I told myself I wouldn’t get this close again.
Not to you.
Not after all the almost-moments, the lingering glances, the way silence between us always felt louder than words. But that night, everything shifted. The air was warmer, heavier… like it was waiting for something neither of us dared to say.
You stood just inches away, close enough that I could feel your breath brush against my skin. My heart betrayed me instantly—faster, louder, impossible to ignore. I tried to look away, to hold onto whatever control I had left, but you didn’t let me.
“Stay,” you whispered.
And I did.
Your hand found mine first—simple, soft… but it sent a spark through me I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just a touch. It was a question, a risk, a line we both knew we were about to cross.
I should’ve pulled back.
I didn’t.
Instead, I stepped closer.
That’s when everything unraveled.
Your fingers traced slowly up my arm, leaving a trail of heat behind. My breath caught, and I felt myself leaning into you without thinking. Every inch of space between us disappeared until there was nothing left but the tension we had been holding back for so long.
“Tell me to stop,” you said quietly.
But I couldn’t.
Because I didn’t want you to.
When your hand gently lifted my chin, forcing me to meet your eyes, I knew I was already lost. There was no turning back—not from this, not from you.
And when our lips finally met, soft but certain, it wasn’t just a kiss.
It was the moment I stopped pretending I had any control at all.
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