Chapter Text
y/n’s pov
it started simple enough. you and tsukishima met in first year — quiet, a little awkward, but somehow drawn to each other. he wasn’t like the other boys: didn’t try too hard, didn’t say much, but when he did, it was usually dry humor that made you laugh when no one else did.
things moved slow, but you liked that. you thought maybe this was different. maybe he could be the one you didn’t have to shout feelings at.
but tsukishima… he wasn’t good at talking.
he kept things locked tight behind those sharp eyes and that ever-present wall of sarcasm.
you tried to ask him how he felt, what he wanted, where this was going — but he’d just shrug, brush it off, or throw a joke your way.
and slowly, the silence grew between you two, louder than any argument.
——
it started quietly, like everything with him did.
we didn’t fight or scream. no dramatic scenes or shouting matches.
just… silence that stretched longer every day.
i tried to ask him how he felt. tried to get him to open up, to say what was on his mind.
but he always brushed it off with sarcasm or shrugged me away like it was nothing.
the more he shut down, the more i felt like i was talking to a wall.
and i was tired — tired of guessing, tired of waiting for words that never came.
so one afternoon, i told him.
“i think we should break up.”
his eyes didn’t change. he looked at me like it was no big deal.
“okay,” he said. “if that’s what you want.”
he sounded so calm. like he didn’t care.
but that cold calm cut deeper than any fight could have.
i left feeling hollow, like i’d lost something i didn’t know how to hold onto.
and later, alone in my room, i cried.
not because i wanted to be with him anymore, but because i wished he’d told me how he really felt.
⸻
tsukishima’s pov
she said it like it was easy.
like breaking up was no big deal.
and i was supposed to argue? beg? tell her to stay?
but i didn’t know how to say the words.
the words that were stuck in my throat, tangled in my chest.
so i nodded and said, “okay.”
and when she left, the door shut behind her, i sat down on the floor.
hands trembling, chest aching.
i covered my face and cried like i never had before.
no one saw it. no one ever knew.
i was the one who’d built walls around my feelings.
the one who never said what was inside.
and now i was losing the one person i actually cared about — and all i could do was watch her go.
maybe if i had been better at talking, better at saying what i felt,
she wouldn’t have left.
but i wasn’t.
and now she was gone.
———
early college days
college started with new faces and new classes, but some things didn’t change.
like the ache that lingered every time i saw tsukishima in the halls, quiet and distant like always.
we didn’t talk. not really. not beyond the occasional accidental glance or awkward nod.
i told myself it was easier this way — no conversations, no trying to fix what we’d already broken.
but some nights, when the world got too loud or too quiet, i still thought about him.
and maybe i missed what we had. or maybe i just missed having someone who got me, even if it wasn’t perfect.
⸻
tsukishima’s pov
i kept my distance too.
i wasn’t ready to face her, or the mess i’d made of things.
so i stayed silent.
watching from afar, wishing i could do it all over again and say the things i never said.
but pride and fear kept me frozen.
i told myself i didn’t care.
but i did.
more than i wanted to admit.
⸻
y/n’s pov
one friday night, when the campus was buzzing with energy, i found myself slipping away from the dorm,
drawn to a party off campus — loud music, flashing lights, people who didn’t ask questions.
i told myself it was just a night to forget.
to be someone else.
to stop thinking.
but deep down, i knew the night would only make things messier.
the air outside the party was thick with smoke and laughter as you pushed open the door,
the bass vibrating through your bones.
there were alot of drinking games and you needed to get your mind off him,
so you ended up drinking even though you’re not the type at all.
you’re in the bathroom of some house party, half-drunk, half-buzzed, and definitely overstaying your welcome in front of the mirror.
your lip gloss smudges as you try to fix it with shaky hands. your eyes are too glassy. cheeks too warm. and the music pounding through the walls isn’t helping the way your head keeps spinning—because of the alcohol, sure, but mostly because you’re trying really hard not to think about him.
so of course, that’s when your phone buzzes.
dont text:
hey, are you on campus?
you blink at the screen, heart dropping straight into your stomach.
“are you fucking serious?” you mutter, breath catching. “now?”
the one night you try to forget him—the one night—you wear that dress, drink whatever was handed to you, and let your friends drag you out just to feel normal again… and he texts you?
typical.
you tap out a reply with thumbs that feel too slow.
you:
no, i’m at that party off campus
you don’t even get a second to breathe before your phone lights up again.
incoming call: “dont text.”
your stomach twists. your vision blurs for half a second—but maybe that’s just the alcohol.
