The honesty in that confession steals the air from my lungs.
He doesn't say it like a joke.
Or a tease.
He says it like it scares him.
My fingers curl into my bedsheet.
"Logan—"
But I don't know what comes after his name.
Because what do you say to that?
Thank you?
Me neither?
Stay?
Go?
Another quiet beat passes.
Then I hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway.
Leaving me alone in the dark.
Heart racing.
Because something changed tonight.
Not quietly but undeniably.
We didn't cross the line.
But we almost did.
And now we both know exactly where it is.
And how badly we want to step over it.
I lie back against my pillow, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, we'll pretend nothing happened.
We'll eat breakfast like normal.
Daniel will joke.
Logan will act controlled.
I'll act unaffected.
But the truth?
There's a moment frozen between us now.
A breath apart.
A choice not taken.
And sometimes…
Almost is worse than actually crossing the line.
Because almost leaves you wondering.
What if.
I don't lock my door.
I should.
That would be the smart thing to do. The mature thing. The thing a girl with self-control and common sense would absolutely do after a boy stands outside her bedroom and admits he doesn't trust himself.
But I sit there on my bed, staring at the door, and I don't move.
Because part of me wants to know.
Would he actually try?
The apartment is quiet now. Daniel's laughter from earlier has faded into the low hum of the air conditioner and the occasional sound of pipes shifting in the walls. The silence feels different tonighr thicker and aware.
I lie back against my pillows and close my eyes.
Big mistake.
The second I do, I'm back at the party. Back under flashing lights. Back to the way Logan's breath felt against my skin. The way his fingers brushed my jaw like he was testing something fragile.
"If I kissed you right now, you wouldn't stop me." The words echoed in my head.
Heat floods my face all over again.
I press my palms over my eyes. This is ridiculous. It was almost a kiss. Not even a real one. People almost kiss all the time.
Except this wasn't just a random almost.
This was Logan.
The boy who has lived across the hall from me for two years. The boy who shares a room with Daniel. The boy who pretends not to watch me when I walk into a room. The boy who says we shouldn't while looking at me like he absolutely should.
A soft creak echoes from the hallway.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Footsteps slow and careful.
I sit up.
The handle doesn't turn.
He doesn't come in.
A few seconds later, I hear his bedroom door close instead.
I exhale shakily.
He wasn't checking if it was locked.
He was going to bed.
And for some reason, that almost disappoints me.
—
Morning comes too fast.
I barely slept, and it shows. When I step into the kitchen, Daniel is already there, shoveling cereal into his mouth like he's in a speed-eating competition.
"You look dead," he says cheerfully.
"Good morning to you too."
He grins. "Late night?"
"Something like that."
I feel him before I see him.
Logan walks in a second later, hair still messy from sleep, black hoodie pulled over his head. He doesn't look at me.
Not once.
"Practice in twenty," he tells Daniel.
"Yeah, yeah."
I pour myself coffee, acutely aware of the way the air shifts when Logan moves behind me. He reaches into the cabinet above my head.
His arm brushes mine.
It's accidental.
Probably.
But neither of us moves away right away.
"Sorry," he mutters.
"It's fine."
His voice is normal. Like last night didn't happen.
Daniel grabs his bag. "You coming to watch practice later, Bubu?"
I hesitate.
Logan still isn't looking at me.
"Maybe," I say.
Daniel shrugs. "Suit yourself. We'll be back around noon."
They head for the door. Logan pauses for half a second like he's going to say something.
He doesn't.
The door shuts behind them.
And suddenly the apartment feels empty in a way it didn't before.
—
I do go to practice.
I tell myself it's because I need fresh air. Because I've been cooped up. Because supporting Daniel is the nice thing to do.
It has nothing to do with the fact that Logan's been avoiding eye contact all morning.
The field is already alive when I arrive. The sound of cleats against turf, whistles blowing, teammates shouting plays over the breeze.
Daniel spots me first and waves dramatically.
Logan notices a second later.
His movements falter for just a fraction of a second.
Then he keeps going.
I sit on the bleachers, pretending to scroll on my phone while watching them through the corner of my eye.
Logan plays differently when he's frustrated.
Harder and faster. Like he's trying to outrun something or someone.
"Hey."
I glance up.
Maya drops down beside me, sunglasses perched on her head. "You look like you're analyzing game strategy."
"I am."
She snorts. "Sure. Which one?"
I don't answer.
Her grin fades slightly. "Okay. What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Uh-huh."
She follows my line of sight and immediately locks onto Logan.
"Oh."
I glare at her. "Don't."
"Don't what? Notice the obvious tension radiating between you two from across a soccer field?"
"There is no tension."
"Please. If chemistry were visible, you'd be glowing."
I look away.
She studies me more carefully. "Did something happen?"
"No."
"Did something almost happen?"
My silence is answer enough.
Maya's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh my God."
"It wasn't a big deal."
"Define not a big deal."
"He almost kissed me."
Her jaw drops.
"And?"
"And nothing."
"You stopped him?"
"Daniel yelled."
She stares at me. "You are joking."
"I wish."
Maya leans back, looking entirely too pleased. "Finally."
"Finally what?"
"Finally something is happening instead of you two doing that weird dance you've been doing for years."
"We're not doing a dance."
"You absolutely are."
I watch Logan sprint across the field, jaw tight, eyes focused.
"He said it can't happen again," I say quietly.
Maya goes still. "And what did you say?"
"That he's right."
