Thirty Six
Savannah made it three steps into the lobby before the quiet hit her. Too sharp. Too sudden. It echoed in her chest in a way she hadn’t prepared for. She stood there with the Tupperware pressed against her coat, pretending she needed a moment to warm up when really she just needed to breathe.
She could still feel Tilly behind her, somehow, even through the glass. The car idling. The hum of the heater. The silence that had settled over the ride home like a blanket she didn’t know how to hold.
She should go upstairs. That was the logical thing. That was the safe thing.
But her feet didn’t move.
Her reflection stared back at her from the dark window. Hair frizzed from the heat of the kitchen. Mascara smudged so slightly that no one else would notice. A leftover tightness in her throat from being seen tonight in ways she wasn’t used to.
She wasn’t going to ask. She had promised herself that. Tonight didn’t need to become complicated.
But the idea of walking away from the warmest day she’d had in… longer than she could admit… made something in her chest twist.
She swallowed hard, fingers tightening on the Tupperware.
If she thought about it too long, she’d lose the nerve entirely.
So she stopped thinking.
Savannah turned and pushed back through the lobby door, the cold rushing up to meet her like a dare. The air stung her cheeks. Her boots slipped slightly on the salted concrete as she hurried down the steps.
Please still be there.
Please still be there.
The car sat under the streetlamp exactly where she’d left it, exhaust drifting in soft white clouds. Her pulse jumped. Tilly hadn’t pulled away. She still had time.
Savannah crossed the last few feet faster than she meant to and knocked on the passenger window before she could talk herself out of it.
Tilly jumped slightly in the driver’s seat, then leaned over and unlocked the door.
Savannah opened it halfway, breath catching in the cold. “Um,” she started, which was already a disaster. She cleared her throat. “I was just wondering if… if you wanted to come up. For a bit.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
She hated that she cared.
She hated that she hoped.
She hated how terrified she felt waiting for an answer.
Tilly blinked at her like they weren’t sure they’d heard her correctly. Not rejecting her. Not accepting either. Just… startled. The kind of startled that made Savannah’s stomach twist.
They reached for the radio and turned it down, slow and careful. “You want me to come up?”
Savannah’s mouth went dry. This was already going badly.
“You don’t have to,” she said too quickly. “I just… I thought maybe… You might want to.”
There. Terrible. Humiliating. She wished the cold would just swallow her whole.
Tilly looked at her for a long moment. Long enough that she felt her pulse in her throat. Then they nodded once. Simple. Quiet.
“Yeah. Okay.”
Savannah nearly sagged with relief, which only made her more irritated with herself. She stepped back, letting Tilly turn off the engine and climb out. Their breath mingled in the cold air between them, soft and visible.
She led the way to the door without speaking because she wasn’t sure what would fall out of her mouth if she tried. In the reflection on the glass, she caught Tilly watching her—not intensely, not inappropriately, but with a kind of attentiveness that made heat curl low in her stomach.
She shouldn’t have done this.
She shouldn’t have asked.
She’d known that even while she said the words.
And yet here she was.
Inside the lobby, the warmth felt too sudden. Tilly stood close enough behind her that she could feel their presence like a hand between her shoulder blades. Not touching. Just there.
Savannah pressed the elevator button and stared at the tiny ring of light, like it might save her.
Tilly’s voice broke the quiet, low and almost hesitant. “You seemed… like you didn’t want to be alone.”
The doors slid open before she had to answer. She stepped in, grateful for the distraction, but the elevator was small. Too small. Tilly stepped beside her, and the air shifted immediately.
Savannah’s pulse jumped. She folded her arms tightly, trying to anchor herself.
“I didn’t,” she admitted, staring straight ahead. Her voice came out softer than she intended.
Tilly didn’t respond right away. She felt their eyes on her profile, warm and steady.
“That’s okay,” they said gently.
God. Why did that make her want to close her eyes?
The elevator doors opened with a chime that felt far too bright for the moment. Savannah stepped out quickly, more relieved than grateful, and fumbled for her keys as she reached her door.
Tilly waited beside her, hands in their pockets, shoulders slightly hunched like they were trying to make themself smaller. It was new, seeing them unsure. It made something inside her tighten.
She got the lock open on the second try and pushed the door in, flicking on the light. Her apartment looked painfully neat. Blank. Like no one lived there.