“i’m so fucked,” you whisper under your breath, pressing your phone to your ear.
you shouldn’t pick up.
you know that.
but your finger still moves on its own.
you answer.
there’s a pause, long enough to make your heart crawl up your throat.
then, his voice.
“hey.”
you press a hand to the sink, steadying yourself.
the music outside is muffled, but it still hums in your ears.
your voice comes out quiet—too quiet—but he hears it. he also happens to hear you slurring your words.
“hi.”
another pause. longer, heavier.
“…are you drunk?”
you glance at your reflection. smudged mascara. flushed cheeks. you don’t look like someone who should be talking to her ex right now.
especially that ex.
“yeah,” you breathe.
he waits a beat. “do you have a ride back?”
your head drops. “i don’t know. i wanna leave.”
he doesn’t say anything at first. then:
“i’ll send you an uber.”
you close your eyes.
you shouldn’t say yes.
you shouldn’t even still have his number saved.
but—
“…okay.”
his voice drops lower, something almost unreadable in it.
“come to my dorm. if you want.”
a pause.
“number 237.”
the call ends.
you just stand there, blinking at your reflection, lips parted like you’re still waiting to respond.
your heart’s racing. your stomach’s twisting. your brain’s foggy.
you stare at your reflection one last time before stumbling out of the bathroom.
your legs feel like jello. your lip gloss is still crooked. and the house feels too loud now, like it’s pressing in on you from every side.
you barely remember where you left your drink—or your friends. but your phone buzzes again, this time with a message from the uber driver.
your ride has arrived.
shit.
he really sent one.
you push your way through the crowd, heart hammering, vision still slightly fuzzy as you step out into the warm night. the air feels heavier somehow, like even the sky knows you’re doing something so, so stupid.
you climb into the back seat of the car, giving the driver a slurred “hi.” the seats are cool, and the silence hits harder than you expect.
your thoughts spiral instantly.
what the hell are you doing?
you pull out your phone with trembling fingers and type quickly into the group chat with the girls you came with:
you:
dont wait for me, taking an uber home i got really tired lmfao
you lock your phone before they can reply.
you press your head back against the seat. the uber turns onto a quieter street, and everything blurs a little—the streetlights outside the window streaking like watercolors. it’s too quiet. too calm. and that makes it worse.
your hands shake in your lap. part nerves. part vodka.
your heart won’t settle. you keep thinking about how he said “come over” like it was casual. like he hadn’t completely broken your heart. like he hadn’t let you walk away without a single fight.
and still—still—you’re in this car.
you close your eyes, trying to breathe.
maybe it’s the alcohol.
maybe it’s the way he said “hey” like it meant something.
or maybe it’s just you, still too weak for him even now.
you’re not sure which one is worse.
the car pulls up to the familiar campus gates.
your hands are already sweating.
dorm 237.
your thumb hovers over his contact.
you don’t text.
you just get out of the car.
every step toward his building feels like a countdown.
1. your heart is in your throat.
2. you’re not thinking clearly.
3. this is a bad idea, right?
right?
but your feet keep moving anyway.
and before you know it, you’re standing in front of dorm 237—staring at the door like it might bite.
you raise your fist to knock.
then pause.
then knock anyway.
and wait.
the hallway’s quiet, your breathing isn’t.
you almost turn around—almost—until the door clicks open.
and there he is.
tsukishima stands in the doorway, tall and tired-looking, a hoodie loose around his frame like he wasn’t expecting anyone to really show up. his glasses are slightly crooked. his hair’s messed up like he’s been running his hand through it all night.
he blinks when he sees you.
you blink back.
he doesn’t say anything at first.
neither do you.
it’s only been a few seconds, but it feels like your whole high school relationship is echoing in the silence.
finally, he speaks. voice low.
“you came.”
you shrug, eyes a little glassy. “you sent an uber.”
“yeah,” he says. his eyes drop to your outfit for a split second before flicking away. “right.”
the awkward pause stretches.
you try to fill it. “i didn’t tell anyone it was you.”
he nods slowly. “wasn’t expecting you to.”
another beat. and then he steps aside, holding the door open just enough.
