The lights were off.
The room glowed only from the screen of Celeste's laptop, propped up on a pillow at the edge of Ash's bed.
The movie had been playing for about Thirty minutes now, and it was no longer subtle.
Soft moans echoed faintly from the speakers. Skin brushed against skin onscreen, shadows dancing over sheets and bare shoulders. The camera lingered in ways that made Ash's throat tighten.
He shifted.
Carefully.
Quietly.
His wine glass trembled in his hand, fingers clutching the stem a little too tightly.
Beside him, Celeste sipped hers like it was soda.
"This is… educational," she said, her voice syrupy, eyes still fixed on the screen.
"Very informative."
Ash didn't speak.
He couldn't.
His cheeks were warm—burning, really—and he swore the tips of his ears had gone pink. He stared at the laptop with a neutral face, trying so hard not to react, not to look panicked, not to accidentally make eye contact with her.
Another moan echoed.
This one was louder.
Ash looked down at the blanket pooled over his lap.
"Celeste…" he said quietly.
She turned to him with a sweet smile. "Mm?"
He glanced at her only briefly—and regretted it immediately.
Her legs were crossed, bare, tucked beneath her loosely buttoned pajama shirt. She looked so… relaxed. Not embarrassed. Not flustered. Like she was watching a rom-com.
"W-Why did you choose this movie?" he asked softly, almost pleading.
"It had good reviews," she said innocently, pouring herself more wine.
"Besides, it's art. Don't be such a prude."
"It's not a-art. It's basically—"
"Sex?" she offered. "Yeah. But tastefully done."
Ash took a long sip of his wine—too long—and coughed.
Celeste giggled, tilting her head.
"You're so red, Ash."
"It's the wine," he muttered.
"Mmm. Sure."
He didn't know where to look.
The screen? No.
Celeste? Definitely not.
His lap? Absolutely not.
He focused instead on the wineglass in his hand, turning it slowly, watching the red swirl like it might distract him from the sounds of breathy moaning behind him.
"You're not uncomfortable, are you?" Celeste asked suddenly.
Her voice had dropped—softer now. Closer.
Ash tensed.
He hadn't realized she'd leaned in.
Her shoulder grazed his. Bare skin. Warm.
"I—" he cleared his throat. "I just think this is… kind of inappropriate."
"Because it's me?" she asked.
Ash's eyes flicked to her. Hers were already on him, calm, unreadable, almost amused.
"No. I mean—yes, but—Rowan—"
"Rowan's not here," she said gently, cutting him off. "And you're not doing anything wrong."
Her voice was so sweet. So understanding.
So dangerous.
"I'm the one who picked the movie," she added, sipping her wine again. "You're just watching."
Another moan from the screen. Longer. Sharper.
Ash flinched.
Celeste turned back to the screen with a little smirk.
"She sounds like she's enjoying herself," she murmured, almost to herself.
Ash choked slightly on his breath.
"Celeste," he said again, his voice softer this time, almost pleading.
"T-This isn't funny."
"Who said I'm laughing?"
He looked at her again—really looked.
Her face was flushed, eyes shining from the screen's light, wine glass resting between her fingers like she belonged in a painting. Her bare legs were folded neatly, but her body leaned just enough toward him that he could smell her perfume—vanilla, and something warm.
She wasn't drunk. Not yet.
She was teasing.
Playing.
But something in her eyes said: I want to know what you'll do.
Ash turned back to the screen, trying to focus.
Trying not to notice how close she was now.
Trying not to notice the shifting warmth pooling deep in his stomach.
Don't react.
She's just playing with you.
Don't let it show.
He took another sip.
Celeste didn't move.
She just watched.
Ash took another sip of wine, trying to ignore the ache forming behind his eyes—an ache that came not from the alcohol but from the pressure of resisting.
Beside him, Celeste shifted slightly.
Their shoulders brushed again, this time staying close. The space between them had disappeared. The blanket dipped around them both now.
He noticed it too late.
Celeste's fingers rested gently on the top of his thigh.
Just a touch.
Light.
Barely there.
But it made his breath catch.
She didn't look at him. Just kept her eyes on the screen, sipping her wine casually like she hadn't just committed social murder.
Ash stared down at her hand.
His heart pounded, hard enough to feel in his throat.
She wasn't squeezing. She wasn't grabbing.
But her palm… it was warm. Pressed against him. Dangerous.
"You've never watched something like this with a girl before, have you?" she asked softly, not turning her head.
Ash blinked.
"W-what?" he managed, voice higher than he intended.
She tilted her head, finally looking at him. Her expression was calm, curious—too innocent.
"I mean… you've never done this, right?"
"Watching something this dirty. Sitting this close. A girl touching your leg like this."
Her hand gave the faintest, lazy stroke. Fingertips tracing the seam of his jeans.
Ash's spine went rigid.
He swallowed hard, unsure where to place his hands—how to breathe—how to not panic.
"Celeste…"
"Mm?" she blinked slowly, sipping her wine again. "You're not answering."
"You're drunk," he said softly, though even he could hear how weak it sounded.
"Nope." Her voice was steady. "Maybe a little brave. But not drunk."
Ash looked away, face hot.
"Y-You should stop this."
"Why?"
"Because…" He shut his eyes briefly. "Because I'm trying to be good."
Her lips curved into a soft smile.
"And I'm trying to be bad."
That broke something in him.
He turned to her then—really turned—and for a moment, they were face to face.
Her eyes were lidded but sharp, full of teasing amusement. Her wine glass dangled from her fingers lazily. She leaned in closer. Close enough to smell the wine on her breath. Close enough to kiss, if he only leaned a little more—
Ash shot up suddenly from the bed, breath caught in his chest.
"I—I need water."
He walked straight out of the room.
Celeste sat there, still holding her glass, lips parted, eyebrows slightly raised.
"Oof," she whispered to herself, setting the glass down. "Okay… maybe that was too much."
But she didn't look guilty.
She looked satisfied.
Because now she knew:
He wasn't unaffected.
He wasn't indifferent.
He wasn't ignoring her.
He was just trying not to break.
And soon, Celeste thought, swirling the wine lazily in her glass, he'd stop trying altogether.
———