The kitchen lights were too bright.
Ash gripped the edges of the sink and leaned forward, head down, eyes squeezed shut.
His heart wouldn't slow down.
The cold water rushed over his palms and up his wrists, but the heat under his skin remained.
He splashed some across his face, then again.
Then again.
"What the hell am I doing?"
She is his best friend's little sister.
Rowan's little sister.
Celeste had always been… playful. Bold. She flirted like it was a language, like it was her default setting. But this—tonight—was something else.
The movie. The wine. Her leg brushing his. Her hand on his thigh.
Her voice.
The way she leaned in like she knew exactly how close she was to breaking him.
Ash stared into the sink, breathing through his nose.
"She's young. You're older. You know better."
But that wasn't what stopped him. Not really.
It was Rowan. It was always Rowan.
Rowan, who let him stay here. Rowan, who trusted him. Rowan, who protected him like a brother.
"He'd kill me."
Ash gripped the towel too hard.
But then he remembered how she looked at him just now. The slight pout of her lips. The quiet confidence in her eyes.
She knew what she was doing. She knew what he wanted.
And worst of all… she knew he wanted it.
Ash dropped the towel on the counter and covered his face with his hands.
"I need to sleep."
He didn't. He stayed in the kitchen another ten minutes, staring at nothing, willing his pulse to return to normal.
⸻
THE NEXT MORNING
The apartment was filled with the scent of brewed coffee and awkward tension.
Ash stood by the sink again, silently sipping from his mug, eyes focused on absolutely nothing.
Celeste stepped into the kitchen, yawning dramatically.
Oversized shirt. No pants. Bare legs.
Again.
Ash didn't look at her. Didn't move.
"Good morning," she chirped.
"Morning."
His voice was clipped. Quiet.
Celeste tilted her head.
"You're not cooking?"
"I lost my appetite."
She blinked, then smirked. "Weird. You didn't seem that bothered by the food yesterday."
Ash set the mug down.
"Celeste."
"Yes?" Her voice was syrupy again.
He finally looked at her.
"Can we not do what we did last night? Please?"
"You mean the movie?" she asked innocently. "Or the part where I touched your thigh?"
His eyes darkened but his ears turned red
"Celeste, I'm serious."
She crossed the room slowly, each step soft and quiet on the tile.
"So am I."
He turned away, but she stopped at his side.
"Ash," she said gently. "You're avoiding me."
"I'm trying to keep boundaries," he said, barely above a whisper.
"Why?"
"Because you're Rowan's sister."
"I know that."
"Because I'm older."
"So?"
"Because…" He trailed off.
"Because you want me," she said.
Ash flinched like she'd slapped him.
"Stop looking at me like that," he whispered.
"Like what?"
"Like you know everything."
"I don't," she said, stepping even closer. "But I know this."
She reached for his hand—but Ash stepped back.
"Don't," he said, breath uneven.
Celeste didn't follow this time.
She just watched him.
He looked tired. Guilty. On edge.
And yet, behind all of it, she could see the truth:
He wanted her.
She smiled, but this time, it wasn't teasing. It was… patient.
"I'm not going to push," she said gently. "Not today."
Ash exhaled slowly, almost shakily.
"Thank you."
"But I'm not stopping either."
He looked at her with something like defeat. Like awe. Like fear.
And a hint of something she had seen before—desire.
She walked past him, brushing his shoulder just slightly, and disappeared into the hallway.
Ash stood frozen.
Hand trembling slightly. Coffee forgotten.
He was losing.
_______