“you can come in.”
you hesitate.
you shouldn’t.
this is a terrible idea.
you know that.
he probably knows that too.
but your feet move again anyway.
you step inside.
his dorm smells like clean laundry and something slightly sharp—maybe his shampoo. it’s dark except for the desk lamp in the corner and the soft glow of the streetlights spilling through the window. it’s too quiet.
you stand there, not sure where to go or what to do with your hands.
tsukishima clears his throat, closing the door behind you.
“you can sit.”
“okay,” you say softly, sitting on the edge of his bed like it might disappear from under you.
the room is quiet again.
your face feels hot. your heart feels louder than it should. your fingers twitch in your lap, and you can’t meet his eyes.
“i still like you,” you say suddenly. too fast. too blurted. it’s out before you can stop it.
he looks up.
“y/n—”
“i’m not saying that because i’m drunk,” you interrupt, even though, yeah, your head’s a little floaty. “i mean it.”
he shakes his head slowly, like he’s trying to stay calm. “you’re drunk.”
you blink a few times. your throat burns.
“i’m not lying.”
“i know,” he says. “but you’re drunk, and you’ll feel different tomorrow—”
“no, i won’t,” you say. “i won’t feel different. i liked you in high school, and i liked you when i broke up with you, and i liked you when you acted like you didn’t care.”
he closes his eyes, jaw tight.
“i tried so hard to make it work,” your voice cracks. “but you wouldn’t talk to me. you shut down every time i tried to understand you, and i waited and waited—”
“stop,” he mutters, voice thick.
“you didn’t even try to stop me when i ended things,” you whisper. “you just let me walk away.”
tsukishima stands suddenly, walking toward the mini fridge in the corner, like he needs to be somewhere—anywhere—else for a second. he opens it, grabs a water bottle, shuts it a little too hard, then walks back.
he holds the bottle out to you. “drink.”
you stare at it.
he exhales. “please.”
so you take it. your hands are trembling.
“i wanted you to fight for me,” you whisper.
he’s still standing, arms crossed like he’s holding himself together by force.
“i did,” he says finally, voice hoarse. “just not in a way you could see.”
“that’s the problem,” you say. “you never let me see.”
he looks at you—really looks at you—and the emotion on his face makes your chest ache.
you get up slowly, swaying a little. your balance isn’t the best, but you move closer.
your voice is softer now. “i still want to kiss you.”
“y/n,” he says, like he’s in pain. “you’re not thinking straight.”
you lean in anyway, just a little.
he catches your shoulders gently, holding you back.
“don’t,” he says. “not like this.”
you stare at him, stunned. your bottom lip trembles.
then it hits.
the tears come fast—too fast to stop. you pull away, covering your face with your hands, sobbing before you can even fully understand why.
“i needed you,” you cry. “and you weren’t there. and now i’m here, and i still— i still…”
he’s quiet, but you feel him near.
then you feel his hand, gently guiding you by the wrist. “come on.”
you don’t fight it.
he leads you to the bathroom. his hand never leaves your wrist, his touch soft and grounding.
“can i—?” he motions to your face.
you nod.
he dampens a washcloth with warm water, gently wiping off your smeared makeup. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t rush. just dabs softly beneath your eyes, brushing away the mascara and the tears and whatever else spilled out of you tonight.
he grabs a hair tie from his desk and pulls your hair up like he’s done it before. maybe he has—when you were younger, when things were simple.
he presses a new bottle of water into your hands. “you need to stay hydrated.”
you nod numbly, drinking even though your stomach turns.
“you should shower,” he says after a moment. “it’ll help.”
you don’t argue. you don’t have the energy.
he grabs you a clean towel, one of his oversized t-shirts, and sets them in the bathroom for you.
you shower. quietly. slowly. letting the water wash off the night.
when you come out, the dorm room is dim. tsukishima is back at his desk, scrolling through something on his laptop, headphones in. he glances at you briefly, then away.
you crawl into his bed without a word, pulling the covers over you, still damp and still dizzy.
you try to sleep.
you can’t.
not really.
the room feels too big without him there.
so after a while—after you’ve stared at the ceiling long enough to feel your chest tighten again—you call out softly.
“kei?”
his chair creaks as he turns.
