The house was quiet except for the soft rhythm of their footsteps crossing the hall. Dawn hadn’t fully broken yet; pale light spilled through the wide windows, painting faint silver lines across the floor. The air carried that early-morning coolness, the kind that feels fragile, like it could shatter with one wrong word.
Andrea followed Daniel into the kitchen, her pulse still unsteady from the night before. Every time she blinked, she could still feel the press of his forehead against hers, the rough tremor in his voice when he’d said he was done pretending.
They hadn’t kissed again after that. They didn’t need to. The confession itself had felt more intimate than anything physical. But the air around them was still thick with what almost happened and what would inevitably happen.
Mic
