She listened to Tilly’s breathing, steady and close, and tried to match it.
Her mind kept circling the same thought, awkward and persistent. What happens next?
With men, there had always been a script. An expectation. A correct thing to do that everyone pretended wasn’t expected at all. She’d learned it early. Followed it without thinking.
This didn’t come with a script.
Savannah shifted slightly, then stopped, unsure if even that was okay. Her fingers hovered, uncertain, before settling lightly against Tilly’s arm.
“Can I ask you something?” Her voice came out quieter than she intended.
Tilly hummed softly, turning just enough to face her. “Yeah.”
Savannah swallowed. She hated how clumsy this felt, how she suddenly didn’t trust her instincts anymore. “Do you… do you want me to—” She trailed off, heat creeping up her neck. “I mean. For you.”
The silence that followed was gentle, not sharp. Tilly didn’t pull away. Didn’t tense. They just watched her, expression soft and careful.
“No,” they said, just as softly.
Savannah blinked, her stomach dipping. Not hurt. Just wrong-footed. “Oh. Okay. I just—” She shook her head, embarrassed. “Oh, right.”
They reached for her hand, slow enough that Savannah could pull back if she wanted. When she didn’t, their fingers laced together. “I’m a stone top. That’s what it’s called.”
Savannah nodded, even though the words took a second to land. Stone top. She filed it away carefully, like something fragile she didn’t want to mishandle.
She waited for the other feeling to hit. The one that usually did. Guilt. Pressure. The sense that she’d failed some invisible test.
It didn’t come.
Instead, there was relief. And confusion. And a strange, steady warmth in her chest.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said, because it felt important to say out loud.
Tilly squeezed her hand. “You okay?”
Savannah thought about it. About how different this felt. About how different she felt. “Yeah,” she said finally. “I just… I’m still learning.”
Tilly smiled at that. Not amused. Not indulgent. Just gentle. “Me too.”
Savannah let herself relax then, curling closer, letting the quiet stretch between them without trying to fill it. For the first time, not knowing what came next didn’t feel like a failure.
The warmth that had wrapped her whole body began to recede, leaving certain places too noticeable, too sharply defined. The quiet felt heavier now, like it had edges.
Savannah became aware of herself again in a way she hadn’t been a few minutes ago. Too aware. Of bare skin. Of the way the air felt different against her stomach, her shoulders. Of how exposed she suddenly felt now that the questions had been asked and answered.
She shifted, then stilled, unsure if the movement was noticeable. Her fingers found the edge of the blanket, worrying the fabric between them, twisting it slightly as if she could fold herself back into it piece by piece.
She hadn’t meant to pull away, but she felt herself doing it anyway, inching back just enough to reach the covers. The blanket slid up awkwardly, catching on her elbow. She tugged it higher, then higher still, until it was bunched against her collarbone.
It wasn’t about being seen. Not exactly.
With men, she’d known what bare skin was for. What it signaled. What came next? Here, there was no clear next step, and the openness of that left her feeling unmoored.
She picked at the blanket again, smoothing it, then wrinkling it, like she couldn’t decide what shape she wanted to take up in the space between them. Part of her worried she’d already done something wrong. Asked the wrong question. Missed a cue, she didn’t know how to read yet.
Tilly noticed. Of course they did.
They didn’t say anything right away. Just shifted closer, careful not to crowd her, and adjusted the blanket so it covered Savannah without fuss, without making a thing of it.
