The night before we both left for college was supposed to be simple. Just another night together. Just another moment before everything changed.
But it wasn’t simple.
It was the last night before we’d be five hours apart, before the late-night drives and missed phone calls and the reality of long-distance would settle in. And even though five hours wasn’t the end of the world, it felt far.
Logan sat on the bed, absentmindedly strumming his guitar. His fingers moved over the strings, but there was no melody—just soft, scattered notes, his mind clearly somewhere else.
I watched him from the doorway, my heart aching in a way I hadn’t expected.
We weren’t breaking up. We weren’t losing each other.
But still, it felt like something was shifting.
“You’re quiet,” I said, stepping forward.
Logan glanced up at me, his blue eyes unreadable. “Just thinking.”
I sat beside him on the bed, curling my legs beneath me. “About what?”
He set the guitar aside, running a hand through his messy hair. “Tomorrow.”
I exhaled slowly. “It’s not like we won’t see each other.”
“I know.” His fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt. “But I’m gonna miss you.”
A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down. “I’m gonna miss you too.”
He let out a breath, then smirked slightly. “You sure you’re gonna survive without me waking you up for class?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please. You’re the one who sleeps through alarms.”
His smirk faded as he traced patterns on my thigh. “It’s just... different, you know? We’ve always been in the same place. Same town, same school. And now...”
Now, we wouldn’t be.
I knew what he meant.
I nudged his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”
Logan gave me a small smile, but there was something else in his expression—something deeper. “Yeah. We will.”
And then he leaned in, kissing me softly at first, like he was memorizing the feel of me, the taste of my lips.
I melted into him, shifting closer, my fingers tangling in his hair. His hands slid over my back, pulling me against him, deepening the kiss until I felt it everywhere.
This wasn’t just about tonight.
This was about us.
The heat between us built quickly, like it always did, but there was something different about it this time.
Something slower.
Something heavier.
Logan’s hands moved beneath my shirt, his fingers trailing over my skin with a kind of reverence that made my breath hitch. He pulled the fabric over my head, his lips never leaving mine, his hands skimming down my bare waist.
I reached for his shirt next, tugging it off, running my hands over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms.
When he pulled me onto his lap, I could feel how hard he was, could feel the tension in his body as he held me close.
“I don’t want to waste a second of tonight,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my jaw, my neck.
“Then don’t,” I whispered, rolling my hips against him.
A low groan rumbled from his throat, and suddenly, we weren’t moving slowly anymore.
We were desperate.
Hungry.
His hands gripped my hips, guiding me against him, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
I reached between us, undoing the button of his jeans, sliding my hand inside, wrapping my fingers around him.
“Fuck, Emma,” he groaned, his head dropping against my shoulder.
I stroked him slowly, teasingly, until he cursed under his breath and flipped us over, pinning me beneath him.
His lips were everywhere—my throat, my collarbone, my stomach. He stripped away the last of my clothes, his hands and mouth setting my skin on fire.
By the time he pushed inside me, we were both trembling.
We moved together, our bodies fitting perfectly, our breaths mingling, our fingers locked.
Pure, raw, and completely consuming.
When we both came undone, it wasn’t just pleasure—it was something deeper.
Something that told me we were going to be okay.
That this wasn’t the end.
Logan collapsed beside me, pulling me into his arms, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on my back.
“I don’t care how long it takes,” he murmured. “I’m gonna be with you.”
I pressed my face against his chest, breathing him in. “We’ve got this,” I whispered.
And in that moment, I believed it.
Because even five hours apart, he was still mine.
And I was still his.