Page 34 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

“I wanted to,” he said.

Just like that.

Effortless.

After dinner, we walked to his apartment.

Everything felt slowed. Delayed. Romantic.

I looked at him, and he looked back at me.

We smiled.

The air was cool.

His hand brushing mine.

Not accidental. Not fully intentional either.

Just enough to linger.

Later—

His place.

Dim lights.

Closer now.

Everything seemed quieter. More certain.

My hands brushed his face, and I looked at him like he was something rare.

And the way he looked at me was like something he had already decided he wanted for the rest of his life.

And for a moment, I believed it.

Sheets tangled.

Skin warm.

Our breaths intertwining between our trembling lips.

The room wrapped in a silence that felt full instead of empty.

I looked down at him—pained yet satisfied—and he was already looking up at me, gazing at an altar he’d waited his whole life to praise.

That same look.

Soft.

Certain.

Like I was the only thing in the world.

“You’re dangerous,” I said, half-joking.

He smiled. Slightly wicked. “Only if you let me be.”