DESPERATE & DIVINE

16. Giving In

I stumble toward the door, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way and groaning at the sight—my messy bun has decided to live up to its name. In a panic, I yank the hair tie out, smoothing everything down and up into a high ponytail, hoping for a quick fix. Then my eyes drop, and I realise... I'm in my comfy underwear—the kind you could probably parachute with. Great.

For a split second, I debate a frantic change into something racier, something that screams "I'm effortlessly sexy and definitely not panicking right now," but before I can make a move, she knocks again, and the nerves and excitement collide in a flurry of adrenaline.

I peek through the spy hole, and there she is—shifting nervously, hair tied up, dressed down in a hoodie and shorts. My heart skips a beat. Without hesitation, I swing the door open.

She slips inside, wordlessly, and I quickly lock the door behind her. When I turn around, she's already made her way over to the bed, placing her phone down on the bedside table with careful precision and slipping her shoes off. She finally faces me, her hands tucked into her hoodie pockets, and for a moment, she looks almost uncertain. But then, a confident smile spreads across her face, slow and deliberate, like this was exactly how she planned it. Like every second between us is part of some secret game she's already won. And it's impossible not to smile back.

"You came back," I say softly, the words barely a breath, lingering in the charged silence between us. I stand there, feeling like the ground could disappear beneath my feet at any moment, unsure of what to do, unsure of what this moment means.

That smile—the breathtaking one I love so much—only grows bigger, more assured. "I said not now, remember?" she says playfully, and her gaze travels over me, lingering a moment longer on my T-shirt. "I love that top," she adds, voice warm, teasing, like she knows exactly what she's doing to me.

A wave of embarrassment hits, and I suddenly feel all too aware of how I must look. The oversized sleep shirt, the bare legs... it's not at all how I pictured this. I'd imagined something out of a film—us colliding in a whirlwind of passion, dressed in something that makes her jaw drop, not this baggy meatball shit I usually rot in. But things are different now, and the uncertainty between us makes it all feel fragile, like something that could shatter with one wrong move.

I can feel the nervousness bubbling up inside me, making my fingers twitch. There's an anxiety there that I'm not used to, like I want to get it right, to prove something to both of us. This is new—all of it—and that thought terrifies me as much as it thrills me.

Every touch, every word exchanged feels like a delicate rediscovery, like we're both finding our way back to something familiar yet entirely new. The uncertainty between us hangs heavy, but beneath that is a hope, a glimmer of what could be if we can find our rhythm again—perhaps even stronger than before.

Earlier, I'd been so sure of myself, so confident, ready to act on this hunger for her if she gave me the green light. But now, standing here as she looks at me with those deep, knowing eyes and that easy smile, I feel out of my depth, overwhelmed in the best way possible. I've always been that way when it comes to her—always headfirst, never thinking clearly, always consumed.

I'm staring at her, wide-eyed, probably like a deer in headlights, because she lets out this light, carefree giggle that breaks through my panic. And just like that, everything feels a little lighter. I notice the way she's looking at me—with so much affection, so much love, that it nearly takes my breath away.

"Frankie, don't lose your head, okay? You look so cute," she says softly, and I feel my cheeks flush, that familiar warmth spreading through me.

"I don't want to look cute," I grumble without thinking, crossing my arms and feeling suddenly small, like a kid pouting over a silly argument. There's still a noticeable distance between us, a space that feels both like a comforting buffer and a frustrating barrier I want to break through.