“can you… come up here?”
he hesitates.
then stands.
you hear his footsteps.
then the mattress shifts behind you, and you feel him lie beside you—rigid and hesitant, like he’s afraid to breathe too close.
but you turn anyway, burying your face in his chest, hands fisting the front of his hoodie.
“i miss you,” you whisper. your voice cracks again. “i needed you.”
his hand hovers near your back, trembling. then he lets it settle there, slow and warm.
you keep going. “i waited for you. even after we broke up, i kept hoping—”
“you’re drunk,” he says, but his voice is breaking too.
you shake your head, your tears soaking into the fabric of his hoodie. “i mean it.”
he pulls you in a little closer, finally.
and this time, he doesn’t say anything.
you fall asleep like that—pressed against him, crying softly, with all your broken pieces laid bare.
and for the first time in a long time, he holds them.
———
you wake up warm.
too warm.
his hoodie smells like him — like laundry detergent and faint cologne and something else you could never quite name but always missed.
your head is foggy. not painful, just slow. like your thoughts are stuck in syrup.
you shift slightly, and that’s when you realize your hand is still holding onto the front of his shirt. and he’s still here.
tsukishima is asleep beside you.
barely.
you feel him tense the moment you move, like he’s been pretending to sleep.
you blink slowly, trying to piece everything together — the party, the call, the uber, the crying, the shower. your breath catches.
shit.
he opens his eyes, like he can feel the panic rising in you.
you pull back quickly, sitting up in his bed, the covers pooling around your waist. your hair is slightly damp, your eyes puffy. his oversized t-shirt hangs off one shoulder.
“sorry,” you whisper, voice raw. “i didn’t mean to—”
“it’s okay,” he says, sitting up too. his glasses are still off, and his voice is rough from sleep. “you were upset.”
you stare down at your hands. “i didn’t mean to show up like that.”
he nods slowly. “i figured.”
you chew on your bottom lip, heart pounding. “did i… say anything weird?”
tsukishima doesn’t answer right away.
you glance up at him.
he’s already looking at you. not cold, not distant — just tired. like he hasn’t slept either.
“you said you still liked me,” he says quietly.
your stomach drops.
“i told you that you were drunk,” he adds, softer now. “and you tried to kiss me.”
you want to crawl under the mattress.
“but i didn’t let you,” he says, like it matters. and it does. you nod once, eyes burning again.
“i cried a lot, didn’t i?”
“yeah,” he murmurs. “you did.”
you laugh weakly, but it’s not really a laugh. “i’m sorry.”
“don’t be.”
you glance back at him.
he’s looking down now, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.
“you weren’t wrong,” he says. “about me not fighting.”
you inhale.
“i didn’t know how to fix it,” he says. “and instead of trying, i just… let you go.”
your chest aches.
“you could’ve said something,” you whisper.
“i know,” he says. “but i was scared i’d make it worse. that i’d say the wrong thing. or that you’d already moved on.”
“i didn’t.”
he looks up again. and for a second, it’s quiet.
“you said you needed me,” he says. “and i wasn’t there. and i can’t take that back.”
your eyes sting. you nod slowly.
“but i want to be now,” he adds, barely above a whisper.
then he swallows hard, his eyes darkening like something’s been buried too long.
“you know,” he says quietly, “i cared. more than i ever showed.”
your heart skips. you blink up at him, waiting.
“after we broke up…” he looks away, voice rough. “i cried. more than i thought i would. more than i wanted to admit.”
you don’t say anything. the silence holds everything.
“i acted like i didn’t care,” he admits, finally meeting your eyes. “but it hurt. a lot.”
your throat tightens. you reach out, gently touching his cheek.
“why didn’t you say anything?” you whisper.
he shrugs, bitter laugh. “because i didn’t know how. and i was scared you’d think it was weakness.”
you squeeze his hand. “it’s not.”
he nods slowly, voice softer now. “yeah.”
you take a breath, steadying yourself.
“i’m not drunk anymore,” you say, voice low but steady. “i mean this.”
he swallows again.
you lean in slowly, eyes searching his.
his breath catches.
and then your lips meet.
it’s soft and tentative, like both of you are testing the waters.
but it feels real.
it feels like a beginning.
when you pull back, you smile shakily.
“see?” you whisper.
he smiles too, small but genuine.
“yeah,” he says. “okay.”
you squeeze his hand again.
and this time, he squeezes back.
