The morning after didn’t feel like morning at all.
The light leaking through the curtains was soft and forgiving, but everything else was sharp. The weight of what we’d done pressed down on my chest like a stone.
I hadn’t slept much. I doubted Dylan had either. He hadn’t said a word when he got out of bed, just pressed a lingering kiss to my shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.
Now I sat on the edge of the mattress, clutching the sheet to my chest, listening to the sound of running water.
It should have felt like something good. Like a release.
Instead, it felt like a beginning I didn’t ask for.
The bathroom door creaked open. Dylan stepped out, towel slung low around his hips, hair damp, eyes unreadable. He paused when he saw me still sitting there, like he wasn’t sure h
