your notifications going off on your phone. Shifting slightly, you picked up your phone, glancing at one of your notifications.

Dean

  hey, u still up for tomorrow?

Right as his message appeared on your phone, you felt Sophia tense up almost instantly.

You typed something up anyway.

You

  yeah

  pick me up at 6

As soon as you sent that message, you felt her lifting up her head, studying your face with this unfamiliar look on her own.

“What’s tomorrow?” She spoke as if she was telling a deadly secret, you couldn’t read the look on her face, nor the tone in her voice.

You looked at her and then the phone, before setting it back onto the table.

“Just a hangout.” You try to shrug it off, even if the nerves in you are saying otherwise. You don’t know why you’re suddenly so nervous, but the sound in her voice almost feels like a mother reprimanding their child.

“Okay.” She said shortly after, turning her face away and staring at the empty space between her shoes.

You thought she was finally going to let the conversation go before she asks something else.

“With who?”

You discreetly let out an exhale, “A guy from my stats class. His name’s Dean, we met again at the party.”

Her eyes roamed around, but never landed them on you. She nodded gradually afterwards, letting your words sink in.

“So you go on dates now?” She persisted, playing with the ends of her shirt.

“It’s not a date.”

She faced you again, “It's with a guy.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s a date.”

Sophia lets out a deliberate hum. Zoned out into the distance. The silence that was finally becoming more relaxed, instantly turned back into this uneasy feeling. And you are unsure why.

After a while, it seemed she grew tired of the silence. So she got up.

“Leaving already?” You asked softly, leaning forward.

She doesn’t turn around to face you, you’re still staring at the back of her shirt as she speaks.

“I got somewhere to be. I’ll text you soon.”

And then she leaves without another word. You’re left with reflecting on the scenes that led up to this very moment.

That night you stayed up. Your phone in your hands as you waited for her texts that she once promised, you should’ve known better than this. In the end you were left shifting and turning in your sleep, questioning her sudden change of behavior.

Your hangout with Dean was surprisingly fun, to say the least. At the start.

Dean arrived in his car, the soft top of his convertible car lowered as he greeted you, opening the door for you.

He drove the two of you to the carnival which was actually a pleasant surprise. You haven’t been to the carnival in a while.

He took you to your favorite games, winning all sorts of plushies and toys for you. He took you to the ice cream station, laughing at the way the ice cream began to melt upon his chin.

But he wasn’t her. 

Selfishly, you wished you were doing this with Sophia instead. You knew how much she loved winning carnival games, especially that huge unicorn she has yet to win is still on her wishlist til this day. And you knew how much she loved slushies and cotton candy, finding it funny with the way the color of her mouth changes after eating either one.

You missed it all.

You couldn’t resist the memories that were falling through your head when you’re supposed to be focusing on having fun with this nice, kind guy that offered to pay everything, win you all these things, make you laugh and all. He just wasn’t her.

And when Dean led you to the ferris wheel, you realized that this was a mistake altogether.

It was silent as the two of you got on. You’re unsure what to do. 

He suddenly leaned in closer to you and you were quick, too quick to put a hand in between you two, stopping him.

The ride in the ferris wheel was extra quiet and uncomfortable. You were just waiting to get out of here. He couldn’t look at you nor say anything else. And you were glad he couldn’t.

As soon as the ride halted, you both walked steady fast to his car. He drove you back to your dorm without a word in mind and you just prayed to forget this night completely.

You haven’t heard from Sophia the next entire week.

Usually, she’s the one flooding your texts or calls, but now you find yourself walking straight towards her building.

With each step you took, your heart raced. And you couldn’t fathom a reason why. A mix of anticipation swirled inside of the pit in your stomach, you were clearly nervous again for her. 

You still haven’t gotten the chance to figure out what you want to say to her, or even build up the courage to speak to her at all. But it's Sophia, it's only her. And yet, that was why this entire thing was a big deal to you.

Once you arrive at the entrance, you pause. The familiar scent of the hallway remains every time you walked through just to meet up with her, you could even hear faint laughter echoing through the halls. 

With your heart pounding against your chest, you’re still unsure if she even wants to see you right now.

You went up the stairs to the exact floor she’s on. Her hall was empty, unexpectedly. 

You walked down to her door, the exact door you stood in front of plenty of times. You knocked on it once, and then twice shortly after.

There was a long pause, the kind that stretched long enough to make your stomach twist in a knot before you heard the faint shuffle of footsteps on the other side.

Once it opened, you were faced with Manon instead. 

She had a lollipop in her mouth as she raised an eyebrow at you questionably before she realized. 

She looked at you and then Sophia, who sat in her bed silently once Manon moved a bit to give you a view of her. 

Sophia sat in her bed with her laptop faced in front of her with her notebook on the side. Her headphones were on, clearly not noticing that you had suddenly arrived at her dorm room late at night. Her eyebags were even clearer than before, even if the lights were off. She looked and seemed tired this particular night. Despite it all, she still looked beautiful.

Manon turned back to you, whispering closely, “Do you need to talk to her?” You nodded almost immediately.

She had to bite back a smirk that was already forming on her smug face, like she was creating scenarios of the two of you in her head. She grabbed a nearby jacket and called out for Sophia from behind. “I’m gonna go get some food. You have a guest by the way.” And with that she left the two of you alone.

When Manon called out for her name and her eyesight was faced with you, you swore she froze at the sight of you. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air in between was thick, heavy with all the unsaid words. Her expression flickered–surprise, confusion, and a hint of anger in between. You took a hesitant step forward, inside of her room.

The floor creaked under your weight. Sophia didn’t move. She sat still, very still on her bed as she watched you silently as you made your way closer to her and her bed.

Sophia takes off her headphones completely. “What are you doing here?”

You wished that question didn’t sting as it did. Her tone gave off as if she didn’t want you to be here, but you didn’t want to assume.

“You weren’t answering me so I wanted to find you here.” You tried to shrug it off as if it was nothing, stuffing your cold hands inside of the pockets of your puffer jacket.

There was another pause, before she unexpectedly laughed, it almost sounds pitiful.

“Wow, okay.” She slams her laptop shut before standing up from her bed, walking subtly towards you.

“You think you get to just show up like this?” Her voice was calm, but full with such meaning you still couldn’t understand.

You froze in your spot. “I’m sorry?”

She laughed again, the same one with no humor in it whatsoever. She took another step forward and you took one step back.

“What? Did you forget the weeks I spent calling you, messaging you, trying to get your attention after all the days you spent avoiding–ignoring me?” 

You swallowed. 

“And when you did answer me, you gave me a one-word text every single time. You never allowed me to talk to you, you didn’t give me a chance to. Every time I try to talk about what was going on, you put it aside like it doesn’t matter. It fucking matters a lot. It matters to me so fucking much and it hurts because it looks like you don’t care.”