———
he gets up first.
doesn’t say anything at first — just stands, stretches, and disappears into the bathroom. you hear the faucet run. a moment later, he comes back with a glass of water and some painkillers.
“just in case,” he mutters, setting them down on the bedside table beside you.
you take the water with both hands. “thanks.”
he nods and sits back on the edge of the bed. like he doesn’t want to push. like he’s giving you space to say something, if you want to.
you drink half the glass. your voice is soft when you speak. “did you… mean everything you said? last night?”
he looks at you. doesn’t flinch. “every word.”
you nod slowly. your eyes flicker down to your lap.
“…did you?”
your breath catches a little.
but you nod too.
“i meant it,” you say. “i still like you. even after everything.”
he exhales like he’s been holding his breath all morning. and maybe he has.
“you didn’t act like you cared back then,” you murmur. “after we broke up.”
he looks down.
you watch him. “i thought i made it easy for you to leave.”
“you didn’t,” he says quietly. “i just… made it look like you did.”
you frown, confused.
he still doesn’t meet your eyes. “i cried. the whole day. after you ended it.”
your mouth parts slightly.
“yamaguchi covered for me. told the teachers i had food poisoning or something,” he adds. “i didn’t even leave my room.”
you stare at him.
“i didn’t sleep,” he says. “didn’t eat. i just kept thinking about how i messed it up. how i couldn’t even say what i was feeling. and then it was too late.”
your throat tightens.
“i didn’t know,” you whisper.
“i didn’t want you to,” he says. “i didn’t want you to think i was weak or pathetic or — i don’t know.”
“you’re not.”
he finally looks at you again.
and the look in his eyes — it’s not guarded. it’s not sarcastic or indifferent like it used to be.
it’s honest.
“i should’ve told you,” he says. “back then.”
you nod, eyes stinging again.
“but i want to tell you now,” he says. “if you’ll let me.”
you don’t answer right away.
instead, you shift forward, reaching for his hand again.
he laces your fingers gently, carefully.
like he’s still afraid he might break something.
“okay,” you whisper.
his shoulders relax slightly.
you lean your head against his arm. just for a second. “can we… stay like this a little longer?”
he nods once. “yeah.”
and you do.
for the first time in a long time, it feels like everything’s quiet.
not empty quiet. not heavy quiet.
just still. safe.
you’re curled up under his blanket, tsukishima’s hoodie practically swallowing you whole, your hair still damp from the shower earlier. his room is still quiet. calm. you’d been up for maybe thirty minutes now, just… talking. nothing heavy. nothing dramatic. just real.
he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping from a water bottle. you’re propped up by one arm, scrolling through your phone absently—until you blink at your notifications.
17 messages.
“oh no.”
tsukishima glances over. “what?”
you quickly unlock your phone, and your heart drops when you see the group chat.
roommates ❤️🔥
1:12am – mari: y/n where tf are you
1:13am – syd: did you leave the dorm???
1:14am – mari: we literally just got back and your bed is untouched
1:16am – syd: and your shoes are gone
1:17am – syd: and so is your hoodie??
1:18am – mari: and your phone location says you’re at tsukishima’s dorm???
1:20am – syd: TELL ME THIS IS A GLITCH
1:21am – mari: did you go over there drunk
1:22am – syd: DUDE ANSWER US
1:30am – syd: you’re actually worrying me
1:42am – mari: you haven’t posted or opened anything since like 11
2:11am – syd: i swear to god if he did something—
2:14am – mari: don’t say that
3:02am – syd: ok i actually can’t sleep
7:11am – syd: you’re still there??
7:12am – mari: that’s it. we’re coming over
7:12am – syd: if you’re dead i’m haunting you
you stare at the screen in horror. “oh my god.”
“what?” tsukishima says.
“my roommates. they thought i disappeared.”
he raises a brow. “didn’t you tell them you were leaving?”
“no!” you groan, flopping back onto the pillow. “i didn’t think i’d be gone all night, i just—ugh. i forgot. i’m an idiot.”
“you’re not an idiot,” he says, pulling the blanket off his lap and standing. “but they’re probably on their way.”
knock knock knock.
you and tsukishima both freeze.
