But he can't forget her.
Can't stop seeing her mouth saying those words.
Can't stop hearing what she didn't say.
The night drags on and his mind's a war zone.
Everything else goes quiet.
All he can think is her.
Her laugh.
Her voice when she's half-asleep.
The way she looked back at him like she meant it and didn't.
And before he even realizes it,
he's outside her apartment.
He doesn't even knock. Just waits.
Sits on the floor like a ghost with unfinished business.
Hours go by. The sun dips.
And then—
Thee door clicks.
I step in, still in my work clothes, hair tied, looking like the exact ache in his chest.
I jumps when I see him.
"What are you doing here?"
He stands. Calm. Quiet. But his eyes are burning.
"You won't get what I'm saying with words," he says, voice low, stepping toward me.
"So now I'm gonna show you."
Another step. I don't move. Doesn't breathe.
"I'm gonna f*** you until it finally makes sense to you."
His mouth brushes mine.
I shiver.
"I'm gonna remind you—" he says against my lips,
You're not something I can just forget."
He kisses me—deep, desperate, like he's bleeding emotion and this is the only way to stop it.
I gasp when he pulls back, heart racing, head spinning.
"You're old enough to be f***ed, Terra," he whispers, eyes locked on mine. "And I'm done pretending I don't want to."
And my body betrays me—
those damn butterflies.
The ones I swore she buried.
But they're still alive.
Just like this.
Just like them.
I am pressed up against the wall now—
His body flushes against mine.
Hands on my waist like he owns it.
Because maybe he always did.
I gasped, "Stop—stop, what the f*** are you doing?"
My hands push at his chest, weakly. Half-heated.
But my eyes?
They're begging for what my mouth's scared to say.
He just smirks, lips brushing my jaw.
"You remember the first time?" he whispers.
My breath hitches.
"You didn't even know how to kiss."
His voice is velvet, cocky, dripping heat.
"You were nervous as hell… so I taught you."
He trails a kiss down my neck—slow, knowing.
"I told you where to put your hands."
He lifts my wrists gently, slides them up to his shoulders.
"Showed you how to breathe through it. How to feel it."
"F*** you," I mutter, voice breaking, eyes burning—but my grip tightens.
He laughs, low and dangerous.
"Oh, you did," he growls, hand sliding beneath my shirt.
"And now I'm gonna teach you again."
I shake my head, still clinging to the lie.
"I said stop. I swear to God—"
But then he says it.
Soft. Like a sin.
"I missed you."
And then—
"I still love the way you fall apart for me."
That's it.
My knees give. My lips crash into his like they've been waiting years for this exact second.
It's not gentle.
It's desperate.
"I hate you," I breathe between kisses.
"Liar."
"I swear, I'll kill you—"
"Do it later," he smirks, kissing me again, hand gripping my thigh as he lifts me.
"F***," I moan, melting in his arms.
Then, quietly—so quietly it almost doesn't exist:
"I love you." I confess.
He freezes for a second, looking in my eyes like they just gave him gravity again.
And then?
He carries me to the bedroom—
Because this time, he's gonna make sure I never forget.