Fire Burning

Connect

The morning sunlight crept through the edges of the shed’s wooden slats, warm and golden, like it didn’t care what happened the night before.

I did.

My eyes opened slowly, hazy and sore. The air smelled like sweat, perfume, and someone’s forgotten candy wrappers. There were blankets strewn across the floor, limbs tangled in sleep, soft snores and steady breathing. I was curled into myself in the farthest corner of the room, using my arm as a pillow.

And he was still next to me.

Aristotle.

He wasn’t touching me, but he was close. Too close. The kind of close you still feel even if your eyes are shut and your body’s pretending to rest. His chest rose and fell, lips parted slightly, hair a little messy across his forehead. That perfect, infuriating jawline was tilted toward me.

And all I could think about was his mouth. On mine. Again.

Last night was a blur—one wrapped in dares, heavy stares, and the scent of adrenaline. Seven minutes in a dark closet, heated glances across the room, his hand on my thigh, that kiss in the bathroom.

I hated that I remembered it all.

His voice whispering against my neck. The heat of his hand brushing my hip. The way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing in the room.

God.

I sat up, careful not to wake anyone. My body felt warm in places I didn’t want it to. My cheeks were flushed, lips raw from too much biting. The room was still dim, but it was enough for the embarrassment to crawl up my spine like it had claws.

I needed air.

Slipping out from under the blanket, I pulled on my hoodie and crept toward the door. The cool morning hit me like a slap as I stepped outside. The grass was still wet with dew. The sky was pale pink at the edges. Everything felt too quiet.

Too calm.

I walked a little farther into the backyard, arms wrapped around myself, replaying it all on loop.

The way he grabbed my chin. The way he said, “Next time you want seven minutes in heaven… invite me first.” The smirk that came after.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Leaving without saying goodbye?”

I spun around, startled.

Jeremy stood in the shed doorway, blanket draped over one shoulder, hair a beautiful mess, like he didn’t even have to try.

I swallowed. “Didn’t want to wake anyone.”

“You didn’t.”

Silence.

He walked toward me, slow and confident, like the world moved for him. When he stopped in front of me, he looked down—eyes darker than I remembered.

“You good?” he asked quietly, voice a little raspy from sleep.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just... needed a minute.”

Jeremy studied me like he could see everything I was trying to hide. His gaze flicked to my lips, and for a second, I swore he was going to kiss me again. But he didn’t.

Instead, he reached behind his back, pulled something from under the blanket, and handed it to me.

A fleece. Dark blue. Soft. His.

“You were shivering,” he said.

I hesitated, but took it.

“Thanks.”

Then, just as I turned to head back inside, he caught my chin with two fingers—gentle but firm—and tilted my face toward his.

“You sure it was just a game last night?” he whispered.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

His thumb brushed the edge of my jaw. “Didn’t think so.”

And then he let go.

Left me there, heart in my throat, wearing his warmth on my shoulders and his words in my chest like a fire I couldn’t put out.