It was past midnight. Maybe closer to two. The kind of late where even the air feels thinner.
I sat with my back against the wall, legs out, book resting open on my lap. I hadn't turned a page in ten minutes. I wasn't even pretending anymore.
She was across from me at first. On her bed, one leg folded beneath her, the other dangling loose. Bare shoulders. Tank top low and loose. Headphones in. Humming something soft I couldn't hear. She didn't sway to the music, didn't smile, didn't even blink much -- just stared out the window like it was telling her a secret.
The room was quiet except for the occasional click of a page from me and the muted thump of bass leaking from her earbuds.
I kept looking.
At her face.
At her mouth -- relaxed, slightly parted.
At her collarbones -- catching faint streetlight from the window.
At the slow, even rise of her chest.
Every time I let my eyes drift up, she didn't notice. Or she pretended not to.
Then I blinked down at the page again, more out of guilt than interest.
And when I looked back up -- she wasn't across from me anymore.
She was right in front of me.
On me.
Straddling my lap, knees to either side, warm thighs pressing in close. Her weight settled slowly. Like she wanted me to feel every inch of it. Like she wanted me to know. Her ass sank against me through her shorts, soft and heavy and impossible to ignore.
I didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
My hands froze where they were -- one still resting under the edge of the book, the other stiff against the floor.
She looked me dead in the eyes.
Didn't say a word.
Didn't blink.
Didn't flinch.
I couldn't look away.
Her face was so close now I could feel her breath. Not hot. Just real. Calm. Like I'd walked into something I couldn't explain and didn't want to leave. I didn't see dominance in her expression. Or playfulness. Or threat. She wasn't teasing. She wasn't testing.
She just was. Right there. Sitting on me like the room had rearranged itself.
I let the book slide off my lap, soft thump on the mattress. I leaned back into the wall, just enough to shift my posture, give her more space, show her I wasn't flinching. She didn't move. She just sat. Her hands somewhere behind her, propping her weight. Her eyes holding mine like they had nowhere better to be.
I don't know how long we stayed like that.
Seconds? Minutes?
Then I moved -- slow, careful -- and lifted my hand toward her ear. I didn't touch her face. Not yet. Just the hair. A single strand, slightly damp near the end. I brushed it behind her ear with two fingers, then paused.
She still didn't look away.
I reached further -- touched the earbud, still warm from her. Gently pulled it free.
She let it happen.
No resistance. No question.
The wire trembled slightly between us. I brought it to my own ear. Slipped it in.
And just like that, her breath became music.
The music was soft. Ambient. No lyrics. Just slow waves of sound -- like something made to echo in an empty cathedral. Each note felt wide, deep, patient. It didn't demand anything. It just existed.
She turned her head, finally.
Not to look at me -- to the window.
I followed her gaze and saw it.
The stars.
Not a few -- not distant, unreachable specks -- but a full sky of them. Thick, layered, overlapping. Like dust thrown across black velvet, still in motion. The window framed them like a painting someone forgot to hang. And for a moment, it was impossible to tell whether we were inside looking out, or outside looking in.
She leaned forward slightly, her body shifting on me, and I felt everything -- her weight, her thighs tightening around my sides, the curve of her hips sinking a little deeper into me. My pulse jumped, not from fear, but from how alive my skin had become.
She exhaled -- slow, through her nose -- and I could feel the warmth of it near my jaw. I kept watching her, even as her gaze stayed locked on the night. There was something in her stillness that felt louder than movement. She wasn't tense. She wasn't trying to seduce me. She wasn't doing anything. She just was -- sitting on me, breathing, existing, and letting the stars look at us both.
I glanced down.
Her neck. Her shoulder. The slope of her collarbone. The gentle rise of her chest, bare beneath the loose curve of the tank. The way the fabric didn't quite touch her skin. The shape of her waist, angled slightly toward me. Her skin was soft in the dark, but it didn't feel fragile. It felt anchored. Like gravity came from her.
I could've stayed like that forever. Staring. Forgetting to blink.
Then I turned -- just slightly -- back toward her, wanting to look into her eyes again.
But she was already there.
Her hand slid around the back of my neck, and her mouth came down on mine -- no warning, no question.
The kiss hit hard.
Soft lips, parted just enough. Her breath filling me. Her weight shifting again, tighter now, closer. My hands moved instinctively -- one gripping her thigh, the other sliding to the small of her back.
She kissed like she didn't need permission.
Like I'd already said yes.
Like we'd said it a hundred times without words.