You were silent, it always was when it came to her, but her words were invading your mind. And she was so close, you didn’t even notice until she stopped talking because now your back was pressed against her door. Her body is trapping you against it. And you can’t feel a damn thing except her. It numbed you.

The pain in her eyes was evident, becoming glassy with each second of silence you took.

She’s giving you this one chance to reason out with her. She’s even allowing you to make some dumb excuses just so she could see that at least in the end, you’ll care, and you’d show it.

But you’re standing here, silently, pathetically, like you don’t have shit to say to her but deep down, you want to pour everything out right here, right now in front of her. Tell her the truth, give her the honesty that she deserves after weeks of worrying about you–crying about you even.

“I was dealing with some things.” Another pathetic lie falls out of your mouth, and she knows it too.

Sophia scoffed, in complete disbelief. “If you were dealing with things, why haven’t you told me? Or spoke to me about it like you used to do. Like we used to do.”

You fell silent once more and she hated that. 

“You never talk to me anymore. You never tell me things. Not even how your day was going or how you’re currently feeling. I’m always the one who starts the conversation and I’m the one who puts in the fucking effort and I’m just left here with complete silence from you. You aren’t even explaining yourself or giving me a reason why you’re suddenly acting like a stranger to me.”

Her breath was fanning upon your lips now, you couldn’t think or breathe properly especially when her entire body is pressed against yours.

Your eyes shift lower to her lips. God, you’d give anything, everything for her to just lean in a little bit more to take a taste of what she really feels like. You longed for being so much more for her when you knew you didn’t deserve her at all.

When she saw the way you looked down on her lips, you felt her intense breathing come into a halt before she swallowed her words down.

“You’re not gonna say anything else?” She tilts her head, her own eyes shifting between your eyes and your lips.

It’s not like you were quiet on purpose, but the close proximity and the beat of her heart resting against your own made it impossible for you to utter a word.

Sophia continues then, her forehead leaning against yours. 

“It took me weeks, fucking days for you to finally start talking to me again, to get you to notice me–but it took an hour for you to accept a date with some guy you met at a party.” She whispers on your lips, her eyes watering a little more with each honest word she mutters out to you.

You struggled to turn your head away, she was too close. Too close that with one wrong move, her lips could be on yours. She doesn’t let you turn away, not even with her hand but with her nose that nudges you to face her eyes once more.

Your gaze shifts lower to her body. Her hands, her nails were digging into her own fists on the sides of her waist, just as if she was holding herself from a mistake that you desperately want her to make.

“Why do you make it so easy for everyone else but so hard for me?” 

Your heart pained for her, you truly are listening to her and the more she spoke, the more the guilt in you grew.

“Tell me.” She mumbles, “Tell me what he did to get your attention so easily.”

You felt the desperation in her voice. The need, the want, all of it.

You don’t tell what you were really feeling, instead, you just show it.

You lean in hesitantly at first, you give her a few seconds if she wants to back out, to pull away, but she doesn’t and it was more than enough for you to finally–for what felt like years to press your lips upon her own. 

Even though your bodies were already impossibly close, you wanted to feel her more. You bunched up her hoodie with both of your fists, pulling her towards you. You felt the shakiness of both of your bodies, her lips trembling against yours, but it felt more than right.

Her hands ghost against your jaw, before cupping your cheeks in both of her hands. She held you tightly, softly. You shivered from the touch of her cold fingers and the warmth on her lips. Her thumb gently rubbing against your cheek, nails nearly digging into your skin.

When her mouth opens for you, your tongue slips in slowly. She swallows the moan you let out for her, letting her tongue flick against yours. She tastes your lipgloss, the flavor she spent nights wondering what it’ll feel like having your taste in her mouth. Now she finally knows the taste, and it only makes her crave for more.

Her hands slowly trail from your cheek to the back of your head, tangling her fingers in the strands of your hair, pulling you closer. Your hands dig deeper into the fabric of her hoodie, you’re breathing so hard, all you could smell was her. Her fresh scent of shampoo, that minty taste in her mouth, the slick wetness of her tongue in you, you lost every ability to think about anything else but her.

Your kiss grows messier, sloppier even. Her taste slowly pools in your mouth. When she feels you struggling to keep up, you find one of her hands trailing down your skin to your neck, wrapping around it with her thumb pressing directly against your throat, squeezing it, forcing you to swallow–choking on her spit in your mouth.

You try to breathe in through your nose as she steadily compresses your throat with her hand, whimpering when her teeth grazes against you.

No matter how much it hurts, you let her have her way with you because it hurts too good. You let her hands roam around the back of your head, allowing the way you melt into her body.

This kiss, with her, with Sophia, it felt unreal. Too good to be true. You don’t believe it, not when she’s still holding you like it depended on her life to never let go of you. Like the taste of you began to engrave itself in her body, that she needed it, needed you.

When you sensed the air struggling to keep within you, you had no choice but to unwillingly push her away. Your hands still clenching onto the cloth of her clothes, her hand unwrapped around your throat and back to her sides. When you open your eyes, they are watery, glassy, reflecting the same eyes you're staring into.

Both of you stayed still. Neither of you had the strength to talk about what the two of you just did. The kiss, the want, everything and in between.

Your hands stayed stretched, creating space between you and Sophia. In her eyes, you were staring at her as if you just committed a crime. With the way you pushed her away, all of her fears suddenly seemed true when deep inside your heart, you felt your heart beating fast for her, all for her.

Her eyebrows furrowed, the heart inside of her chest cracked when she took the expression on your face differently than what you truly felt.

She yanked both of your arms aggressively off of her. The action pierced something through your stomach, suddenly making you sick. Your expression turns into confusion as you watch her eyes slowly becoming more teary, but not a single tear dares to fall.

“Leave.” Sophia whispers, a crack in her voice.

It was one word, one simple word but it broke your heart, your heart that longed, yearn for her in every way you wanted her heart as your own.

You don’t want her to repeat herself, and you knew she wouldn't. But you stand there for a few more seconds, just to see if she takes her word back that she wants you to stay, afterall.

She doesn’t. And you leave.

This time, neither of you spoke a word to each other. 

The texts, the calls, all of it were gone. The classes you two shared? You both avoided each other like you never knew one another. Your friends started to notice it as well, where one of you would be absent during group hangouts, just so you couldn’t see her face.

The next time you sit in the library, Sophia doesn’t show up like she used to.

You began to ache for her, even the silence that came with her. You just missed her presence and the regret, the guilt in you only grows with each passing second that you aren’t spending your time with her.

The kiss never left your mind after that night in her dorm. Her lips haunted your mind, her touches still lingered on the places that she left on your skin.

