“Yeah,” Tilly said. “You?”
“I… yeah.” Her voice thinned.
She looked around the room like she’d forgotten where she was. Or maybe she remembered too clearly.
Tilly sat up too, slow and careful. “You sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine,” Savannah said quickly. Too quickly.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for her pants. Tilly watched her fingers fumble the first button. She paused. Exhaled. Tried again. This time, she got it, but her hands trembled just slightly.
She wasn’t embarrassed.
She wasn’t uncomfortable.
She wasn’t regretting last night.
She was overwhelmed.
Tilly stood and grabbed their shirt. They didn’t put it on right away. Their eyes stayed on Savannah, studying her carefully, trying to gauge the new distance forming in the air.
Savannah didn’t look back.
When she pulled her shirt over her head, her hands lingered at the hem like she needed the fabric to anchor her. She tucked her hair behind her ears and brushed nothing off her sleeve, a nervous tic she probably didn’t even realize she had.
“We should… head back soon,” she murmured.
There it was.
The retreat.
It wasn’t cruel.
It wasn’t dismissive.
It was self-protection. Pure and simple.
Tilly forced a steady nod. “Right. Yeah.”
Savannah grabbed her coat and walked past them to the door. Her fingers brushed Tilly’s forearm out of habit, a leftover instinct from the night before.
But she pulled her hand back fast.
Too fast.
“Sav…” Tilly said softly.
She froze for half a second, back to them. Then she turned with a small, too-careful smile.
“We’re okay,” she said. Not as reassurance. As a boundary.
Tilly felt something sink low in their chest. “Yeah. Of course we are.”
Savannah’s eyes flicked down. Then away. She nodded once, shallow and shaky, like she wasn’t sure she believed her own words.
She opened the door.
Cold hallway air spilled into the room.
