Twenty Nine
Tilly woke to Savannah breathing against their collarbone.
For a moment, they didn’t realize where they were. The hotel room was dim. The heater hummed. Dawn crept through the heavy curtains in a thin stripe of cold blue light.
And Savannah Wells was in their arms.
Her face rested just below their jaw, warm breath brushing their throat. One of her hands was curled loosely against their ribs. Her thigh draped over theirs like she’d ended up there in her sleep, instinctively seeking them out. Her hair was a tangled mess against Tilly’s chest.
It was too much.
It was perfect.
It was terrifying.
Memories crashed through them in a rush.
Savannah at the door, trembling but brave.
Her voice when she said she wanted them.
Her body arching under their mouth.
Her fingers in their hair.
Her thighs tightening around their shoulders.
Her gasping for air, overwhelmed and undone.
Her smiling up at them while they played with the ends of her hair.
It hadn’t been a mistake.
Not last night.
Not for her.
Not for them.
Tilly’s hand twitched like it wanted to smooth her hair back, but stopped halfway. They didn’t want to wake her. Didn’t want to break this fragile, impossible moment where Savannah felt safe enough to sleep against them.
They swallowed hard.
How were they supposed to open that door and go back to being coworkers after this?
Savannah stirred.
Her fingers curled slightly against Tilly’s side. Her breath hitched in that soft half-waking way before her eyelashes fluttered. She blinked up at them, dazed from sleep, warm in a way Tilly wished they could keep forever.
“Hi,” she whispered.
Tilly couldn’t help it. They smiled. “Hi.”
Savannah pushed herself up slowly, hair falling into her face. Her cheeks were still pink from sleep and last night. She looked soft. Bare. Real.
For three seconds, she let herself look at them the way she had in the dark.
Open.
Wanting.
Unguarded.
Then the shift happened.
Small. Sudden.
Like a door closing quietly inside her.
Her eyes flicked away. Her shoulders tensed. Her breath sharpened with something Tilly recognized immediately: reality catching up.
Savannah pulled the sheet up as she sat, holding it to her chest even though she’d been sprawled across them minutes before without a hint of self-consciousness.
“You sleep okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Tilly said. “You?”
“I… yeah.” Her voice thinned.
She looked around the room like she’d forgotten where she was. Or maybe she remembered too clearly.
Tilly sat up too, slow and careful. “You sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine,” Savannah said quickly. Too quickly.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for her pants. Tilly watched her fingers fumble the first button. She paused. Exhaled. Tried again. This time, she got it, but her hands trembled just slightly.
She wasn’t embarrassed.
She wasn’t uncomfortable.
She wasn’t regretting last night.
She was overwhelmed.
Tilly stood and grabbed their shirt. They didn’t put it on right away. Their eyes stayed on Savannah, studying her carefully, trying to gauge the new distance forming in the air.
Savannah didn’t look back.
When she pulled her shirt over her head, her hands lingered at the hem like she needed the fabric to anchor her. She tucked her hair behind her ears and brushed nothing off her sleeve, a nervous tic she probably didn’t even realize she had.
“We should… head back soon,” she murmured.
There it was.
The retreat.
It wasn’t cruel.
It wasn’t dismissive.
It was self-protection. Pure and simple.
Tilly forced a steady nod. “Right. Yeah.”
Savannah grabbed her coat and walked past them to the door. Her fingers brushed Tilly’s forearm out of habit, a leftover instinct from the night before.
But she pulled her hand back fast.
Too fast.
“Sav…” Tilly said softly.
She froze for half a second, back to them. Then she turned with a small, too-careful smile.
“We’re okay,” she said. Not as reassurance. As a boundary.
Tilly felt something sink low in their chest. “Yeah. Of course we are.”
Savannah’s eyes flicked down. Then away. She nodded once, shallow and shaky, like she wasn’t sure she believed her own words.
She opened the door.
Cold hallway air spilled into the room.
Savannah stepped out first, not looking back. Not slowing. Her posture straightened with every step, sliding back into something recognizable. Something safer.
By the time Tilly followed, closing the door behind them, Savannah was already creating space.
And Tilly felt it.
Last night had happened.
It had meant something.