You don’t know why she chose to push you away, or why she even let you kiss her in the way you imagined it in your dreams.

She leaves you with all this confusion, this mess, the hurt in your heart, but all you really cared for was to know if she was okay. You wanted her to be okay, you didn't want to hurt her, yet it seemed that it was already too late for that.

At night, you lie alone in bed. Alone with you and your thoughts.

Your roommate’s gone again, leaving you with yourself in the dorm room. She invited you for dinner with her and her friends, but you declined. You haven’t felt your appetite in a while and everything else just seemed so uninteresting lately.

You knew why, but you couldn’t admit it out loud.

You’ve been scrolling on your phone for what it felt like to be ages. Your eyes glued on your phone, not bothering to do anything else.

It was when you heard a few knocks on your door. It sounded urgent, but it made you flinch from your spot on your bed. The knocking continues after seconds that you don’t make a move from your bed.

You got up in a hurry. For some reason, you felt the need to be quick.

When your door opens, Sophia’s there. There's this same unreadable expression on her face. Her eyes dilated, her lips still glossy, but it was the way she stood in front of you, silently, that made your nerves tremble underneath your skin.

She doesn’t say a word. She takes a step forward, allowing herself in your room without any permission and you didn’t have the will to go against that. She keeps walking forward and you take a few steps back, until the two of you stood right in front of the tall mirror that faces you and your bed.

Your nails dig into the palms of your hands. You eyed the way she looked so good to you right now. She’s wearing similar sweatpants as you have on while wearing a black hoodie that cuddles her up warmly. 

Sophia breaks through your thoughts. “I’m tired of this.”

You frown almost immediately, tired of what? “What do you mean?” You say slowly.

She doesn’t reply instantly and you’ve been beginning to notice that she hasn’t been as energetic or as lively as she once was. And you knew it was your fault. She’s usually talkative, loud, but you took that away from her.

Sophia takes another step forward and this time you don’t back away. You let her lips nearly graze on top of your own as you hear the tremble in her breath, her eyes casted downwards, trying to read you.

“I’m tired of you lying to me.” Her voice, low.

“You think I’m stupid?” Her chest heaving heavily, “You think I don’t recognize the way you look at me?”

All the anger inside of her builds up with each heave of her chest, rising against yours. She took all your words away. You were scared, afraid that this is where she rejects you, humiliates you.

“Sophia.” You say her name.

“I can feel it, you know. Your true feelings. The more you hide it from me the more it's obvious.” Her forehead hits against your own, hard. Like she had something to prove.

You don’t deny her words. “Don’t push me away.” Her eyes casted solely on you, “It only makes me want you even more.”

Your eyes shut when you feel her leaning in, but as you did, you suddenly felt her warmth drifting away. You open your eyes in confusion, only to find her figure turned away from you and walking towards the door. You thought she was going to leave again but then you heard the lock on your door click.

She stood there for a while, her hand still on the doorknob. Then she finally turns her head at you, just slightly. You can finally see what her eyes were trying to tell you all this time. Her eyes filled with desire, the need to have you as her own. It felt intense, you already felt a slight shudder coming through your body as she made her way back to you.

Sophia stands in front of you, her eyeview coming into yours. However, she turns away. You turn to where she stares at. You realize that she’s staring at the two of you through the mirror, her eyes trailing down where your sweatpants touch the floor, all the way back to one of your exposed shoulders from your loose sweater.

You turn back to face her, her eyes don't. Her sight stays glued to your body in the mirror, almost mesmerized by how beautiful you looked, even when the lights are off. 

She nudges your shoulder, forcing you to fully face the mirror. 

Sophia slowly circles around you, ever so slowly. Like she’s analyzing each slight movement you make or the pattern of your breathing. But you couldn’t move, you stayed still as you watched her through the reflection.

She stops next to you, dazed upon the look on your face before turning back to stare at you in the mirror. She looks down at the center of your waist, specifically eyeing the tied knot of your sweatpants.

Your breath gets caught up in your throat when you feel the coldness of her fingers barely touching your skin underneath your sweater before pulling at one of the strings on your sweatpants, untangling themselves.

Your sweats still stayed stuck at the hips of your waist. So she shrugs them off with one hand, letting the fabric fall down your legs.

You watch as the corner of her lips moves upward. Your legs immediately felt cold, but the warmth pooling in between your legs said otherwise.

The white lace covered panties hugged your cunt, and the fabric felt impossibly tight around you. You were already wet, dripping inside your panties the moment she looked at you. You couldn’t even believe that this was happening to you. This fantasy of yours.

She makes you step out of your sweats altogether, kicking them somewhere in the corner of your room. Her hands found their way on you, pulling your arms up to slowly remove your sweater above your head, dropping it on the floor next to you.

You hear her exhale shakily. When your breasts came into view, your nipples hardened from the cool air. She’s just watching you and she’s already about to pass out from the sight of your exposed skin alone. 

Sophia remains by you, her head held low, eyes screaming for you. Her fingers twitch beside her, like she’s holding herself back. Quietly, she walks slowly behind you, pressing her clothed chest against your bare back. Her hands slowly creep up on your waist, nails already piercing through your skin as she drags them in front of your stomach, going higher and cupping your tits from behind. She squeezes them gently, like she's trying to engrave the feeling of your breasts in the palms of her hands into her brain.

Her breath is becoming raggedy, uncontrolled. She presses a knowing kiss at the space between your neck and shoulder, both of you shuddering at the contact. The lipgloss stains your skin.

Everything felt unreal, the way she was touching you–she wanted you to know what she wanted. She wants to prove it. 

“You never told me what happened on your date. Or hangout, as you said.” She whispers on your skin, one of her hands stays palming your breast, her fingers toying at your nipples, pulling and pressing against them. “Tell me, did he touch you the way I am now?”

Her other hand snakes down on your skin, her palm warming up when she touches the damp spot swarming at the lace of your panties. She hasn’t really done anything yet, but you’re drenched. God, you’re so drenched to the point your inner thighs are stained with them.

“I want to know.” She moves her hand away from your pussy over to the side of your waist, pulling at your panties before letting it snap, hitting your skin. You bite back a whimper at the feeling.

“No.” You told her truthfully.

You feel her relaxing against you, “Did he kiss you?” She presses a kiss at the spot behind your ear, licking it slowly. “Did he kiss you the way you kissed me?” That makes you whimper for her.

“No.” You told her again.

“Good. Good girl.” You hear her sigh, before she finally pushes you onto your bed, climbing on top of you. Her lips find yours and you're pulled back into the memory of your first kiss with her back in her dorm room. This time you felt her more aggressively, more rough than intended.

