The question lands differently. Less playful, more…sincere.
I swallow, my laughter fading into something quieter. My first instinct is to deflect, toss back some witty retort about clowns or public speaking. But his gaze holds me in a way that makes lying impossible.
“Losing people.” The words come out too quickly, like I’ve been holding them back without realizing. I shrug, trying to coat them in nonchalance. “Not in a tragic way. Just…quiet. The kind that creeps in until you realize they’re already gone.” But that’s not the whole truth.
It’s not about peopledriftingaway. It’s about how they can vanish, suddenly and without warning. Without a chance to say the things you thought you had forever to say. It’s about absence that’s instant.
The unsaid words sit heavy in my chest, pressing down like a weight I’ve grown used to carrying.
Hayden doesn’t say anything right away. But his expression shifts. To recognition, maybe. Or empathy.
“I get that,” he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges, and I believe him.
The air thickens, heavy with a tension we haven’t named but can’t ignore. As if we’ve been circling this moment for days, maybe weeks, and finally stumbled into the space where everything might combust.
We keep walking, our hands brushing occasionally, each spark more electric than the last. And then we turn a corner and stumble into a small alcove tucked away from the main hall. A pocket of quiet washed in amber light. The scent of old paper wraps around us. Dust dances in the window light, and time itself seems to pause.
Hayden shifts beside me, the edge of his coat brushing my hand, and every nerve ending in me wakes up. I glance at him just as he glances at me. The air tilts. My breath shortens. I study the curve of his mouth, the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s holding back something he’s not sure he should let out.
“What are you thinking?” I breathe, afraid a full voice might shatter whatever this is.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. I swear I feel it, like he touched me without moving. Something flickers behind his eyes. Hunger, maybe. Or hesitation.
“I’m thinking”—his eyes drop to my mouth again, slow and deliberate—“that I don’t want to overthink things for once.”
My heart stutters. I don’t move…not away, not closer. I’m suspended in the space between us, caught in the gravity of him. He leans in, slow enough to stop or to change his mind. Slow enough that I feel every inch of the space between us collapsing. Like he’s giving me the chance to change my mind.
I don’t.
We’re so close now I can feel the heat of his breath against my lips. I catch the gold ring around his irises, and for a split second, I swear I see every century he’s lived flicker there. Hungry, afraid, and wanting. My pulse drums in my ears:Please, please, please.His hand lifts, slow and cautious, his fingers brushing my jaw, featherlight. His thumb ghosts over my cheek like a question I want to answer with my whole body.
With everything I am.
Hayden moves closer, nose brushing against mine, and I swear something in the air snaps. The feeling right before a storm breaks. The one right before a life changes. My breath stumbles and my knees threaten betrayal. And every nerve in my body lights up like they’ve been waiting centuries, too.
Still, he doesn’t kiss me. Torture masked as patience. There is almost a live wire between us.
Instead, his forehead drops against mine, and he exhales a shaky breath that catches in my chest.
“This feels…” he starts, then stops.
“Yeah,” I whisper, and what I mean to say isIt’s everything.
Then he closes the final inch and the world just…ignites.
Not tentatively. Not sweetly.
Like a match to gasoline.
The first brush is heat and hesitation all at once, and I gasp, leaning in, meeting it with a hunger I didn’t realize I’d been carrying. He responds instantly, lips pressing deeper against mine, teeth grazing, tongue sliding past my lips like he’s done holding back. Like this kiss has been living inside him too long and it’s finally clawing its way out.
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, anchoring me there. And fuck, I need it, because the second our mouths really crash together, I forget how to stand. I clutch his coat, fingers fisting in the fabric. Not to pull him closer—he’s already there—but to keep from floating away. He groans into the kiss, low and raw. I feel it in my bones.
It shifts. Grows hungrier and needier, like we’re making up for lost time.
When we finally break apart, we’re both panting. Our foreheads stay pressed together, our breaths mingling and hearts pounding like they’re racing to memorize each other’s rhythm.
But it’s not just us reacting.
