Not pain. Not soreness. Just the strange, lingering memory of warmth that had no reason to still be there.
They stared at the ceiling, trying to file it under something manageable. Stress. Lack of sleep. Too much caffeine.
It didn’t file.
The parking lot came back in flashes. The sound of keys. The hum of the lights. The way Savannah had stepped forward was like she’d decided something in real time.
The kiss itself was almost nothing.
The aftermath was everything.
They reached for their phone anyway.
No missed calls. No texts. A few emails. A short note from Aimee saying the parking-ban piece had looked good. A group chat was lighting up with arguments about last night’s hockey scores.
Nothing from Savannah.
Not that there should have been. They didn’t text.
Tilly locked the screen and swung their legs out of bed.
They dressed quickly and automatically. Jeans. Hoodie. Binder adjusted until the lines looked right in the mirror. Shoes by the door. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the heater kicking on.
In the kitchen, they poured coffee into a chipped mug.
The coffee was hotter than they liked, but they drank it anyway. It gave their mind something simple to focus on.
It didn’t fix the restless feeling sitting low in their chest.
They tried not to think about yesterday.
They tried not to think about the wind on the sidewalk or the moment Savannah had laughed softly under her breath.
Thinking about it didn’t help.
They grabbed their bag and left.
The newsroom was still waking up when Tilly walked in. A few monitors glowed in the dimness, casting long shapes across empty desks. Someone in the back was making coffee that smelled burnt. Usually, this quiet felt grounding. Today, it felt thin.
Tilly headed straight to the edit bay and started the backup; they never trusted the overnight servers to do it correctly. The hum of the old machine filled the space.
“Morning, early bird.”
Harper leaned into the doorway, holding two coffees she clearly did not need.
Tilly kept their eyes on the screen.
“Servers lag. I like to check before everything piles up.”
“You like control,” Harper said. “There’s a difference.”
“Control works.”
She gave them one of her looks, the kind she saved for moments when she wanted to say something but also wanted to get to her desk. “Aimee was talking about your package this morning. Said you and Savannah made good TV.”
Tilly stilled for half a second. “Savannah did fine.”
“You both did,” Harper said, then grinned and walked off.