She studies me for a long moment. "Is he?"
I don't answer.
Because I don't know.
—
When practice ends, Daniel jogs over first, sweaty and grinning.
"You see that last goal?"
"Yes. Very impressive."
"Tell her, Logan."
Logan walks up slower.
He still hasn't looked at me properly.
"It was decent," he says.
"Decent?" Daniel scoffs. "It was elite."
Logan shrugs.
His gaze flickers to mine.
Just for a second.
And something shifts.
There's still heat there.
Still want.
But there's something else too... restraint.
We walk back to the apartment together. Daniel talks the entire way. Maya splits off halfway, throwing me one last knowing look.
Inside, Daniel disappears into the shower.
Leaving us alone.
The silence stretches.
I set my bag down carefully. "You're avoiding me."
"I'm not."
"You are."
He leans against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. "I'm managing."
"Managing what?"
His eyes lift to mine finally.
And there it is.
Everything from last night, unfiltered.
"You," he says simply.
My pulse stumbles.
"I didn't ask you to."
"I know."
"Then stop acting like I'm some kind of problem."
His jaw tightens. "You're not a problem."
"Then what am I?"
He pushes off the counter abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "You're..." He stops himself.
"Say it."
"You're my best friend's sister."
The words land heavier than I expect.
"So?"
"So that matters."
"Does it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He stares at me like I've just asked the most ridiculous question in the world.
"Because if this goes wrong, I lose him."
The honesty in his voice catches me off guard.
I hadn't thought about that.
Not really.
"You wouldn't," I say quietly.
"You don't know that."
"You're assuming it would go wrong."
He lets out a humorless laugh. "Things like this always do."
"Not everything ends badly."
"No," he agrees softly. "Just most things that start like this."
"Like what?"
"Too intense and too fast."
The word echoes between us.
I step closer before I can stop myself.
"I don't feel fast," I say.
His breathing shifts.
"That's the problem."
We're standing closer now. Not touching. But close enough that I can see the faint scar near his eyebrow. Close enough that the air feels thin.
"You told me to lock my door," I say.
His eyes darken instantly.
"You didn't."
"No."
Silence.
"Why?" he asks.
My throat feels dry again.
"Because I wanted to see if you would try."
His restraint cracks for half a second.
I see it.
Raw, bare and dangerous.
"I stood outside it," he admits.
My heart skips. "What?"
"I didn't touch the handle. But I stood there."
"Why?"
He steps closer.
Now there's barely space between us again.
"Because I wanted to."
The air feels electric.
"And?" I whisper.
"And I walked away."
"Why?"
His voice drops lower.
"Because if I start something with you, I'm not doing it halfway."
My breath catches.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm not almost kissing you at parties and pretending it's nothing."
The words send heat racing through me.
"It means I don't touch you unless I'm allowed to keep touching you."
My pulse pounds.
"It means if I cross that line, I'm not stepping back over it every time it gets complicated."
I swallow.
"And what if I don't want you to step back?"
His hand lifts slightly like last night.
He hesitates.
"Bunny…"
"Don't call me that if you're going to keep pushing me away."
Something in his expression softens.
"Do you even know what you're asking for?"
"Do you?"
He studies me carefully.
Like he's searching for doubt.
He doesn't find any.
"You'd have to tell Daniel," he says finally.
The reality of that settles over me.
That's the real line.
Not the almost kisses, not the late-night confessions, not the tension.
Daniel.
My brother. His best friend.
"I would," I say.
"Right away."
The sincerity in my voice seems to hit him harder than anything else I've said.
He exhales slowly.
"You're serious."
"Yes."
Silence stretches again.
Then...
Daniel's bathroom door opens.
Logan steps back instantly.
The space between us snaps wide again.
The wall goes up.
Daniel walks out, towel around his neck. "Why do you two look like you're negotiating a peace treaty?"
"No reason," Logan says smoothly.
I force a casual shrug. "Just talking."
Daniel narrows his eyes suspiciously but lets it go.
And just like that, the moment is gone.
Again.
But this time it feels different.
Because now I know.
It's not that he doesn't want me.
It's that he wants me too much to risk it.
And I don't know if that makes this better or worse.
Later that night, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling again.
Except this time, I'm not replaying what almost happened.
I'm replaying what he said.
If I cross that line, I'm not stepping back over it.
A quiet knock taps against my door.
My heart jumps.
"Yeah?"
The door opens slowly.
He doesn't step inside.
He just stands there.
Eyes searching mine.
"I'm not going to pretend this isn't happening," he says quietly.
My pulse quickens.
"Okay."
"But I'm not sneaking around either."
"Okay."
"And if we do this—"
"We tell him," I finish.
He nods.
Silence.
Heavy and charged.
"Are we doing this?" I ask softly.
He looks at me like I'm gravity.
Like I'm the only thing keeping him grounded.
"I don't know how not to," he admits.
My breath leaves me in a rush.
He steps closer.
Slow and deliberate.
This time, when his hand lifts, he doesn't stop halfway.
His fingers brush my cheek gently.
Not rushed just intentional.
My heart pounds, but I don't move away.
He leans in...
And rests his forehead against mine.
Just that.
No kiss.
No crossing.
Just warmth and closeness.
Just the promise of something bigger than either of us are ready to admit out loud.
"We tell him tomorrow," he murmurs.
"Tomorrow," I agree.
And for the first time, the line between us doesn't feel like a barrier.
It feels like a choice.
One we're finally ready to make.