Her mouth pulls open, her tongue finding yours, more dirtier, sloppy. She hisses softly in your mouth when she feels you biting her lip, awarding you by pulling you closer, her hand on your back and the other in your hair.

You arch into her as you feel her kisses becoming more wet, trailing her lips down your neck, sucking at a particular spot that makes you pull her tighter against you, feeling her tongue soothing the mark gently on you. You gasp when you feel her lips going lower and lower, hands digging into her scalp.

Sophia stops right above the waistband of your panties and it makes you whine. You feel her smile against your stomach as you did. You watch her as she sits up, taking both of your legs and putting them on one of her shoulders. Her fingers pull at your underwear, slowly dragging them upwards. You hear her groan softly when she sees the pure slick that clings from your cunt to your panties. She throws them somewhere in the room.

She gently pulls your legs apart, pushing them to your chest, feeling the stretch hurting you–pleasuring you. When your pussy is finally exposed to her, she lets out a shaky sigh, her eyes dilating at the sight of your body and nothing else in between.

A kiss presses up on one of your knees before she takes two of her fingers, letting you watch as she coats them with her saliva in her mouth, her cheeks sunken as she sucks her fingers for you.

“Sophia, please.” You begged, practically scooting yourself closer to her.

“I know, baby. I know.” She coos, shutting you up with her mouth once more as she finally thrusts her fingers in, mixing her saliva with your slick. You instantly clenched around her fingers, you both moan at the feeling of her inside of you. She doesn’t move at the first thrust, just trying to get used to the way your pussy tightens so well around her fingers. 

When you tug on her hoodie, she finally starts to move. You couldn’t keep up with kissing her, not when you’re losing so much focus. Your jaw becomes slack as you moan into her ear, her fingers switching between thrusting inside of you and curling them in, her thumb quickly rubbing your clit, your sweat already clinging onto your skin.

“Fuck.” You whimper in her ear, Sophia responds with a push of her fingers in a particular spot that makes your voice more pitchier, more desperate. 

Suddenly, she climbs off of you, making you miss the close proximity with her until she sits beside you on the bed, her fingers still knuckle deep inside. Sophia turns back to the mirror.

The mirror shows everything. Your body fully exposed, your legs spread wide apart, pushed against your chest while she sits next to you, watching the way your cunt pulses around her fingers as her body is still fully clothed, the complete opposite of you.

You should feel humiliated, the embarrassment of how easily she got you into this position. But you don’t, in fact you clench around her harder at the sight of your naked skin and her staring directly at it through the mirror.

Sophia’s mouth slowly lifts upwards, licking her lips as they get dry with her jaw slacked the entire time she’s been drunk-dazed on you. She pumps you faster, noticing the way your own eyes darken at the sight.

And then she scissors her fingers in you, stretching you out.

“You see this? All this filth?” Sophia smiles, fucking you senseless. You cry out for her, you're dripping so much it starts to pool underneath your ass, sticking against you, her fingers, the sheets. “This is my mess.”

She uses her other hand to push your chest down because you’re beginning to lose it. You keep squirming–moving, your feet digging into your sheets and your hands don’t know where to land on.

She watches the way your eyes struggle to keep open, fluttering every now and then, your lips parted and all. This isn’t her teasing you or giving you some show, it’s her way of telling you that she wanted you, that she wanted to be yours.

The repeated thrust of her hand, the palm of her hand slapping on your clit just the way you like, you began to lose your train of thoughts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You sigh, your breath unsteady.

“You’re so pretty, so beautiful.” Her wrist is still moving fast on you, you nearly cry at the words she’s saying to you. After all, you ached for this kind of attention from her.

When you try to close your eyes, she wakes you up by adding a third finger. Your head immediately hits one of your pillows as you arch against your bed. “Open your eyes and watch how I fuck you.” And you do as she says.

Her other hand goes back to your knee, spreading you even wider, stretching you out so that it actually begins to hurt. Her voice becomes quieter, lower than before as she talks gently to you, the opposite of how rough she’s handling you. “You’re so fucked up, just the way I like it.”

Your muscles keep clenching and unclenching around her, you feel the heat pool in your stomach. “Shit.” You gasp, your eyes shutting even when she told you to look, you just can’t.

Sweat forms underneath your jaw, falling down your neck. Your body trembles, overwhelmed and you begin to shake underneath her hold again. 

When Sophia feels that you are about to fall apart, she forgets about the mirror. She’s quick at kneeling at your side, in front of you.

Just as your body begins to jerk, she tests something. Her free hand comes back onto your stomach before sliding lower, her thrusts become relentless as she begins to punch your lower abdomen gently, not to hurt you, but to make you fall apart just as prettily as she wanted you to.

And you feel the difference. You feel the pressure differently. You pant harder, your eyes widening at the different sensation and you just couldn’t help but to break at the pressure. Jerking underneath her light taps on you and her fingers stretching you loose. And when she curls her fingers again at the spot you love, you hump harder against her hand, freezing, your chest in the air and your ass digging into your bed, arching your back for her and you finally cum.

Everything seemed like a blur afterwards that you don’t even comprehend her finally taking off her own clothes. It’s when you feel her own breasts against your own, her nipples hardening against your skin, as when your eyes open once more as she leans in.

She doesn’t kiss you yet. Instead, she brings her fingers, the ones that were inside of you to your mouth. You open up for her, tasting yourself off of her fingers. She takes them out of your mouth and into her own, also giving herself a taste.

Sophia gives in with what you want. Her lips on yours once again but they don’t last as long as you’d like. You feel her kissing upon your cheeks, your chin then your jaw, lowering to your shoulders, a kiss upon both of your breasts, your stomach, until she stops right at your pussy where you sat at the mess she made you.

Her gaze lowers past your cunt, and stares drunkenly at the small puddle that sticks to your ass and sheets. Her eyes go back to you, making sure you watch her as her tongue peeks out, dipping at the small puddle, sucking your cum off of your bed.

You watch as her cheeks hollowing as she slurps it up, humming at the way you taste. Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush at the sudden act. You didn’t know, your sweet Sophia had it in her to do such acts like this.

Her hot breath fans over your pussy again. And when she blows on it, you whimper at the sudden contact. She brings up her hand again, this time, using her pointer and middle finger to close your lips together. You were about to say otherwise before she gives an open-mouthed, sloppy wet kiss on your slit, making sure it doesn’t touch your clit.

“I’ve fantasized about this, about you.” She murmurs on your skin, her mouth leaving your cunt and going back to your inner thighs.

Dragging her upper and bottom lip, her tongue and teeth, she trails them in your inner thighs before laying her tongue flat on top of your slit. She could already taste you, her mouth shuddering against the taste in her mouth, her drool already falling down her tongue and onto your pussy. Her hands fists the sheets underneath you two, bracing herself. 

