Forty
Savannah stayed still longer than she meant to.
Her body felt loose and heavy in a way she wasn’t used to, like the ground beneath her had shifted just enough to throw off her balance. This was the part she knew how to do. The quiet after. The slow return to herself. Except even that felt different now.
She listened to Tilly’s breathing, steady and close, and tried to match it.
Her mind kept circling the same thought, awkward and persistent. What happens next?
With men, there had always been a script. An expectation. A correct thing to do that everyone pretended wasn’t expected at all. She’d learned it early. Followed it without thinking.
This didn’t come with a script.
Savannah shifted slightly, then stopped, unsure if even that was okay. Her fingers hovered, uncertain, before settling lightly against Tilly’s arm.
“Can I ask you something?” Her voice came out quieter than she intended.
Tilly hummed softly, turning just enough to face her. “Yeah.”
Savannah swallowed. She hated how clumsy this felt, how she suddenly didn’t trust her instincts anymore. “Do you… do you want me to—” She trailed off, heat creeping up her neck. “I mean. For you.”
The silence that followed was gentle, not sharp. Tilly didn’t pull away. Didn’t tense. They just watched her, expression soft and careful.
“No,” they said, just as softly.
Savannah blinked, her stomach dipping. Not hurt. Just wrong-footed. “Oh. Okay. I just—” She shook her head, embarrassed. “Oh, right.”
They reached for her hand, slow enough that Savannah could pull back if she wanted. When she didn’t, their fingers laced together. “I’m a stone top. That’s what it’s called.”
Savannah nodded, even though the words took a second to land. Stone top. She filed it away carefully, like something fragile she didn’t want to mishandle.
She waited for the other feeling to hit. The one that usually did. Guilt. Pressure. The sense that she’d failed some invisible test.
It didn’t come.
Instead, there was relief. And confusion. And a strange, steady warmth in her chest.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said, because it felt important to say out loud.
Tilly squeezed her hand. “You okay?”
Savannah thought about it. About how different this felt. About how different she felt. “Yeah,” she said finally. “I just… I’m still learning.”
Tilly smiled at that. Not amused. Not indulgent. Just gentle. “Me too.”
Savannah let herself relax then, curling closer, letting the quiet stretch between them without trying to fill it. For the first time, not knowing what came next didn’t feel like a failure.
The warmth that had wrapped her whole body began to recede, leaving certain places too noticeable, too sharply defined. The quiet felt heavier now, like it had edges.
Savannah became aware of herself again in a way she hadn’t been a few minutes ago. Too aware. Of bare skin. Of the way the air felt different against her stomach, her shoulders. Of how exposed she suddenly felt now that the questions had been asked and answered.
She shifted, then stilled, unsure if the movement was noticeable. Her fingers found the edge of the blanket, worrying the fabric between them, twisting it slightly as if she could fold herself back into it piece by piece.
She hadn’t meant to pull away, but she felt herself doing it anyway, inching back just enough to reach the covers. The blanket slid up awkwardly, catching on her elbow. She tugged it higher, then higher still, until it was bunched against her collarbone.
It wasn’t about being seen. Not exactly.
With men, she’d known what bare skin was for. What it signaled. What came next? Here, there was no clear next step, and the openness of that left her feeling unmoored.
She picked at the blanket again, smoothing it, then wrinkling it, like she couldn’t decide what shape she wanted to take up in the space between them. Part of her worried she’d already done something wrong. Asked the wrong question. Missed a cue, she didn’t know how to read yet.
Tilly noticed. Of course they did.
They didn’t say anything right away. Just shifted closer, careful not to crowd her, and adjusted the blanket so it covered Savannah without fuss, without making a thing of it.
Savannah exhaled, the tension easing from her shoulders before she could stop it.
“Sorry,” she murmured, even though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for.
“You don’t have to be,” Tilly said quietly.
Savannah nodded, still staring at the blanket, fingers tracing the seam. “I know. I just…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “I feel a little weird.”
Tilly hummed, thoughtful. “Different weird, or bad weird?”
Savannah considered that. “Different,” she said. “I think.”
“That’s okay,” Tilly said. “We can go slow.”
The word settled something in her chest.
Savannah nodded again and finally looked up at them. Their expression was open. Unrushed. Like they weren’t waiting for her to figure anything out on a schedule.
She could have pulled away then. Could have used the blanket as a wall instead of a shield.
She didn’t.
She tucked the blanket more securely around herself, then let her hand rest there, still and quiet this time.
