Chapter 28
She was so close I could barely breathe.
I could barely think.
Curled into my side like she belonged there — like I hadn’t been holding my breath the entire night, pretending I didn’t want to memorize the weight of her against me.
My hoodie hung loose around her frame, sleeves too long, her knees tucked under her.
She smelled like vanilla and clean laundry and maybe something sweeter underneath it all.
Something that made my heart thud like a goddamn drum.
My hand had found its way under the hem of the sweatshirt hours ago — innocent at first, just a gentle press to her waist. A point of contact. A reminder that this wasn’t a dream.
But I hadn’t moved it.
And neither had she.
I let my thumb brush against her skin. Once. Twice.
She didn’t flinch.
She leaned.
And I had lost all my common sense.
Her eyes were on the screen, but not really. Her lashes fluttered. Her lips parted just slightly, like she was holding something back. I watched her throat work as she swallowed.
God, I wanted to taste that hesitation.
My heart slammed once, then again, and I knew — I knew — that if I leaned in right now, she’d let me. Just enough.
Not all the way.
But enough to destroy me.
I leaned in.
Slowly. Carefully. Like I was afraid she might disappear beneath me if I startled her.
My nose brushed her cheek. She didn’t move. Her breath caught — just a hitch — and I swore I felt it in every bone I had.
I was so close. My lips hovered at the corner of her mouth.
Almost.
And then — she tensed.
Tiny. Barely there. But enough.
I froze.
Pulled back just a little, but not all the way. I didn’t want to scare her. Didn’t want her to think I regretted it. Because I didn’t. I’d do it again if she’d let me. But not like this. Not if she was scared.
She was staring at her hands now, twisted in the hem of my hoodie like she needed something to hold on to. Like she was unraveling.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and her voice was small. “I just — I can’t. Not if it’s not real. We made rules, Ansel.” And even as she said it… I didn’t believe her. But I would respect it.
Something cracked in my chest.
Because it was real. At least to me. And hearing her say that — draw that line, even gently — felt like getting kicked in the ribs by the truth. It would have been real. Realer than any kiss we had shared before.
Realer than anything I had felt in the past.
I swallowed hard. Tried to steady my voice. “I’d never ask you to do anything that wasn’t real,” I finally said, and meant it more than I’d ever meant anything.
She didn’t look at me.
Didn’t move away either.
So I stayed.
My hand slid back to her waist — still careful, still reverent — and when she didn’t pull away, I closed my eyes and let myself feel it.
Just for a second.
Because she was right.
If I kissed her now, I’d never recover.
She didn’t pull away. That was enough for me.
She just went quiet — tucked herself a little deeper under the blanket, as if she could hide from the tension still buzzing in the air. I let my hand rest light against her hip, afraid even breathing too loud would break something delicate.
Then —
She shifted. Just slightly. A slow, sleepy sort of nuzzle against my shoulder. Her breath warmed the fabric of my shirt. And then she went still.
Deadweight still.
My heart stuttered. Juniper… had fallen asleep on me.
I stared down at her, a little stunned. Her hair was a mess across her cheek, her hand curled into the hem of the hoodie like she was holding herself together even in her dreams.
And I —
I was done for.
God. I was so done for.
I shifted carefully, enough to tuck the blanket a little higher around her, to let her head rest more comfortably on my chest. My free hand hovered uselessly in the air for a moment before settling in her hair, barely brushing it. I prayed my racing heartbeat wouldn’t wake her.
She didn’t stir.
I couldn’t stop looking at her.
Like this, she looked nothing like the Juniper the world thought they knew — sharp, clever, self-possessed. The Juniper she tried so hard to put in front of everyone. Even me.
Here, in my arms, she looked soft. Young. Tired in a way I didn’t think had anything to do with the late hour. Like she hadn’t let herself rest in a long, long time.
My phone buzzed beside me — some email or push alert I didn’t care about — but it reminded me. Of the photo. The one she’d posted.
I pulled it up again. Just to look. Just to have proof that this had happened. That she’d let me close, even for a second.
I saved it to my phone..
The moment it landed in my messages, I tapped it twice. Made it my background — I didn’t even hesitate.
It was stupid. Dangerous. Fake.
But I didn’t care.
Because right now, she was asleep in my arms. Wearing my hoodie. Trusting me, just a little. And I wanted to remember this moment forever.
And all I could do was pray that this wouldn’t be the last time she let me hold her like this.
She didn’t wake up. We sat there for hours.
I scrolled through my phone for a few minutes, but I was worried that every swipe across my screen would wake her. I considered another movie, but the remote was on the coffee table in front of us, and I would have to move to grab that too.
So I just sat. Closed my eyes gently, listening to her sleeping soundly against me. I might have dozed off too. Warm and home in the space between her heartbeat.
Even when I shifted beneath her, even when I gently — so gently — pulled my arm out from behind her shoulders. She mumbled something that didn’t sound like words and curled into the warm space I’d left behind.
I just stood there for a second, staring at her. Breathing like I’d run a marathon. I couldn’t leave her like that.
She’d wake up stiff and sore, probably annoyed, definitely embarrassed. And the last thing I wanted was to ruin this — whatever this was — by letting her feel like she’d overstepped.
So I bent down and whispered her name. “Juniper.”
Nothing.
“Hey. I’m gonna — I’m gonna move you, okay?”
Still nothing. Jesus. Out cold.
I laughed a little under my breath, not because it was funny, but because the alternative was to completely lose it.
I scooped her up in my arms and — I swear to god — she sighed.
Right there. In my chest. Like she belonged. Like she trusted me.
I carried her to the bedroom. Every step careful, slow, reverent. She didn’t wake — not even when I laid her down, pulled the covers over her, brushed the hair off her cheek. Not even when I lingered a second too long, just looking.
She looked peaceful.
Beautiful.
Like something I was never supposed to have.
Fuck.
I backed out of the room before I did something stupid, like kiss her forehead. Or get into bed next to her. Or confess every impossible thing rattling around inside me.
I grabbed a spare blanket from the hall closet and curled up on the couch. No pillow, no light, no sound — just the memory of her sigh in my arms, the photo on my lock screen, and the hollow in my chest where she fit too perfectly.
God help me.
I was in love with her.
And she’d never even know.