Sophia’s tongue flicks urgently on you. Her mouth sucking on your little nub makes you grind harder into her face and she lets you practically fuck her mouth, so raw, so pathetically because she knew you were desperate for it, all needy for her mouth on you.

“So fucking good.” You hear her moan, you feel the vibration of it, whining softly at her mouth eating you out like she’s been starved. “And it’s all mine.”

Your fingers scratch deep within her scalp while your other arm tries to lean you forward, trying to find the strength to stay sitting up just so you could watch her mouth move beautifully on you.

When Sophia’s eyes meet back to yours, she moves underneath your clit. You feel her lips on your entrance, and before you know it–she begins to slurp haphazardly in your tight hole, sucking the cum out of you, swallowing it possessively in her mouth before going back to your needy clit, circling on it.

“It’s unfair isn’t it?” She murmurs over you. You lost your focus a long time ago so you could barely comprehend what she was saying.

“Denying me this pussy after all these years.” She scrapes her teeth against your clit, making you jump. “You pushing me to my limits.”

“I’ve dreamt about this. Wondering what you’d taste like in my mouth.” You're so wet, she can barely get any friction anymore. “Spent nights alone, my own fingers inside of me, wishing it was yours instead.”

You sob at her words. Her thoughts were too similar to your own. Her fingers unclenched the sheets and grabbed your ass instead, pulling you if not closer than before in her mouth.

You’re close again, you can feel it and so could she. 

She sticks her tongue out, keeping it perfectly still for you before going back to your tight cunt, moving her head back and forth with her tongue inside of you. You automatically clench around the muscle. This new feeling felt too good. Your eyes began to water, tears slowly spilled from the corner of your eyes.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You propped yourself up, steady on your ass, your feet grounded as you used both of your hands in her hair. She realizes what you want, what you need. You keep her head still as you began to fuck her tongue, her mouth. And she lets you.

You’re loud, whining, crying for more, sobbing for a release. Her mouth keeps on making these squelching noises, your taste falling down her chin, her nose kept on bumping against your clit that she’s basically suffocating underneath you. The thought alone, her senses all filled up with you, drives her insane.

You’re too busy fucking her face to notice her legs spread out, her own cunt humping your sheets. Her slick rubbing on your bed, seriously turned on by how desperate you feel on her mouth. Your taste on her tongue, trying to preserve the taste alone.

“That’s it.” You hear her voice on you, her words muffled inside your pussy. “Use my mouth.”

You cum again and Sophia doesn’t waste a second to swallow every bit of drop you give her. Your thighs clenching around her head, suddenly becoming overly sensitive. She holds your legs while you ride it out, losing the rhythm of your hips as you finally lay back on your bed, your hair and blankets sticking to your sweat.

Sophia kisses the insides of your thighs. You whimper, thinking that she’s going to continue. But she shushes you quietly, climbing back on top of you. You don’t miss the way her face looked when she came into your full view, her eyes teary, mouth and nose drenched because of you. She licks her lips, not wasting a drop before she pulls you into another kiss.

You moan at the taste of yourself in her mouth more clearly. Sucking on her tongue, becoming addicted to her lips alone. 

A tear falls in between you two and you soon realize it was coming from you. She pulls away to stare at you, with more warmth, more meaning that were once hidden, finally comes into your view. She kisses that same tear away.

You were far from done however. As soon as you quickly regained your strength, you flipped the two of you over. Switching your position with hers. Sophia’s eyes were shocked, but quickly became composed when she realized what you wanted next.

You pull her legs against her chest as she did with yours earlier. She helped you out by holding her legs in place, ignoring the sting that came with it. You adjusted your position on her, sitting on your knees, your thighs on top of her own. Finally lowering yourself, you felt the brush of your clit against hers and it makes the both of you tremble from it.

“Oh fuck.” Sophia hisses through her teeth, whimpering after once you begin to move on her, your clits bumping against one another.

Her body shakes as she tries to find the will to hold herself still as you move greedily on her, trying to make her cum just as beautifully as you did for her. 

“Baby, fuck–you’re so–” Her jaw loosens when you hump harder on her cunt. Her pussy, all slick and swollen from eating you out so nicely got her more sensitive than you’d thought.

Your cunt on hers felt so perfectly on one another, so easily wet and drenched, neither of you could think about anything else right now.

She chokes on nothing, barely catching her breath with each brush of your clit presses onto hers. And you watch. You love the look on her face when she’s trying to focus on you, but can’t, just like how you are. She’s wrecked, drenched in her sweat and your filth.

“Please, please, please.” Sophia chants, begging needily for you. You grind harder for her, slightly turning your hips to get a better angle. Her thighs twitched beneath you at this new angle, she could feel both of your juices pool down towards her pussy, letting it trail down to your already ruined sheets.

“You’re so soaked.” You whimper out, she lets go of one of her legs, relying on your weight on top of her to reach out to fondle at one of your breasts. You moan louder.

“I’m close, I’m so so close.” She warns you, her head pushed back further into your pillows, her legs becoming strained by how much she’s being stretched out, but she stopped caring. Not with how you felt so good, so right on her, no space in between. Just like how she imagined it to be.

“Go ahead, give it to me.” You tell her. You’re so far gone, and so is she. Your eyes lingered on the expression on her face before looking in between the scene in between her and your own thighs. It’s so messy.

You finally feel her cum. Unlike you, her body jerks tremendously, her own cunt grinding underneath yours as she helps you reach your own peek. She’s loud and vocal and you’re sure you’ll never forget the sound she makes when she comes by the end of this. All you could do is whimper at the sound of her. You freeze on top of her except your legs, your pussy pulsing, clenching around nothing on top of her. 

After coming down from your high, you slowly got off of her, plopping yourself at the empty space next to her on your bed. Sophia immediately turns her head at you, pulling you into her hold. And you let her.

She feels both of your chests swell heavily, both of you catching your breaths. Her skin easily sticks against your own skin from the sweat, but you didn’t care. You pulled her closer, your face pulled in the space underneath her jaw.

You kiss the skin on her collarbone, her shivering from it. She gives you a kiss on top of your head in return, smoothing out your hair while she tangles your legs with hers, her arms cradling your head so preciously.

“Do you love me?” You suddenly ask, whispering against her skin. When she pulls you tighter, that was already confirmation of her answer, but she tells you anyway.

“I do.” Sophia says, as if it was the most simplest thing in the world.

She feels you smile against her skin, the feeling makes her heart flutter inside of her chest.

The air was quiet, like it usually was. But now there was a whole different meaning–perspective to it. Perhaps it was there all along, you were just too blind to realize it from the beginning.

“Do you love me?” She repeats your question to you. You lift your head from her chest, your eyes finding hers.

