Luca’s bedroom was too clean. That was my first thought when I walked in. Like he’d actually tried, like he’d scrubbed the chaos out of it for tonight. The bed was made. The desk was cleared. A single candle flickered on the windowsill, giving the whole room this unfair kind of softness.
“You lit a candle?” I said, stepping inside. “What is this, a date or a séance?”
Luca smirked from where he sat on the edge of the bed. “Both. I’m summoning better grades and your attention.”
“You’re getting one of those things. Guess which.”
I dropped my bag on the floor and tried not to stare too hard. He was in a hoodie and sweats again, but somehow it still felt illegal. Like he wasn’t even trying and still looked like trouble in the shape of a boy.
We sat on the carpet with the project materials spread between us. For the first fifteen minutes, we actually got work done. Notes were scribbled. Quotes were highlighted. I even let him read his paragraphs out loud without mocking his dramatic voice. Which was growth.
But then he stretched, arms raised above his head, and I glanced up. Big mistake.
His shirt lifted just enough to show a sliver of skin. My brain did a hard reboot. Logic left the chat.
“See something you like?” he asked, not even looking.
“I hate you.”
He laughed, low and smug. “Liar.”
I didn’t respond. I was too busy pretending to read the same sentence for the fourth time. My face felt hot, my hands wouldn’t stay still, and I could feel his gaze like heat pressed between my shoulder blades.
“You’re squirming,” he noted, smug as hell. “Am I that distracting?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He leaned back on his hands, eyebrows raised. “You could sit in my lap. Might help your focus.”
I snorted. “Oh sure, that’s the logical next step. Real academic of you.”
“I’m just saying,” he said, eyes dark and teasing, “proximity breeds productivity.”
“That’s not a real thing.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Before I could stop him, he reached out and tugged my wrist gently. Not forceful. Not rough. Just enough. I resisted for half a second—then didn’t.
He pulled me into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like I belonged there. My knees settled on either side of him, legs trembling slightly from how close we suddenly were.
“Comfortable?” he asked, voice softer now, almost shy.
“No,” I lied.
“Want me to stop?”
I paused.
“No,” I whispered.
His hands settled on my waist, grounding and warm. We looked at each other, eyes locked, neither one moving. My pulse was a drumline. His breath brushed against my lips like a dare.
Then he kissed me.
It was greedy and real and too much all at once. My hands tangled in his hoodie, pulling him closer. His fingers slid up my back, slow but certain. My whole body leaned in like it had been waiting for permission to fall apart in his hands.
He kissed like someone who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it. And right now, what he wanted was me.
“This is what you want, right?” he murmured between kisses, lips brushing mine like he was afraid to stop now that we’d started.
I didn’t answer with words. I kissed him again. Let my mouth say yes. Let my hands say more.
Our books were forgotten. The floor might as well have vanished. There was only the heat of his mouth, the press of his chest, the way his thumb traced the edge of my jaw like I was something delicate and burning. His legs shifted beneath me, making the contact deeper, sharper, like every move pushed us closer to the edge of something we didn’t know how to name.
We kissed like the room wasn’t watching. Like the candle hadn’t burned low. Like time would wait just this once.
But it didn’t.
Somewhere between breathless gasps and half-laughed curses, something shifted. The air changed. My fingers froze on his shoulders. My lips stopped moving. Reality crashed back in, and with it, all the panic I’d shoved to the corner of my mind.
He felt it instantly.
Luca pulled back, eyes searching mine. “What’s wrong?”
I didn’t want to ruin the moment. But I couldn’t lie either. Not to him. Not now.
“I’m scared,” I said.
The words came out quiet, but heavy. They sat between us like a crack in glass, spreading faster the longer I looked at him.
He blinked, then tilted his head just slightly. “Of me?”
“No,” I whispered. “Of this. Of feeling too much. Of messing everything up.”
I expected him to tease me. Or scoff. Or shut down. But he didn’t. He just nodded slowly, like he understood more than I wanted him to.
“Good,” he said, voice gentle. “Because I’m scared too.”