The apartment was quiet when Celeste stepped inside. Morning light filtered through the blinds, and the faint scent of laundry detergent still clung to the hallway.
She glanced around. No noise. No Rowan.
Still sleeping, she guessed.
She went toward her room, quietly closing the door behind her. Then—
SMILE MODE: ACTIVATED.
Celeste flopped face-first into the bed, kicking her legs like a girl in a drama. Her pillow muffled the squeal that burst out of her chest.
They were official.
Officially, undeniably, secretly together.
She hugged her pillow tightly.
Was it reckless? Yes. Stupid? A little. Worth it? Absolutely.
Ash is mine.
Grinning like a lunatic.
Well… technically not mine in public. But still mine.
Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the shower—clean, fresh, and mentally prepared to sneak back to Ash's apartment to continue their forbidden little love bubble.
She opened her bedroom door, towel still draped around her shoulders—
"Oh, you're home already?" came a voice from the living room.
She nearly screamed.
Rowan sat on the couch like a demon sent by the universe to ruin her mood. Wearing his usual baggy tee and basketball shorts, holding a bowl of cereal, legs propped on the coffee table, eyes lazily fixed on the TV.
"Yuh," she said, trying to play it cool. "You're up already"
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
"Are you staying here?"
She squinted.
"Why'd you ask?"
"I'm heading over to Ash's place," Rowan said, turning back to the screen. "I miss my princess. Said he wasn't feeling well the other day."
Celeste blinked.
Her world screeched to a halt.
He's going to Ash's. The Ash I just kissed. The Ash I'm going to kiss again. The Ash who is my secret boyfriend and your best friend. That Ash. My Ash.
"Oh… that's… good…" she said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile.
But internally?
NO IT'S NOT GOOD ROWAN, GO AWAY, VANISH INTO THE VOID, LET ME LOVE MY BOYFRIEND IN PEACE—
"I'll come too," she said quickly before she could think better.
Rowan didn't even look up. "Cool."
He kept eating like nothing was happening.
Meanwhile, Celeste stared blankly into the abyss of the kitchen counter.
First Isadora. Now Rowan. Why is the universe so allergic to me being alone with Ash?! I swear you two were born to third-wheel. You should get matching jackets.
.
.
.
The elevator dinged.
Celeste stood inside, arms crossed, foot tapping slowly against the floor.
Rowan stood beside her, sipping a convenience store iced coffee like they were going on a casual field trip and not heading straight into her personal hell.
Just one floor up, she reminded herself. One floor, and then I see him.
She glanced sideways at her brother.
He looked completely unbothered.
"Did you even text him we're coming?" she asked.
"Nope," Rowan replied. "It's Ash. He doesn't care."
I care, she thought darkly.
I care A LOT.
They stepped out together.
Celeste's hands were sweating.
Not because she was nervous to see Ash—she wanted to see Ash—but because she had plans. Sweet little private girlfriend plans. And now they were going to have to act like distant acquaintances because Mr. Third Wheel decided to 'miss his princess.'
She knocked once—lightly, habitually—before Rowan just barged in like he owned the place.
"Yo, we're here!" Rowan called.
Celeste winced.
"Could you knock like a normal human being?"
Ash stood by the kitchen counter, calmly stirring honey into his tea like he hadn't just made out with Celeste less than twenty-four hours ago.
Like she hadn't kissed him breathless.
Like she wasn't currently undressing him with her entire soul from across the room.
"Still sick?" Rowan asked as he plopped onto the couch, remote in hand.
"A little," Ash replied, voice steady. "Better than yesterday though."
Celeste hovered awkwardly near the table, pretending to examine a potted plant while actually examining Ash.
Ash glanced up.
Big mistake.
Her gaze met his—and he nearly dropped the spoon.
Her expression?
Hungry. Dangerous. Intense.
The kind of look that said:
'I am seconds away from throwing this couch out the window and climbing you like a tree.'
Ash's hand clenched tighter around the mug.
Breathe, he told himself.
Be normal. Be polite. Rowan is right there.
"Good to hear," Rowan said lazily, flipping through channels. "I was gonna drag you outside for some sun if you looked like death again."
Ash gave a dry smile.
"Thanks for the concern."
Celeste sat down—slow, smooth, deliberately too close to Ash's seat on the opposite chair.
Her knees brushed his under the table.
Ash flinched.
Her hand crept toward his thigh under the table like a seductive assassin.
He immediately reached down and grabbed the edge of the chair—not her hand, the chair—pretending to adjust it, praying Rowan wouldn't glance over.
She gave him a wicked little smirk.
Ash looked away.
.
.
.
Ash handed Rowan a glass of water while Celeste pretended to inspect something extremely fascinating on the kitchen counter.
He looks so good. Why does he look so good while pouring water. I hate him. I want him.
She subtly took a step closer to him, ready to pull him aside. Maybe sneak into his room. Maybe just talk. Or more.
Ash glanced at her.
She gave him a look.
A very clear, very suggestive look.
Ash blinked once. Slowly. He understood.
They were this close.
This close to vanishing into his bedroom with the excuse of 'helping him rest.'
And then—
"Hey," Rowan said, walking into the middle of the room like a curse. "Let's watch a movie."
Celeste stopped breathing.
Ash froze, cup halfway to his lips.
Rowan dropped onto the couch with the weight of a grown man who paid no rent here.
"I've been meaning to catch up on this thriller. Got good reviews. You guys in?"
"I think Ash should rest," Celeste said too quickly.
Rowan turned to her.
"He literally said he's better."
"Still, rest is—"
"I'm fine," Ash said, trying to smile politely while mentally screaming.
Rowan grabbed the remote, already scrolling through options.
"C'mon. Just one movie. It's the weekend. I even brought snacks."
Celeste turned to Ash, lips tight, eyes pleading.
Say no. Fake a cough. Say you're contagious. Say you need a shower. Or a nap. Or an exorcism—
"Sure," Ash said, with the calm of a man walking toward his own funeral. "Just one movie."
Celeste blinked.
Ash gave her a quiet look. One that said:
I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. Please don't kill me.
"Great," Rowan said, tossing popcorn onto the table. "Lights off. Atmosphere matters."
Ash stood frozen in place.
Celeste stared at the ceiling.
Atmosphere my ass.
A few minutes later, the room was dark.
Ten minutes in.
The room was dim, quiet, filled only with the shifting colors of the movie on screen and the occasional crunch of popcorn.
Ash sat like a statue.
He could feel her.
Celeste, pressed against his side under the shared blanket, radiating heat. Her leg was touching his—innocently at first, now not so much.
He hadn't moved.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because if he shifted even slightly, Rowan would notice something.
Rowan, who was now laughing at a scene, tossing popcorn into his mouth with the energy of a toddler.
Meanwhile, under the blanket, Celeste's fingers were traveling.
Slowly. Teasingly.
Her hand slipped onto his thigh again—this time firmly.
Ash's breath hitched.
She leaned her head on his shoulder, sweet and casual.
"You okay?" she whispered so low only he could hear.
"Y-You're evil," he whispered back.
___________