The kiss lingers in the back of my mind even after our lips part. The night feels softer now, the waves quieter somehow, like the ocean itself is respecting the silence between us. I don't know what we are—whatever just happened, I don't have the courage to define it. Not that I want to ask Felix. Not that he would explain.
But I enjoy it.
I lean my head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his leather jacket still wrapped around me, the scent of saltwater mixing with the soft musk of his cologne. He doesn't say anything for a moment. Just stays there, letting me rest, letting the quiet settle between us again. The moonlight brushes over his cheekbone, pale and cool.
Then we start talking, and it's not about the kiss, or what it meant, or what we mean. It's about random things. Like how many seagulls could fight a shark and win. Or if he would survive a zombie apocalypse if his only weapon was a baguette. Stupid stuff. Silly, comforting, normal stuff.