“I do.” You say, “I do love you.” And you mean it.

Gradually, her perfect smile finally forms on her face for what it seemed to be a long time since you’ve last seen it. And you plan to remember this moment, this memory with her as she finally cups your cheeks, her thumbs rubbing upon it.

You let her pull you in. Her lips press on yours. It wasn’t desperate nor was it filled with any greed, it felt safe. 

You thought the world of Manon.

Everything she does takes your breath away.

You always knew you loved her more than friends should. There’s been a lingering feeling in your chest whenever she’s near, the same feeling squeezes your heart when she’s away.

It’s in a way you memorize the sound of her laugh, her voice alone was enough to lift the corners of your mouth. Your eyes search for hers in every room, in any place. Your days always seemed better when she smiles at you, your heart swelling at the sight.

Loving her has never felt like a choice. It’s just something that’s always been there, quiet and constant, even if you’ve never been brave enough to say it out loud.

You wish you were brave enough.

You thought she deserved to know the truth–how you really felt about her. There were a lot of different moments and chances where you could’ve been honest, but the courage in you never seemed to be enough.

Or perhaps your fear of losing her overlapped your courage.

It’s just…complicated.

You’re too afraid that if you do tell her, it’ll change everything. You don’t think you can stand being strangers, or losing the easy way she says your name, the thought alone eats you alive. You don’t think you can let go of her hand when she reaches for yours as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if her touch alone doesn’t linger even when she’s gone.

So you settled for silence. You swallow the words every time they rise inside your throat. You still smile even when she talks about the boys she likes, even when it feels like your heart is being ripped apart from your chest. 

You tell yourself that being her best friend is enough–that loving her silently is better than not loving her at all.

But some nights, when it’s just the two of you and the world feels small, you wonder how much longer you can pretend your heart doesn’t want more.

Because just being with her was as easy as breathing.

The small things mattered as much as the big moments you would share with her. Whether it was sitting beside her, your knees brushing, her head leaning onto your shoulder, like her warmth didn’t form goosebumps along your arm. It almost makes you believe it was enough.

You should’ve known better.

You should’ve stopped when every laugh you share, every soft glance she gives you, makes the wanting grow. Because the feelings you have for her never seem to vanish as much as you wanted them to. No matter what you do, it stays.

You stay because you don’t think you have the strength to leave.

Often at times, you’d remember the first night you realized your feelings for her. To remember how much some things changed, and how some stayed the same.

You and Manon were young. Not knowing how cruel the world really was.

It was at night during homecoming.  

The gym lights had all sorts of loud colors, matching the strings hanging from the ceiling. The music was loud enough to make the floor jump underneath your feet. Everyone else was having fun laughing, dancing over the beat of the song. 

But all you could see was her.

Manon stood under the lights like they were meant for her. She was laughing at something her date to homecoming said, eyes shining in a way that made your chest tighten from the sight. And when she turned and found you in the middle of the crowd, when she smiled like you were the person she’d been looking for all along, that was when you knew. 

You still remember the way your heart wouldn’t stop screaming inside your chest. The way your eyes couldn’t look anywhere else but her. You kept repeating the same useless words in your head: your friendship, the admiration. As if this were just a passing moment.

It wasn’t.

Because when she ditches her date to run towards you, grabbing your hand to tear you away from your own date, dragging you onto the dance floor, fingers intertwined together so naturally, you knew.

You knew this wasn’t something that would pass.

And years later, standing beside her still, it hasn’t.

You now stood next to her inside a Starbucks, sipping on your frappuccino while Manon stuck a straw into hers. The quiet comfort between you felt the same as it did back then. You wore matching jean shorts, your flannel hugging your waist, while her shirt dipped enough to expose her shoulder.

She led you to an empty table, her hand always finding yours. She doesn’t even let go as she sits next to you, both of you watching strangers pass by through the window.

Manon pointed at your drink and teased you about always ordering the same thing, rolling her eyes playfully. You shoved her shoulder lightly in response, and she laughed, that same laugh that still filled butterflies in your stomach no matter how many times you heard it.

She leans her chin against her hand, playing with her straw, her eyes drowning into yours. A small smile fell upon her face, almost making you believe she was admiring you as you complained to her about the apartment that was stolen from you.

You continued to complain, not knowing how hard she was staring at you. Not before her silence comes to a stop.

“Why don’t you move in with me?”

The words hung in the air. She said it was such a casualty, like it was as simple as it sounded.

You stopped talking.

Your eyes finally looked into hers, searching her face for a hint of a joke. But she wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t teasing. She was watching you carefully, as if she meant it.

“Move in with you?” You repeated softly.

Manon shrugged, trying to act unbothered, but her fingers were still fidgeting with the straw. “Yeah. It makes sense. We’re always together anyway.”

You lost the words that were already forming in your mouth. Your first thought was to refuse immediately. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you knew it was dangerous. For you at least. Just the thought of seeing her more than you already do, living together, her things mixing in with yours, her presence lingering every step you’d take inside her apartment, drives you crazy. You knew it would be too much before the blurred line between best friends and everything you were trying so hard to hide would pour out all at once.

Manon wouldn’t stop looking at you. Her eyes were hopeful, filled with warmth, waiting for the simple yes fall right out of your mouth.

You swallowed, trying to steady your heart.

“You’re not serious.” You say, laughing nervously. You leaned back cautiously, noticing the small distance between you.

She nods slowly, eyes narrowing at the way you pulled away–almost offended until they softened, like she suddenly understood how heavy the question was. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

You weren’t calm, like at all.

Both your heart and your mind raced. Moving in meant more than just late nights on the couch, sharing meals, the mornings you would have just by being the first thing she sees when you wake up. It meant more than just the proximity and the closeness you would have with her.

Everything you struggled to control–your feelings, your longing, the fear of being too close might end up being the reason you lose her–

But it meant having more time with her.

Manon reaches for your hand again, thumb brushing over your skin before intertwining her fingers with yours. “It would be fun. We’d save money and spend more time together.” She tried to light up the mood. Noticing your hesitation, it only worries her further.

You stared at your laced fingers, and then at her eyes. Your will to refuse only weakens.

You tried to remove your hand from hers, but her hands only seemed to tighten.

“Manon.” You sighed, unsure how to word everything you’ve been feeling.

She tilts her head, trying to find your eyes again. Still patient, like no matter what you say, it wouldn’t change a thing.

“Moving in together,” You start, a lump forming in your throat, “It can change a lot of things.”

You notice the way her face falls, until she quickly changes as if she had something to hide as well.

“I know,” her voice was low, “But we’re already in each other's lives so much. I don’t think it would change a lot if you do decide to move in with me.”

You stared at her for a moment, trying to read her face, like you always seemed to be doing.

