The city outside was still half-buried in snow, quiet in that early-morning way that made everything feel paused. Tilly locked their door behind them and stood for a moment in the cold, breath fogging the air.
Savannah Wells had kissed them.
They had kissed her back.
Tilly rested their forehead briefly against the doorframe, eyes closed.
“She doesn’t want this,” they whispered to no one. “So don’t want it either.”
It was a lie.
A necessary one.
They straightened, shoved their hands into their pockets, and headed for the car. Work would give them something to focus on. Routine always did. Cameras. Cables. Checklists. Things with clear edges and rules.
They were halfway to the station when their phone buzzed in the cup holder.
Tilly ignored it.
It buzzed again.
They glanced down, already annoyed, then sighed when they saw the name.
Mom.
“Shit,” they muttered, and signaled before pulling over. Snow crunched under the tires as they stopped along the curb. They stared at the screen for a beat, thumb hovering.
Then they answered.
“Hey,” they said.
“Tilly.” Their mom sounded relieved. “You’re up early.”
“Storm coverage,” they said. “What’s up?”
“I just wanted to check in.” A pause. “You sound tired.”
“I am.”
No point lying. She never bought it anyway.
“You sleeping okay?”
“Not really.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Did something happen?” she asked, not gently, not sharply. Just direct.
Tilly leaned their head back against the seat and blew out a breath.
“I kissed someone,” they said.
Silence.
Then, “Okay.”
“And now I’m pretending I didn’t,” Tilly added. “Which is worse?”