Tilly stepped in behind her and paused, taking it in. Not judging. Just observing. Savannah felt suddenly exposed.
She set the Tupperware on the counter. “I know it’s a mess,” she lied automatically.
Tilly raised an eyebrow, and she could tell they were fighting a smile. “It’s the cleanest place I’ve ever seen.”
She flushed hard, turning away under the pretense of taking off her coat. “I didn’t want to come home to… nothing.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Too honest. Too raw.
She heard Tilly’s footsteps shift, not closer, but softer somehow.
“Sav,” they said quietly.
Her stomach flipped at the nickname, and she hated that it did.
She kept her back to them, hanging up her coat as if it required every ounce of her attention. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I just… didn’t want the night to end yet.”
There. Truth, whether she liked it or not.
She turned around—and froze.
Tilly was watching her with a kind of wary warmth, like they were afraid of scaring her, or maybe themselves. Their eyes traced her face slowly, searching for something.
Savannah’s breath caught.
This was a mistake.
This was absolutely a mistake.
But she couldn’t bring herself to send them away.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt. “Tea? Water?”
Tilly shook their head. “I’m okay.”
Their voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. Almost careful.
Savannah nodded, mostly to have something to do, and leaned back against the counter, gripping the edge behind her. The kitchen lights hummed. Her heartbeat filled the silence.
Tilly stepped further in, closing the door gently behind them.
And the air changed again.
Charged. Fragile. Inevitable.
Savannah swallowed hard. “You didn’t have to say yes,” she said quietly.
Tilly’s eyes lifted to hers. Steady. Honest. Unnervingly kind.
“I wanted to,” they said.
Savannah’s fingers curled against the countertop as heat washed up her throat. She didn’t look away this time.
The quiet stretched, but it didn’t feel empty. It pressed in around her, warm and electric, like the air before lightning strikes.
Tilly stood just inside the doorway, hands still in their pockets, shoulders lifted the tiniest bit like they were holding themselves back. Their eyes stayed on her, steady in a way that made Savannah’s breath stutter.
They looked calm, but she could feel the tension radiating off them. Like they were weighing something. Like they were afraid to move wrong.
Savannah didn’t move either. Her fingers only curled tighter around the countertop, knuckles whitening. She didn’t think she could speak again without breaking something open.
Tilly’s voice came quietly. Careful. “Savannah.”
The way they said her name—soft, low, almost reverent—made her pulse climb so high she thought it might tremble out of her throat.
She should’ve stepped back.
She didn’t.
Tilly took one step toward her.
Slow. Measured. Like they were approaching something fragile. Like they were giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
Her heart hammered so loudly she could hear it in her ears.
Another small step. Close enough now that she could feel their breath. Her back pressed harder into the countertop, even though there was nowhere left to go.
Tilly lifted a hand, hesitated—really hesitated—hovering near her cheek like they needed permission she didn’t know how to give.
Savannah’s breath shook as she whispered, barely audible, “It’s okay.”
That was all they needed.
Their fingertips brushed her cheek first, feather-light, a touch so gentle it almost didn’t feel real. Savannah’s eyes fluttered, heat flooding beneath her skin. No one had ever touched her as though she might break.
Tilly dipped their head slightly, searching her eyes for the smallest sign of retreat.
She didn’t retreat.
So they kissed her.
Softly. Carefully. A kiss that felt like an exhale. Their lips brushed hers once, warm and tentative, tasting like patience and restraint and something that scared her more than anything else tonight.
Savannah inhaled sharply against their mouth, her fingers lifting from the countertop without permission, hovering near their shirt before she forced them back down again. She wasn’t ready to touch. Wasn’t ready for how badly she wanted to.
Tilly pulled back just a fraction—not gone, just enough to see her.
Their forehead nearly touched hers. Their voice was a whisper. “We can stop. If you want to.”
Savannah swallowed, chest tight.
“I don’t,” she said. Quiet. Honest. Terrified.
Tilly’s expression softened in a way that made her stomach twist painfully.
They leaned in again—still gentle, still careful—but this time the kiss held a little more warmth. A little more certainty. A little more of everything she’d been trying not to feel all night.
Savannah’s knees went weak. She gripped the counter behind her harder, grounding herself as heat sparked beneath her ribs.
This was a mistake.
A beautiful, impossible, inevitable mistake.
And she wasn’t pulling away.