Twenty Eight
Savannah’s mind was racing.
She’d expected her nerves to calm once everything slowed down. They didn’t. If anything, the quiet made them worse.
Tilly shifted beside her, adjusting the pillow. The mattress dipped slightly under their weight. Savannah felt it like a shockwave.
She dragged her hand down her face, suddenly too aware of every place her body still hummed from what they’d just done.
Her stomach twisted.
This shouldn’t feel complicated. She liked Tilly. She’d wanted Tilly. She’d practically thrown herself at their hotel room door. But her brain wouldn’t shut up, spinning through thoughts she wished she could stop long enough to breathe.
She’d only ever been with men before. That was the truth she couldn’t escape. Her body knew the choreography of those relationships, the rhythms, the expectations, the way she was supposed to react. This was different in a way she didn’t have a roadmap for.
And she hated how that made her feel.
She wasn’t uncomfortable. She wasn’t confused about wanting Tilly. God, if anything, wanting them was the clearest thing in the room.
What scared her was the way it rewrote something inside her without asking.
She swallowed hard.
“Savannah?” Tilly’s voice was soft. Curious. Almost concerned.
She tensed. “Yeah?”
“You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
She almost laughed. Hysterical. Sharp. “Everything.”
Tilly didn’t push. Of course they didn’t push. That somehow made the panic swell more.
Savannah shifted onto her side, staring at the bland hotel artwork because she couldn’t look at them while her heart tried to break out of her ribs.
Her voice came out thin. “I’ve only ever done this with men.”
There it was. Out loud. Too loud.
She winced, bracing for the worst.
But Tilly didn’t flinch. They didn’t stiffen or pull back. They didn’t say anything that made her want to crawl out of her skin.
They just said, very gently, “Okay.”
The simplicity of it nearly undid her.
“No, I mean—” Savannah’s breath caught. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Not with you. Not with this. And I don’t want to say or assume anything that… could hurt you. Or come out wrong. Or sound like—”
She cut herself off, mortified.
This was spiraling. Fully spiraling. Free-falling into a space she’d kept tightly shut for years.
She felt the mattress dip again as Tilly shifted. Not closer. Not crowding her. Just a presence.
“Savannah,” they said softly. “You don’t have to know what you’re doing.”
“But I should.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she snapped, then lowered her voice. “Because I don’t want to mess this up.”
Silence stretched. Not tense. Just open.
Then Tilly said, quietly, “You’re not messing anything up.”
She finally looked at them. They were on their side, head propped on their hand, eyes soft in a way she wasn’t prepared for.
“I’ve never been with anyone like you either,” Tilly said. “So we’re both figuring it out. That’s all.”
Savannah’s eyes stung. “What if I say something stupid?”
“You probably will.” Tilly shrugged, gentle teasing in their voice. “And then I’ll tell you. And you’ll learn. That’s how it works.”
Savannah let out a shaky exhale.
Her spiral didn’t disappear. But it loosened its grip on her ribs just enough to breathe.
She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling again.
“You make it sound simple,” she whispered.
“It is simple,” Tilly said. “You want me. I want you. Everything else is just talking.”
Savannah’s chest tightened in a way that wasn’t panic anymore. Something warmer. Something terrifying in a different way.
She covered her eyes with her arm again. “I’m still freaking out.”
Tilly brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. Light. Careful. “That’s okay.”
And somehow it was.
The spiral didn’t stop completely, but it slowed. Enough for her to feel the hotel bed underneath her. Enough to let her heart beat without hurting. Enough to know she wasn’t alone in the moment.
Enough to breathe.
Savannah let out a long breath and stared at the ceiling again, trying to ground herself in something steady. Her mind was still buzzing, still hot around the edges, but she wasn’t falling apart anymore.
Tilly lay on their side watching her with that soft, unreadable expression that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t expected.
Savannah swallowed. Her voice came out quieter than she meant. “Do you… Want me to do something for you?”
Tilly blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”
Savannah’s face flushed hot. “I mean… after everything you just did for me, I don’t want you to feel like this was one-sided. I could… I mean, if you want…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her tongue felt thick. Her stomach twisted.
She’d never offered anything like that this gently before. Never this carefully. Never with stakes this high.
Tilly’s expression shifted, not rejecting, not uncomfortable — more like touched and a little sad.
“Savannah,” they said softly. “You don’t have to do anything.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I just thought… maybe you’d want—”
“I don’t,” they said gently, cutting her off before she could tie herself in knots.
Savannah went still. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” Tilly shook their head. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m good with just giving.”
Savannah’s breath hitched. “Oh.”
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Not that, exactly. Her pulse fluttered nervously.
“I didn’t know,” she said quietly.
“You weren’t supposed to,” Tilly said, voice warm. “I would’ve told you when it mattered. I’m telling you now.”
Savannah chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking. “So you really don’t want me to…?”
“I promise,” Tilly said. “I don’t need anything. Being with you is enough.”
The words hit her hard. Not sexual. Emotional. Heavy in a way that made her chest ache.
No one had ever said something like that to her. Not without wanting something back. Not without expectation built into it.
It made her eyes prickle.
She turned on her side to face them fully. Tilly watched her, their expression open and steady.
Savannah hesitated.
“Tilly?” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
She swallowed. “Can I… stay here tonight?”
Tilly’s answer settled between them like warm static.
“Yeah. Stay.”
Savannah’s chest tightened, not in panic this time but in something deeper, something she didn’t have a name for yet. She moved closer, slow and unsure, trying not to overthink the way her hands were starting to shake.
Tilly lifted the blanket for her, their movements easy and quiet, like this wasn’t complicated at all.
Savannah slid under it and into the space beside them.
And immediately she felt it.
The faint rasp of tape against her arm as she eased close. The warmth of their skin beneath it. The contrast made her breath hitch — the rough edge of adhesive meeting the heat of a bare chest. She hadn’t expected the combination to make her heart stutter, but it did.
It grounded her in who they were.
In who she was with now.
In the version of reality she’d been dancing around for weeks.
Tilly stilled for a moment, giving her room to decide if that contact was okay. Savannah answered by shifting closer, tucking her forehead gently against the side of their chest.
The tape brushed her hair. Their skin warmed her cheek.
It surprised her how right it felt.
Tilly exhaled softly, almost like they’d been holding their breath too.
Their hand slid up, fingers threading gently into her hair as they pressed a kiss to her temple. Not hot, not hungry, not anything like earlier.
Just… steady.
“Get some sleep,” they murmured.
Savannah swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You will,” Tilly said quietly. “I’ve got you.”
Her fingers curled against their ribs, fiddling with the edge of the tape she found there.
She hadn’t expected the warmth of their skin, the slight give beneath the tape, the realness of it all to soothe her like this.
She hadn’t expected to feel safe curled against someone in a strange hotel bed with her pulse still uneven and her thoughts still too loud.
But she did.
The panic that had been clawing at her slowly loosened its grip. Not gone. Not fixed. Just… quieter.
She let her eyes close, cheek resting against the warm, taped plane of Tilly’s chest.
For the first time since the knock on the door, she felt herself drifting.
And the strangest part was how natural it felt.