The kiss ended slowly, his mouth pulling away from hers with deliberate restraint, leaving Elena's lips parted, breath trembling softly against the empty air between them.
His eyes stayed locked onto hers as he drew back—steady, focused, dark with intensity.
She was still seated on the workbench, the solid surface beneath her the only thing keeping her anchored.
He didn't speak immediately. He stood there, letting the silence stretch, letting the moment settle into her skin.
Elena finally found her voice, softer than she intended, almost unsure.
"Leaving already?"
His mouth twitched at the corner, barely a smile—but enough to remind her he was still firmly in control.
"For now," he replied, voice quiet, calm. "You're not ready for anything else tonight."
Elena's heart twisted a little—half disappointment, half relief. She watched him carefully, searching his face for a hint of what he was thinking, of what was coming next.
"And when i am?" she asked, pushing herself to say it, trying to steady the shake in her voice.
He didn't hesitate.
"You won't have to ask."
He took one slow step back, increasing the space between them, and Elena felt it sharply—the loss of his warmth, the absence of his touch, the immediate emptiness he left behind.
He turned toward the door, the quiet scrape of his boots against the concrete floor the only sound filling the silence.
At the door, he paused, hand resting on the handle. He glanced over his shoulder at her, his gaze lingering—possessive, unyielding, but somehow softer around the edges.
"Goodnight, Elena," he said quietly, leaving the words hanging heavily in the air.
Then he was gone, the door closing gently behind him, leaving her alone in the garage, pulse racing, body still burning from the memory of him.
She stayed exactly as he's left her—seated on the workbench, palms pressed against the wood, still holding onto the feeling of his hands, his mouth, the way his gaze had quietly unraveled her defenses.
Everything around her felt impossibly still, the silence thick and charged, as if even the garage itself was holding its breath.
She stared at the closed door, expecting it to open again—or maybe just hoping it would.
But it stayed shut, the air heavy with his absence.
She exhaled slowly, realising how tightly she'd been holding her breath, how quickly her heart was still beating, how every nerve ending was still strung tight with his lingering touch.
"You won't have to ask," he'd said.
The words replayed over and over again in her head, quiet and sure, leaving her feeling stripped bare yet strangely comforted.
She didn't know how long she sat there, lost in that strange mix of longing and confusion.
But eventually, the quiet grew too loud, the stillness too heavy.
With a slow breath, she slid off the workbench, steadying herself with one hand as she found her footing again. Her legs still trembles slightly, the lingering echo of him still alive under her skin.
When she finally gathered herself enough to lock up, the garage felt different—marked by the quiet intensity of what had happened, changed by his presence, even though he was gone.
—
The drive home was a blur.
Every streetlamp, every passing shadow reminded her of him. Elena didn't turn on the radio, letting the quiet hum of the engine fill the space instead.
When she reached the house, she sat in the car a moment longer, gripping the steering wheel, trying to gather herself back together. But she knew, deep down, that something had shifted permanently tonight.
And there was no going back.
She moved through the dark house quietly, guided by memory rather than sight. She hadn't expected Carmen to still be awake—had hoped to avoid questions until morning—but as soon as she stepped past the living room, a soft, sleepy voice caught her off guard.
"You're back late."
Elena paused in the hallway, turning to see Carmen curled up in a blanket on the couch, eyes half-open, illuminated gently by the dim glow of the streetlamp outside.
"Did i wake you?" Elena asked softly.
Carmen shook her head, stretching slightly and sitting up. "Nope. Couldn't sleep. Thought i'd wait to make sure you weren't, you know, kidnapped my Mr. Dark and Mysterious.
Elena huffed softly. "Well, i'm still here."
"Clearly." Carmen tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly, sharpening with curiosity even through her obvious sleepiness. "So?"
Elena shifted, her cheeks warming beneath the weight of Carmen's stare. "So, what?"
"So," Carmen prompted again, fully awake now, leaning forward slightly with a knowing look, "How was it? Or, more importantly, who is he? And don't dodge me this time."
Elena's chest tightened. The warmth of his kiss, his hands, the quiet, intense way he'd held her—none of it made sense in words. She shrugged slightly, looking away, her voice quiet, uncertain.
"I still don't even know his name," Elena admitted, half ashamed, half confused by the realization as it tumbled from her lips.
Carmen's brows rose, surprise and curiosity dancing across her face. "Wait, you mean after everything, you still haven't asked him?"
Elena shook her head slowly. "I didn't get the chance. Or maybe i just—" she sighed, running a hand through her hair, "maybe i didn't want to know. Not yet."
Carmen watched her quietly, then nodded slowly, eyes softening with understanding.
"Maybe that's the point. Sometimes it's easier if it doesn't feel so real, right?"
Elena didn't answer right away, but carmen had hit something true. She hadn't asked him—not because she didn't care—but because giving him a name, making him fully real, felt dangerous in a way she wasn't prepared for.
Carmen stood, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself. She crossed the room slowly, stepping up to Elena and squeezing her arm gently. "You don't have to figure it all out tonight. Sleep on it."
Elena exhaled slowly, nodding, grateful that Carmen understood more than she could put into words.
"Night, Carmen," Elena murmured softly.
"Night, mystery girl," Carmen teased lightly, nudging her shoulder as she slipped past toward her room.
And as Elena stood alone in the quiet hall once more, she couldn't help but think that maybe not knowing his name had been a choice all along—on she wasn't yet ready to let go of.