Everly's hand had slid up again, tracing over his heart now, her fingers barely moving, just pressing lightly every few seconds, as if syncing herself to the beat.
Meanwhile, Ethan's hand slid into Evelyn's hair, guiding her just enough to let their foreheads rest together. She didn't speak. She just exhaled, and that was enough.
Their bodies began to move again, not with urgency, but with meaning. The rhythm wasn't forced or rushed—it was slow and heavy with the kind of closeness that doesn't need to be explained.
They kissed again, deeper this time, and whatever tension had lived inside Ethan—the kind that never left, even when things were quiet—finally started to break apart.
It wasn't loud. It didn't crack like glass. It just softened, little by little, like his body had been holding back for too long and had finally found something real to lean into.
