The cab felt too warm suddenly.
Tilly whispered, “Savannah… if we talk about this, I’m going to say something I can’t take back.”
Savannah’s breath came shallow. “Then say it.”
“No.” They shook their head, eyes flashing with something sharp. “Because I’m already halfway gone and I don’t know if you even—”
Savannah didn’t let them finish.
She moved.
Not gently.
Not cautiously.
Just — instinct.
Heat.
Impulse firing like a match to oil.
She grabbed the front of Tilly’s coat and pulled them in hard, kissing them before she could think.
Tilly inhaled sharply — not in fear, not in confusion, but in shock that she finally did it.
And then they kissed her back.
Not trembling.
Not hesitant.
Not careful.
Sure.
Certain.
Like they’d been holding this exact moment between their teeth for weeks.
Tilly’s hand came up fast, threading into the back of her hair with firm, deliberate pressure, angling her closer like they’d imagined doing it a dozen times already. Their mouth met hers again, deeper, no pause, no stutter — just raw, hungry relief.
The kiss was messy and heated and absolutely inevitable.
Savannah felt it in her ribs, her spine, her knees — the way Tilly kissed like they’d been waiting for permission they never actually needed.
Her fingers curled in their coat.
Tilly’s thumb brushed her jaw, steady, sure, coaxing her deeper like they knew exactly what they were doing and exactly how much they wanted her.
Savannah didn’t know who pulled who closer — didn’t care.
All she knew was the heat of Tilly’s mouth, the surety of their hand, and the dizzying truth hitting her all at once:
Tilly has wanted this.
Tilly has wanted me.
The kiss broke like a snapped wire.
