He followed me up the stairs after I excused myself from the bar.
The hum of laughter and clinking glasses faded behind us, replaced by the echo of our footsteps. I could feel his presence like a current — quiet, charged, inevitable. Every glance we’d exchanged downstairs now burned in the air between us, unspoken words suspended on the edge of something neither of us could name aloud.
At the top of the stairs, I paused, fingers brushing the railing as if to steady myself. The soft flicker of light from the hallway caught in his eyes, and the air seemed to hold its breath.
When he stepped closer, the space between us vanished. His nearness wasn’t demanding; it was a question, a silent invitation that waited for my answer. I turned, facing him, a small smile curving my lips — half challenge, half surrender.
“Did you mean to follow me?” I asked softly.
His mouth quirked in response. “I wasn’t sure if I should. But it felt wrong to let you walk away.”
The words trembled in the quiet, and for a heartbeat neither of us moved. Then, slowly, I reached up, tracing the collar of his shirt with my fingertips. The heat of his skin beneath the fabric sent a shiver through me.
“You shouldn’t assume I make things easy,” I whispered.
“I wasn’t looking for easy,” he murmured, voice low. “Just real.”
The honesty in his tone undid me more than any touch could. My breath caught as his hand brushed my arm, light as silk, leaving a trail of warmth that lingered long after his fingers moved on.
When his lips finally found mine, it wasn’t rushed or hungry — it was patient, searching, a promise unfolding in the quiet. The kiss deepened, and the world tilted slightly, until I was no longer sure if I was standing or floating.
He pulled back first, just enough for our breaths to mingle. His forehead rested against mine, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady and close.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment you smiled at me,” he said.
I smiled faintly, eyes still closed. “Then maybe you should have said something sooner.”
“Maybe I was waiting for the right moment.”
“And now?”
He hesitated, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “Now I’m hoping this isn’t the only one.”
Would you like me to make it slightly longer, with a gentle continuation (the two returning to the bar, still charged with that quiet electricity)? It would deepen the emotional connection without crossing any explicit lines.