But Savannah was already pretending she knew how to handle it.
Tilly walked beside her, quiet and aching, knowing exactly what waited in the hours ahead:
Savannah was going to act as if nothing had happened.
And Tilly didn’t know how to bear it.
* * *
The drive back was worse than the silence.
Savannah sat in the passenger seat with her notebook open, pretending to review something. Her pen moved across the page without purpose, just motion for the sake of looking occupied. Tilly kept their eyes on the road and their hands at ten and two like they were taking a driving test.
The heater hummed. The wipers scraped intermittently against a mist that wasn’t quite rain. Neither of them turned on the radio.
Tilly wanted to say something. Anything.
But every opening line they thought of felt too heavy or too light, too demanding or too casual.
Are you okay? felt presumptuous. Last night was good, felt like begging for validation.
What are we doing? felt like exactly the kind of pressure Savannah was already running from.
So they said nothing.
Savannah’s phone buzzed. She answered a text quickly, her thumb moving with practiced efficiency. Tilly caught a glimpse of the screen—just the station group chat, something about rundowns. Normal. Professional. Safe.
“Looks like they need the footage uploaded by three,” Savannah said, her voice carefully neutral. “Should be fine.”
“Yeah,” Tilly said. “No problem.”
That was it. That was the only real conversation they had for two hours.
When they finally pulled into the station lot, Tilly cut the engine, and the silence became unbearable.
Savannah unbuckled immediately. “I’ll handle the logging if you want to offload the gear.”
“Sure,” Tilly said.
She was already opening her door. Already halfway out.
“Sav—” Tilly started.
She paused, one foot on the pavement, not quite looking back.
Tilly’s throat closed around whatever they’d been about to say. “Never mind. I’ll see you inside.”
Savannah nodded once and walked toward the building, shoulders squared, moving like someone who had a plan and intended to execute it without deviation.
Tilly sat in the truck for another minute, watching her disappear through the side entrance.
Then they grabbed their bag and followed.
Inside, the station buzzed with its usual chaos. Phones ringing. Producers shouting across desks. Someone laughed too loudly near the coffee machine. Normal. Like nothing had shifted.
Tilly spotted Savannah at her desk already, headphones on, typing something with her usual focus. She didn’t look up when they walked past.
Tilly dropped their gear in the equipment room and stood there among the tripods and cables, breathing slowly, trying to metabolize what was happening.
Savannah was shutting down. Completely.
This was the moment.
Tilly had been here before — standing on the edge of someone pulling away, trying to decide whether to fight for it or let it go. In the past, they’d chosen space. Respect. Distance. And it had quietly ended things without either of them having to admit defeat.
They could do that again.
Or.
Their phone was already in their hand before they finished the thought.
They opened their texts. Found Savannah’s name. Started typing before fear could stop them.
Hey. I know this morning was complicated. I’m not asking you to have all the answers right now. I just need you to know I’m not going anywhere. When you’re ready to talk, I’m here.
They read it twice. Their thumb hovered over delete.
Then they hit send.
The message went through immediately. Delivered. Read.
Tilly stared at the screen.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Their heart hammered.
The dots vanished.
Nothing came through.
Tilly waited. Thirty seconds. A minute. Two.
Still nothing.
They locked their phone and shoved it in their pocket, chest tight, hands shaking slightly. They’d done it. They’d been vulnerable. They’d tried.
And Savannah couldn’t even answer.
The equipment room felt too small suddenly. Too quiet. The walls were too close.
Tilly pulled their phone back out and opened a different text thread.
Emergency friend meeting? I need to not be at work right now.
Jamie’s response came within seconds.
Oh shit. Yes. Come over. Erin’s making tea, but I’ll override with pizza.
Tilly let out a breath that shook on the way out.
They grabbed their jacket and left through the back entrance without looking toward Savannah’s desk.
They’d tried.
It hadn’t been enough.
And that hurt worse than if they’d never reached out at all.
* * *
Jamie opened the door so fast it nearly rebounded off the wall.
“Oh, thank God,” she blurted. “You’re alive. Erin said not to panic, but obviously I panicked, and Erin is wrong.”
Erin appeared behind her, calm as a lake in winter. “I said they probably weren’t dying.”
