The morning after the wine felt heavier than it should have.
I woke up with a dull headache and the taste of regret still on my tongue. Not from the bottles. From the question neither of us had answered. Never have I ever thought about the person across from me in the shower. Both of us had kept our hands up. Both of us had lied with our silence.
I dragged myself to the kitchen and found Leo already there, back to me, pouring coffee. He wore a black T-shirt and the same low jeans from last night. His hair was still damp from a shower. The smell of his soap mixed with the coffee and made my stomach twist.
“Morning,” he said without turning around.
“Morning.”
He handed me a mug. Our fingers brushed. Neither of us pulled away fast enough. The air between us still carried last night’s alm
