The fourth night felt different.
The air was heavier. The silence between our houses wasn’t empty anymore. It was full of the things we’d done. Full of the way he kissed me against the wall. The way he whispered my name against my skin. The way my door was never really locked anymore.
I didn’t wait long. I didn’t have to.
When I stepped outside, his lights were already on. The glow poured through his open curtains, soft and warm, a quiet invitation that pulled at something deep in my stomach. My heart raced as I crossed the short distance between our doors.
This time, I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t knock.
The front door opened before I could touch the handle. He stood there barefoot, wearing a black shirt with the top buttons undone and dark sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His hair
