We stay like this, frozen in the dark. Our temples are pressed together, a point of burning contact.
One of my hands holds his, our fingers interlaced. The other is fisted in the silk of his tie, a gentle, inescapable anchor pulling him close.
Our eyes are locked in the dim blue gloom. My heart is a wild, frantic thing against my ribs.
His scent—clean, calming red rose—wraps around me, and without thought, my own pheromones answer, a soft, sweet cloud of peach blossom unfurling in the space between us, mingling with his.
The air changes. It becomes thick, intimate, charged.
My voice is a whisper, brushing against the skin of his cheek.
Hesitant.
Terrified.
Hopeful.
"Deniz… can I… kiss you?"
He doesn't reply. He doesn't move. His eyes just stay on mine, wide and dark and utterly unreadable.
My gaze drops, helpless, to his lips.
Soft.
Parted just slightly.
"I'll take your silence as a yes," I breathe, the decision made for both of us.