“It might,” you said gently. “Even small things can change.”

Manon hesitates. You're watching the way her throat bobbles as she swallows.

“If it changes,” she replied softly, “then we handle it together.”

Her small promise hits harder than you expected. Because being together had always been the unspoken rule between you. Through different breakups, bad days, and celebrations–it was always the two of you against everything else.

You’re just afraid that by doing this, it’ll be you against her.

She gives you a small, shy smile, leaning in closer.

“Please?”

You look at her hand still wrapped around yours, at the way she’s sitting close enough that you can feel the warmth of her shoulder against yours.

How could you ever say no to her?

You sat in her living room, well, your living room now.

Boxes were scattered around the floor, half-unpacked clothes piled on the couch, and picture frames leaning against the wall waiting to be placed somewhere meaningful. The space already felt different just because your things were in it too.

You spent hours unpacking, laughing at the random items you both forgot you owned, arguing playfully over where your things should be placed.

Manon wouldn’t leave your side.

She’d be next to you every few minutes, holding boxes or stealing small glances at you while pretending to focus on unpacking.

At one point, she held up something of yours–a shirt you’d been looking for.

“You were going to leave this behind?” she teased, raising a brow.

You reached for it, but instead of handing it over immediately, she held it just out of reach, lifting it over both of you, smiling like she enjoyed annoying you.

“Manon, come on–” You laughed, going on your tippy toes to reach for the shirt–only for her to lift it even higher. It was stupid, you were the same height as her, and yet, you were too busy laughing to notice your chest pressed right up front against hers.

You stopped laughing. So does she.

You hadn’t meant to get that close.

Her arm dipped enough for the shirt to slip from her fingers, forgotten, lying on the floor. But neither of you looked down. 

You couldn’t look away, even when your mind screamed to.

The rhythm of her heartbeat, or maybe it was yours–fast and uneven where your chests touched.

Your brain crumbles when a smile slowly crawls up her face. Not teasingly, as if she were searching for something on your face.

“Sorry,” she murmured, though she didn’t step back.

You didn’t either.

You felt her warmth through your shirt. It was comforting, something you had always found within her. It felt a little different this time, closer, softer.

Her eyes flickered between yours, hesitant for the first time in years. Manon was never hesitant with you. Never unsure.

That was when you stepped back.

The fear, you were just too afraid.

As soon as you stepped back, so did she. Like she was preparing herself for that exact reaction. As if she’d known you’d react like that.

The warmth soon vanished, replaced by a space that you created. Not because you wanted to, but because you were just too scared if you stayed too close for that long.

“Oh,” Manon said. The word alone has guilt plastered upon your face.

You hated how her voice grew low. Like the confidence in her disappeared. The way she tried to steady herself, straightening her posture, faking a coughing sound to ignore the awkward space in between.

“I’m sorry,” you told her, even though you weren’t sure what exactly you were even apologizing for. For stepping back. For being scared. For wanting her too much.

She shook her head, the smile still on her face, it just didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s fine,” she laughs nervously.

“It’s nothing.” She added.

But it wasn’t nothing.

Not when she means everything.

You watched in guilt at the way she bent down a little too quickly to grab your shirt from the floor, like she needed something in her hands to take away this unneeded silence. The way she wouldn’t even look into your eyes now, focusing too hard on folding the shirt that didn’t even need folding.

“Manon.” You said her name again, softer than before.

She turned around before you could even start your sentence. The sound of her name with your voice has her nearly flinching, like she was sensitive to it. She placed the shirt on the couch instead of handing it to you.

“It’s fine.” She pushed, staring at your shirt on the couch. “We were just playing around. Don’t make it weird.”

Don’t make it weird.

Too late for that.

Your heart clenches when she starts walking away into the kitchen, the distance growing bigger. You still stood in the living room, unsure what to do next.

And for the first time since moving in, you wondered if this was exactly what you were afraid of.

Not losing her completely.

Just losing the way she used to look at you.

Things haven’t changed much since.

You both quietly agreed to ignore whatever that was that night. To pretend it was really nothing at all. To go on without thinking that a small moment like that nearly changed things you were so afraid of changing.

It was easier that way.

But things weren’t as easy as you hoped they would be.

It started because she touched your laundry.

You marched into her room, slamming her door wide open, the door hitting her wall dramatically. You stood at the edge of her bed, holding your hoodie up as if it were a piece of evidence for a crime scene.

“Why was my hoodie in your laundry pile?” You asked, your fingers nearly digging into the fabric.

Manon doesn’t even look at you, her fingers too busy flipping through the pages of her magazine.

But you swore, you saw the slightest tremble from her fingers.

She shrugs, “It was on the floor.”

“It was not on the floor.”

Manon finally looks at you as if you said something completely stupid.

“It was lying next to my basket.”

“Okay?” Your arm falls, the fabric still tight around your fingers. “Next to is not inside.”

She sighed, flipping another page. “It was going to end up in my load anyway.” Manon shrugs again, slowly becoming nervous from this topic alone.

You gave her another odd look.

She looks up at you again. “I was already doing laundry.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why my clothes are mixing in with yours.” You pushed.

“I literally just told you why.” Manon sighs, her fingers pressing a little too hard against the paper of her magazine. “I don’t see why this is such a big deal.”

You sighed, pinching your nose bridge.

This was not worth wasting your energy.

“It’s not just,” You shook your head, “ask next time.” You completed, trying to read her eyes.

Manon doesn’t answer right away. Just silently watching her throat swallowing, as if she was about to admit something–then doesn’t.

She just nods.

You turn around, about to leave her room. You almost hear the way she lets out a sigh of relief, not before your head turns back towards her, forgetting something.

“By the way,” You start, “I’ll be working late, so don’t wait for me. Alright?”

Manon nods again.

Still quiet, still hiding something.

You watch her for a second longer.

She’s just sitting on her bed, magazine still half-open, pretending to read–but her eyes aren’t moving across the page.

“You’ve been staying up late,” you pointed out. “Get some sleep.” You say softly.

She doesn’t respond right away.

You expect maybe a small “okay.” Or a sarcastic comment. Or anything.

But there’s nothing.

You don’t wait for another second. You slowly walked out of her room, nodding to yourself at her silence. You didn’t want to bother any longer. The door closes gently behind you, a soft thud just hitting the walls. You walked away from her room like the conversation was over. Like it didn’t matter.

Like it was just another one of your petty arguments that would be forgotten by tomorrow and be mixed into all the other small disagreements you both tend to forget after a few days.

But you just can’t get rid of this feeling that this argument felt different than the rest.

As if Manon were hiding something.

You hated how moments like that made you overanalyze everything.