“You said probably,” Jamie snapped. “Probably is useless to me.”
Tilly blinked. “I texted ‘emergency friend meeting.’ Not code blue.”
Jamie threw her hands up. “Same thing!”
Erin stepped aside. “Come in. We made tea.”
Jamie groaned. “I wanted pizza. Erin said tea was fine. Tea is not fine.”
Tilly stepped inside, quiet in a way that made both women track them instantly. Shoulders tense. Eyes tired. A soft shock still clinging to them like static.
They dropped their hoodie on the back of the couch and sat.
Jamie sat next to them immediately. Erin stayed leaning against the counter, alert.
Jamie folded her legs under her. “Okay. Talk. Start from the beginning. Use nouns. Use feelings.”
Tilly rubbed both hands over their face. “Savannah and I… hooked up.”
Jamie froze mid-blink. Erin’s eyebrows rose.
Jamie gasped like it physically left her body. “Hooked up hooked up?”
“Yes,” Tilly said, blunt and done with subtlety.
Jamie slapped Erin’s arm. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes,” Erin said flatly. “I can hear.”
Jamie leaned forward, eyes huge. “Was it good? Are you okay? Did someone cry? Did you cry? Did she cry? Did you cry during?”
“Jamie,” Erin warned.
“What?” Jamie hissed. “It’s important intel!”
Tilly sighed. “It was good. Really good.”
Jamie made a joyful little squeak.
Tilly kept going, honest and unfiltered. “She came to my hotel room. She told me she wanted me. She kissed me first. She said she was tired of pretending she didn’t. Everything that happened was because she asked. And I…” They wet their lips. “I went down on her. Only her. That’s how I wanted it.”
Jamie clapped a hand over her mouth. Erin’s expression softened.
Tilly stared at the floor. “And afterward she stayed. She fell asleep on me. Like… actually asleep. On my chest.”
Jamie’s voice gentled instantly. “Okay. So what went wrong?”
Tilly drew a shaking breath. “This morning, she shut down. Completely.”
Erin’s arms lowered. Jamie’s face dropped.
“How?” Erin asked.
Tilly forced the words out. “She wouldn’t really look at me. She wouldn’t let me touch her, not even a brush against her arm. She kept saying we had to get back. She didn’t seem upset about the physical stuff. She just… shut her feelings off like flipping a switch.”
Jamie winced hard. “Oh, Til.”
Erin stepped closer, voice steady. “That’s fear. She opened up emotionally last night. That’s the part that scared her.”
Jamie nodded. “Savannah can flirt with half the newsroom without blinking, but the second she feels something real, she panics. She’s like a cat that accidentally loves someone and then has to pretend she hates them.”
Tilly laughed once. Then grimaced. “It felt like she erased it. As if she decided overnight she can’t let herself want me.”
Erin shook her head. “Wanting you isn’t the problem. Being vulnerable with you is. That’s not about your gender or what you did. That’s about trust.”
Jamie nudged their shoulder. “She trusted you. It scared her sideways.”
Tilly’s voice cracked, small but real. “I don’t want her to pretend it didn’t happen.”
Jamie squeezed their knee. “She can pretend. Savannah loves pretending. But she felt it.”
Erin nodded. “And she can’t unfeel it.”
Tilly leaned back, exhaustion etched into their features. “I hate feelings.”
Jamie nodded solemnly. “Yeah. They’re terrible. You’re in the right apartment.”
Erin sipped her tea. “Chaos, panic, regret, denial. We’ve seen it all.”
Jamie elbowed her. “You’ve caused it all.”
Erin smirked. “Accurate.”
Jamie turned back to Tilly. “So. Emergency friend meeting part two: comfort food. Pizza or Chinese?”
Erin lifted a menu. “Greek is an option.”
Tilly let the tension in their shoulders fall just a little. “Pizza. Extra cheese.”
Jamie leapt up. “Perfect. Erin’s paying.”
Erin groaned. “I always pay.”
Jamie grinned. “That’s why I love you.”
Erin kissed her temple on the way to get her wallet.
Tilly exhaled, the first real breath they’d taken since Savannah closed off that morning.
The emergency friend meeting was working.