“too late,” he mutters under his breath, heading to the door.
you scramble to sit up, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, hair a mess, phone still glowing in your hand.
tsukishima opens the door.
and there they are. mari and syd. barefaced. hoodies. obviously not even having breakfast yet.
they both peek past him.
and see you.
wrapped up in a blanket, on tsukishima’s bed, clearly not wearing your own clothes.
you blink. “…hey.”
mari’s mouth drops open. “you really stayed here?!” syd pushes past him into the room. “oh my god, what the hell is going on?”
“i forgot to text you!” you say quickly. “i swear i wasn’t ignoring you.”
“you disappeared,” mari says, hands on her hips. “from our dorm. and your location said tsukishima’s. what were we supposed to think?”
“i wasn’t trying to hide it. i just—he called me, and i—”
“she was upset,” tsukishima cuts in flatly, closing the door behind them. “i stayed up with her. she cried. i didn’t let her do anything stupid.”
“she’s wearing your hoodie,” syd points out.
“she showered,” he replies, like it’s obvious. mari’s jaw drops. “you showered?!”
“i was sweaty and emotional, leave me alone!” you huff. syd squints. “you two hooked up, didn’t you?”
“no,” you say at the exact same time tsukishima says, “she kissed me first.”
mari gasps.
syd looks personally betrayed.
“i meant it!” you cry. “and it wasn’t like that! we talked about everything last night—everything. we didn’t just kiss and crash. we actually… we made up.”
there’s a beat of silence. then mari sighs.
“you better tell us everything.”
syd nods, folding her arms. “and i mean everything.”
you glance over at tsukishima, who’s already backing toward his desk like he regrets every choice he’s ever made.
“i’ll explain,” you promise, smile tugging at your lips.
mari and syd look at each other.
then back at you.
then both say in unison:
“yeah, no, we’re not letting this go.”
———
you’re sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bed, still wearing his hoodie and your own shorts, hair barely brushed, and your voice hoarse from crying earlier. mari is on his desk chair. syd’s on the floor with a throw pillow hugged to her chest. the room smells like fabric softener and something vaguely lemony.
tsukishima leans silently against the far wall, arms crossed, trying to act like he’s not listening — but he totally is.
“i was drunk,” you say. “but like… not blackout. just fuzzy. and when he called me, i don’t know, i just—picked up.”
“and he said what, exactly?” syd asks, raising a brow.
“he invited me over,” you say quietly. “but i told him i was tired and wanted to go home. i was drunk, so he sent me an uber instead.”
“and then what happened?” mari presses.
“i thought that was it,” you admit. “but i ended up going over anyway.”
both girls stare at you in disbelief.
tsukishima shifts behind you, probably cringing at every word.
“i knew it was a bad idea,” you admit. “but like… i couldn’t stop thinking about him. even when we weren’t talking. even when i was mad. he was just there all the time in my head, and i—I guess i wanted to see if it still meant anything.”
mari’s expression softens. “and did it?”
you glance over your shoulder at him. he doesn’t move, but his eyes are already on you.
“yeah,” you say, quiet. “it did.”
they don’t say anything for a second.
then syd blurts, “did you sleep with him?”
“no!” you say again, exasperated. “we kissed. and i cried. a lot. i told him i missed him. i told him i needed him. and when he said i was just drunk, i told him i wasn’t anymore. that i meant it.”
“and what did he say?”
you glance at tsukishima.
he doesn’t look away this time.
“he said he cared too much,” you say. “that he cried when things ended. that he didn’t know how to stop thinking about me either. and that he didn’t come over last night to hook up—he just wanted to know if i was okay.”
mari lets out a breath. “damn.”
syd’s arms are still crossed, but her tone has softened. “so… you guys are back together?”
you glance at him one last time.
he finally speaks, voice low. “we’re trying.”
a small smile pulls at your lips. “trying,” you echo.
your roommates glance at each other — then mari stands and claps her hands. “alright. we’re making pancakes. you owe us more details over breakfast.”
syd follows her out the door, muttering something about needing coffee for this level of emotional whiplash.
once the door clicks shut behind them, tsukishima walks over to where you’re still sitting on the bed. he doesn’t say anything—just offers his hand.
you take it, letting him pull you to your feet.
“you good?” he asks quietly.
you nod. “yeah.”
he presses his forehead to yours. “we’re actually doing this, huh?”
you smile. “yeah. we are.”
and when he kisses you again—soft and slow this time, no more doubt—you feel it in your chest like the night before, but clearer.
you’re not drunk anymore.
you mean it.