The smell of toast drifted through the apartment when Celeste padded into the kitchen, still in her tank top and shorts, hair messily twisted up with a pen.
Ash stood at the counter, humming softly to himself.
He didn't look up.
Didn't greet her.
Didn't offer coffee.
She raised a brow.
Ah. So we're back to pretending I don't exist.
She didn't say anything—not at first. She sat at the table. Crossed her legs. Waited.
Ash plated toast and eggs like it was a business transaction and finally, without making eye contact, slid one plate in front of her.
"Thanks," she said dryly.
He only nodded.
His silence was careful. Constructed. Safe.
She let it sit for a moment—then rose from her seat and walked slowly toward him. He stood at the stove again, flipping the second egg.
She stopped right behind him.
Close.
Too close.
"Trying to reset the boundary, huh?" she whispered, voice low by his ear.
He stiffened. The spatula in his hand paused mid-air.
Celeste leaned in just slightly—her breath warm against his neck.
"You're cute when you panic."
She didn't wait for him to reply.
She turned, padded away, and sat down again at the table like nothing had happened.
Ash stood there, hands trembling just slightly.
The egg burned a little on the bottom.
⸻
[At The Campus]
Celeste leaned against a vending machine on break, scrolling through her phone.
Still no reply from Ash to the message she'd sent yesterday morning.
Tch. So he's really playing the quiet game again.
She sighed.
Just then, her phone buzzed.
Liam:
Yow, it's me Liam 👋
Hope I'm not interrupting anything serious (like soul-searching or skipping class).
Celeste stared at the message for a second, amused.
Celeste:
Not interrupting anything interesting.
Unless this vending machine counts.
Liam:
Lucky vending machine. Want to hang sometime this week? Not a date. Just… you know. Loud public setting. No pressure.
Celeste:
Hmm. I'll think about it.
Liam:
I'll take that as a hopeful maybe.
She smirked.
•
•
•
Evening…
Ash sat curled on the sofa, glasses low on his nose, pretending to read.
The living room was quiet, dimly lit. Cozy.
Until she walked in.
Celeste.
In satin shorts and a cropped shirt that exposed just enough skin to register as completely unfair.
Her hair was loose. Her skin still faintly warm from the shower.
Ash's eyes flicked up—and then down—and then very much away.
But it was too late.
She caught it.
"Do you like what you see?" she asked calmly, standing by the fridge with a bottle of juice.
He choked slightly on his breath.
"I wasn't— I mean—sorry—"
"You always apologize," she said, walking closer. "Even when I didn't ask you to."
Ash pressed his lips together, flustered beyond repair.
She passed behind the couch, brushing a finger lightly across the top of his shoulder.
"I'm just teasing," she whispered. "Unless…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Didn't need to.
She left him there, staring straight ahead, heart pounding, book forgotten.
⸻
[Rowan Comes Home – Friday Night]
Rowan's suitcase dropped loudly by the door.
"I'm hoooome!" he shouted, already loosening his tie. "God, I missed you guys."
Ash walked out of the guest room. "Welcome back."
Rowan pulled him into a hug. "My sweet, polite, mentally stable friend! Did my demon sister bully you?"
Ash blinked. "She was… fine."
Celeste walked out, wine bottle already in hand. "Yo, want a drink?"
Rowan clapped his hands. "Finally. A proper welcome home."
•
•
•
Later That Night…
Wine. Dim lights. Rowan knocked out cold. The couch. The line crossed… just barely.
Ash hadn't moved.
Still sitting stiffly, hands in his lap, legs slightly pulled in like a polite guest trying not to offend.
Celeste, on the other hand, was leaning into the cushions like she owned the place. Wine glass half full, gaze lazily dragging across his face—his throat—his parted lips.
She set her glass down softly.
Ash finally looked at her.
Big mistake.
Her eyes were lidded. Soft. Dangerous.
And then, without saying a word, she began to move.
She didn't pounce. She didn't tease.
She simply shifted her body closer, inch by inch, until their knees touched.
Ash swallowed.
"Celeste…" His voice was barely air.
She smiled—almost innocently. "Hmm?"
"You shouldn't—"
"Why not?"
She tilted her head and leaned in, brushing her hand over his thigh—slow, delicate, like it meant nothing.
But it meant everything.
He went stiff, breath catching. His hand shot out and gently held her wrist.
"I…" he began, voice trembling, "I don't think you understand what you're doing."
Her eyes didn't waver. "I do."
"You're drunk," he whispered.
"I'm not. I've never been clearer."
Ash looked down at her hand on his thigh, then back up at her. His face was flushed, chest rising and falling too fast. His whole frame was shaking with restraint.
Behind them, Rowan gave a loud snore from the floor.
Celeste's lips curled.
"Your guardian angel," she said with a sultry whisper, "is knocked out cold."
Her fingers inched a little higher.
"Too bad no one's here to protect you."
Ash let out a breath that sounded like surrender.
But still—he gently pushed her hand away, holding it in both of his instead.
"Don't…" he said, softly. Not with anger. Not with rejection. But with aching hesitation.
"Don't do this to me."
Celeste leaned closer, her lips barely brushing his ear.
"I'm not doing anything to you, Ash. I'm giving you a choice."
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.
"Want me to stop?"
Ash didn't answer.
Not right away.
He just looked at her. Looked and looked, like maybe if he stared long enough, he'd find the strength to lie.
But he didn't.
Celeste took a slow breath and stood.
She smoothed her shirt, picked up her wine glass, and walked away.
Right before disappearing from there, she looked over her shoulder and said softly:
"Next time… don't hesitate so much."
Ash stayed frozen on the couch, hands still clutching her warmth.
And beside him, Rowan snored on.
_____