The interaction kept being replayed over in your head again and again as you got ready for work, overthinking the way she kept avoiding your eyes or how her voice got more firm by each complaint you’d tell her. You questioned whether your tone made it seem like you were blaming her instead of just setting a boundary. 

You begin to think that this wasn’t about laundry anymore.

It bothered you more that you were growing distant from her when the entire point of moving in with her should’ve brought the two of you closer. It made you uneasy because it felt like something deeper was hiding underneath these petty arguments.

You care about her.

More than what could be put into words, more than you sometimes allow yourself to even admit. You never allowed yourself to care this much because you knew things like this would happen. 

But this was about Manon.

She is why this is different.

Because with every sigh that leaves her mouth, it carries a small frustration. Or every time she doesn’t respond, it feels intentional.

You almost felt as if she was being more confusing than honest.

And you aren’t sure if that was her fault,

Or yours.

Manon waits for the sound of your keys to lock the front door.

She doesn’t move right away. She just sits there, head against the bed frame, magazine still held carelessly in her hands. The door shuts softly before she hears the metallic click faintly through the hallway.

She sighs, dropping the magazine to the floor.

The apartment always felt different once you left. Like your presence still lingers even after you spend hours at night somewhere else.

She notices that you’ve been doing that lately, staying late at work when she knew you didn’t really have to. It’s like she had this feeling that you were avoiding her. 

Manon didn’t think too much of it at first. Sure, you had extra tasks and deadlines to meet, or even meetings that ran longer than usual. She never complained each time. People stay late at work all the time. It wasn’t strange. It wasn’t suspicious.

But when it turns into something more than once or twice, it is hard to pretend that it wasn’t bothering her. She tells herself she’s overthinking. Still, she can’t shake the feeling.

Because she knows you.

She knows you the best.

She studies you. The way sweat still clings to your skin after a heavy night at work, a small complaint leaving your breath, dropping your bag carelessly with a sigh. She knows the patterns of your behavior, especially when you’re avoiding something.

You’ve been careful with your words, distant.

She doesn’t understand why you would be.

Not when this was supposed to make everything easier.

Living together meant closing the distance. It was supposed to mean late-night talks with cheap beer in your hands, having instant, quick dinners, comfort in knowing the other person was just a few steps away.

That was her entire goal.

To be closer to you.

The idea of moving in together came up from the spot. She wasn’t planning it intentionally, but after hearing for weeks about you not getting the apartment that you wanted, it just felt wrong not to offer her space to you.

Now, sitting alone in the quiet apartment, she’s beginning to think that she misread the situation entirely. Or maybe that offering closeness felt like she put pressure on you.

She never meant to offer this place to trap you. She just wanted you closer. Not farther away.

Another sigh falls from her lips.

Manon got up from her bed, her steps feeling heavier than usual.

Her door was still wide open, her room just across from yours.

She stands there for a moment in the hallway, staring at the empty doorway to your room. The lights are off. Your bed is made. 

The laundry basket still tucked away in the corner.

She promised that she wouldn’t do this again.

She told herself that she shouldn’t. She knows she shouldn’t.

It was wrong, so wrong, but even then her footsteps wouldn’t come to a pause the second she walked from her room to yours. She doesn’t turn on the lights, doesn’t bother to close the door behind her. 

She just walks inside.

Your room smells like you–clean, something all too familiar to her. It makes her chest tighten, the warmth in her belly pooling. 

The bed is still neatly made. Untouched.

She walks closer to your bed, her fingers trailing alongside the edge of your sheets, feeling the coolness of it beneath her skin. There’s something intimate about standing here when you’re not around. She still feels guilty about it, invading your space only when you’re gone.

She knows that this was wrong, but this is the closest she’s felt to you all day.

Her fingers trail higher to your pillows. Neatly fluffed, lying against the bed frame. Her hands tremble against the fabric, just knowing that every night, you lie in this bed, your presence, your smell–your touch, lingers right upon this bed is almost too much. Hates that something so simple, this bed, your pillow–can feel so overwhelming.

This was ridiculous, she knows it is.

Right as she was about to leave, pretending that she was never here, preparing to lie about her whereabouts once you ask what she’s been up to all night, she catches a glimpse of the laundry basket, tucked away in the corner. The same one you argued about just an hour earlier.

Manon straightens quickly. She stares at it, trying to remember the little self-control she has.

Suddenly, she feels like the room is slowly becoming aware of her presence. Like something that shouldn’t be inside, but it already is.

Her gaze lingers on the laundry basket, remembering the way you pushed about boundaries, about asking first. 

How ironic.

Her feet began to move before she could even decide to move them, walking towards the basket. Her hands were just shaking slightly by her side, as if she was holding herself back.

As she stands right in front of it, her hands reach for one of your shirts hanging on the edge. A soft gasp already leaves her lips as the fabric touches her skin.

She swallows.

The fabric moves against her fingertips, just getting a touch. But just knowing you wore this, your skin leaving an imprint, your scent lingering on the cloth, it almost hurts. Her thumb presses lightly into the fabric, almost unconsciously, like she’s trying to memorize the feeling. The feeling of you against her own touch.

Manon doesn’t stop herself when she lifts your shirt to her face, closing her eyes, inhaling the scent.

A whimper leaves her mouth.

She pressed the fabric closer to her face, rubbing on her cheek, nose pressing so hard against it that all she could smell, feel–was you.

She told herself that every night would be the last, but she just keeps coming in here. Doing the same, forbidden things. Invading your room.

And not once have you caught on.

Until tonight. 

But not even then was that enough to stop her.

She can’t stop, not when this is the closest thing to you. She rubs the shirt against her skin, her cheek, her neck; she can’t get enough. Like she wants to bathe in everything you own.

“Fuck.” She sighs, blush already evident on her face. Pussy already leaking from your scent.

She remembers all the nights she’d snuck into your room when you were out late. Feet trembling against the floor once she’d step past your door frame. Fingers shaking just to touch whatever you leave behind.

Some nights, just smelling and stealing some of your clothes was enough. And some, more than most, she’d stay in here. Sleeping underneath your comforter, face pressed onto the pillows where you would lie. Nose pressing against it as if it were you instead. Fingers playing with herself underneath her shorts as she lies in your bed, not caring if she was being loud or not. You weren’t home, you’re never home.

Manon closes her eyes. She already feels herself soaking through her panties.

She hates that she’s so easy when it comes to you. Just the mere thought of your face, your scent hovering all around your room, was enough to get her off. It’s no use to deny she spends more time in your room than she does in her own.

She breathes in your scent deeper, her cunt dripping into her panties. Legs already trembling just by standing so still in the corner of your room. 

Her eyes opened, remembering where she was, what she was doing.

Guilt falls upon her face almost immediately.

It’s a cycle every time. She gets too caught up in the moment before realizing reality. Then the shame comes.