The night was still when the soft knock came.
Rowen glanced at the door, already knowing it would be her. He lifted the shutter just enough for Lira to slip in. The bell gave its delicate chime, swallowed quickly by the muted hum of the ceiling fan.
She stepped closer without a word. Her coat brushed his arm as she passed behind the counter, moving with the quiet confidence of someone who had already claimed this space as her own.
"You're always here," she said softly, her voice a warm hush.
"It's where I belong," Rowen replied.
The words seemed to settle between them like dust in the dim light.
Lira leaned her back against the workbench, her hand grazing the edge, fingers close to his.
When she turned toward him, there was no question in her eyes—just quiet understanding.
The first kiss was soft, familiar, the way their closeness had always been: unhurried.
But tonight, it didn't stop at a kiss.
Her hand slid up his arm, slow and deliberate, resting against his shoulder as if weighing her choice.
Rowen didn't move, letting her pace guide his own.
Their next kiss was deeper.
His hand found her waist, feeling the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her sweater.
She leaned into him, the distance between them disappearing, the rhythm of their breathing quietly syncing.
Without a word, she guided his hand lower, onto the curve of her hip.
The simple weight of his palm there felt louder than any sound in the room.
When he moved with the same slow deliberation, she exhaled softly against his mouth, a sound closer to a sigh than a moan.
Lira tugged gently at his shirt, fingertips brushing his skin as if she were testing the boundary between thought and action.
Rowen's own hands moved with the same calm caution, sliding along her sides, learning the lines of her body like one studies something fragile.
Clothes shifted quietly in the stillness, the faintest rustle against the backdrop of the fan's low hum.
Every touch felt heightened by the silence—every pause deliberate, unspoken, and understood.
When she leaned back against the workbench, guiding him with her, Rowen followed without a word.
Their movements were unhurried, exploratory rather than desperate.
The room seemed to close in around them, the muted shop light turning the world into just this moment, just these two people, just this quiet surrender.
Their bodies met in a rhythm that was gentle, patient, almost reverent, as though the long weeks of glances, brushes, and silent agreements were now speaking for them.
Afterward, they stayed close, the warmth of her skin soft against his.
No words passed between them. There was no need.
Eventually, Lira adjusted her sweater and coat, smoothing her hair with careful, calm movements. She touched his cheek lightly with the back of her fingers, a soft acknowledgment.
"I'll see you soon," she said, voice as even as if they had only shared tea.
The bell chimed once as she slipped into the night.
Rowen stood still for a long time, the scent of her skin and the memory of her warmth lingering in the quiet.
When he finally locked the shop, the night air felt heavier, the world sharper.
His life had not changed on the outside, but inside, the silence no longer belonged only to him.