The bus jolted over a bump, snapping Addison awake. For a moment, she was disoriented by the darkness and the faint hum of tires against the road. Somewhere, someone snored softly, the sound blending with the low murmur. Her head felt heavy, her cheek was warm against something solid. It took her another second to realize why--she was leaning against Hunter.
Her heart spiked, the rush of adrenaline freezing her in place. She didn't dare move, barely breathing as she slowly realized Hunter was awake.
She knew because she could see the faint light from his phone, his thumb lazily swiping the screen. He was still reading. A book, she realized after squinting at the faint text, something about philosophy. Philosophy? At this hour? The very thought of it made her head hurt. If she'd tried to read that, she would've fallen asleep three times before the first paragraph.
Maybe he wasn't wrong about her. She didn't have the patience for heavy literature or anything remotely intellectual like that. She preferred rom-coms and light fantasies, books that required no thinking.
Hunter's thumb moved again, his arm shifting just enough to remind her exactly where she was. The muscles in his forearm tensed, and she felt them against her side, solid and warm. Like a bucket of ice water, the situation hit her again. Her head was against his shoulder, her whole side pressed into his like they were cozy or something.
She could imagine how it had happened. He was way more comfortable than the cold, hard window she'd been leaning against before. But what made absolutely no sense was why he was letting her.
Addison's first instinct was to jerk away, but if she moved now, he'd know she'd realized. Worse, he'd say something. Probably something snarky about how she was drooling or how she smelled like wet socks or whatever other creative insult he could come up with.
His phone buzzed softly, the faint vibration barely audible. He swiped it into silence with a quick flick of his thumb, then opened the notification. Addison told herself to look away, but her curiosity won out.
The text was from his mom.
It didn't make much sense--fragmented sentences and typos. A drunk text. Addison's chest tightened despite herself. It was weird to think about Hunter having to deal with something like that. He always seemed so untouchable. She heard him sigh softly, a sound so quiet it almost didn't register, but it carried a weight that hit her square in the chest.
He didn't respond to the message. Just stared at it for a beat before closing the app and locking his phone. The light disappeared, plunging them both back into the dark.
Addison froze, waiting for him to finally push her off. But he didn't. He just settled into his seat, silent, his breathing even and steady.
And warm.
God, he was warm. She couldn't stop herself from sinking just a little further into his side, her body shivering as his warmth seeped into her. He smelled good too. A mix of clean laundry and something distinctly masculine.
He turned slightly, just enough for the edge of his jaw to graze her hair. She stiffened, her heart pounding in her ears.
Don't move, don't move, don't move.
She snapped her eyes shut, pretending to be fast asleep, praying he wouldn't say something or worse, shove her away. But he didn't. Instead, his arm moved, his fingers brushing her arm so lightly it was almost like a whisper. Even so, the touch burned, leaving her skin tingling in its wake. Before she could process it, he shifted again.
And then something warm and heavy draped over her shoulders.
Addison's eyes fluttered open just a fraction. His hoodie. He'd covered her with his hoodie.
Her chest tightened, a mix of embarrassment and something heavier, something warmer, that she refused to name. What was he doing? Why was he being... nice? It didn't make sense.
No, this wasn't kindness. It was just politeness. Basic decency. He probably felt bad for her and wasn't a complete asshole, so he'd thrown the hoodie over her. That's all it was. But... what if it wasn't?
The bus jolted again, a sharp bump that shook her out of her spiraling thoughts. Her arm slipped off her thigh, landing awkwardly against his. Her breath caught when her fingers brushed the back of his hand. Warm. Solid. And he still didn't pull away.
Her mind raced. Was this still just him being polite? Or was there something more here?
Before she could think it through, her finger moved--just barely. A light, testing brush against his knuckles. Her touch was tentative, the kind you could almost dismiss as an accident. She waited, her heart pounding like a drum.
He didn't flinch.
Encouraged and suddenly reckless, she let her finger trail along his hand, slow, deliberate. His skin was rougher than she'd expected, textured like he spent hours gripping weights or handlebars. She knew he'd started hitting the gym a few years ago, and it showed. He wasn't the wiry boy she remembered from across the street anymore.
Then his hand shifted--just a twitch. Her breath hitched. He wasn't ignoring it.
His fingers moved, not away, but toward hers. Just the smallest shift, the side of his finger brushing lightly against hers.
His fingers moved, not away, but closer, brushing against hers in a slow slide. The faintest contact, but it was enough to send a riot of butterflies swirling in her stomach. She barely noticed the muffled hum of tires on asphalt or the soft snores around them. Everything else disappeared, eclipsed by the searing awareness of that small touch.
She held her breath and responded, her finger brushing back, this time less tentative, more intentional. He had to know she was awake now. He had to know this wasn't some unconscious accident.
A heartbeat passed. Then another.
His hand shifted again, turning slightly, his fingers curling to catch two of hers. His hold was careful, loose, as if testing the waters. He didn't fully grab her hand, didn't even come close, but the gesture sent a spark of something forbidden racing through her.
Her pulse roared in her ears as she stared at the darkness of the bus, too afraid to look at him. The air between them felt charged, like if she so much as moved, the moment would shatter.
His grip tightened just the tiniest bit, a quiet acknowledgment in the dark, and her chest squeezed so tight it hurt. What the hell were they doing? She didn't understand it.
But then, out of nowhere, a memory surfaced. A flash of something simpler, from before everything had fallen apart. Before they'd become whatever this was.
She thought of the day he'd shown her the treehouse he'd built with his dad. He'd been so proud, grinning ear to ear. She remembered climbing up after him and slipping, just enough to scrape her arm on the edge of the ladder. His mom had called them inside, fussing over the scratch, but it was Hunter who insisted on putting the bandage on. His hands had been clumsy and too big for the tiny wrapper, but he'd looked so serious.
Then another memory hit her. Some older kids stealing Hunter's bike. She'd been watching from the swings, rage bubbling up uncontrollably. Without thinking, she'd barreled into the biggest kid like a little freight train, knocking him flat on his back.