Slow sounded good.
Tilly shifted slightly beside her, careful again, like they were always checking the space between them before crossing it.
“Hey,” they said quietly.
Savannah turned her head, the blanket still gathered close. “Yeah?”
Tilly hesitated, just a fraction. Not uncertain. Thoughtful. “I can go, if you want me to.”
The words landed heavier than Savannah expected.
Her first instinct was confusion. Go where? Why? The room still felt warm. Safe. Tilly was right there.
“I don’t want to make this weird,” Tilly added, gentle and even. “Or stay if you’d rather be alone.”
Savannah blinked, her chest tightening for a reason she couldn’t quite name. She searched Tilly’s face, expecting to find distance or regret.
There wasn’t any.
Just care. And patience.
“Oh,” she said. Again. It seemed to be her word tonight.
She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she didn’t want them to leave.
“No,” she said, a little too quickly, then steadied herself. “I mean. You don’t have to. I don’t want you to.”
Tilly nodded, accepting the answer without relief or disappointment. “Okay.”
The simplicity of it made Savannah’s throat ache.
She shifted closer, tentatively, like she was still testing the ground. Tilly met her halfway, careful not to assume, letting Savannah set the pace.
“Thank you for asking,” Savannah said quietly.
Tilly smiled, small and real. “Always.”
Savannah settled back against them, the blanket warm around her shoulders, and let herself believe that staying was a choice they were both making.
Tilly shifted again, then paused, like a thought had finally settled.
“Hang on,” they said quietly.
Savannah watched them, still half-curled under the blankets, as Tilly glanced down at themselves and let out a small, self-aware huff. “I can’t get comfortable like this.”
Before Savannah could overthink what that meant, Tilly leaned back and hooked their thumbs into the waistband of their pants, pushing them down and stepping out of them without ceremony. No lingering. No performance. Just the simple act of getting them out of the way.
They kicked the pants aside and climbed back onto the bed, sliding under the covers beside her.
“There,” they said softly. “That’s better.”
Something in Savannah’s chest loosened.
The imbalance she hadn’t quite known how to name eased, the bed suddenly feeling more even, more shared. Less like she was exposed while Tilly hovered half in and half out.
Tilly tugged the blanket higher as they settled, making sure Savannah was covered before finding their place beside her.
“Okay,” they said gently. “Now I’m actually listening.”
That pulled a quiet laugh from Savannah, surprised and breathy. “You weren’t before?”
“I was trying,” Tilly said, smiling. “The pants were distracting.”
Savannah smiled back, the tension in her shoulders finally ebbing as she shifted a little closer without stopping herself.
They lay there for a moment, facing each other, the quiet no longer sharp. Just open.
Savannah’s fingers returned to the edge of the blanket, calmer now. “Is it okay if I don’t know what I need yet?”
Tilly nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. We’ve got time.”
Savannah let herself believe them.
They lay there for a moment, the quiet settling in again.
Savannah stared at the ceiling, the blanket warm around her shoulders, and felt something tight in her chest she hadn’t been able to name until now. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t confusion.
It was the strange, aching weight of being okay when she’d been braced for something else.
Her eyes burned before she realized she was close to crying.
She swallowed, embarrassed by the suddenness of it, and wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m not—” She stopped herself. “I don’t know why that’s happening.”
Tilly turned toward her fully this time. Not rushing. Just present. “You don’t have to know,” they said.
Savannah nodded, blinking hard. A tear slipped free anyway, trailing toward her temple. She laughed under her breath, shaky. “I feel ridiculous.”
“You don’t look ridiculous,” Tilly said. “You’re okay.”
That made her chest tighten more, not less.
She hesitated, fingers twisting into the blanket again. Asking felt vulnerable in a way she wasn’t used to, but the wanting was there, steady and undeniable.
“Can I ask you something else?” she said.
“Always,” Tilly replied.
Savannah’s voice dropped. “Would it be okay if you… held me?”
The answer was immediate.
“Yeah,” Tilly said softly. “Come here.”
They shifted carefully, easing closer, one arm sliding around Savannah’s shoulders, then the other, drawing her in without trapping her. Savannah let herself go, curling into them, her forehead resting against Tilly’s chest.
Tilly adjusted the blanket again, tucking it securely around her back, their chin resting lightly against Savannah’s hair.
There was no rush. No pressure to settle a certain way. Just warmth. Steady and grounding.
Savannah breathed in, then out. Her shoulders shook once, a small, silent release, and then she relaxed fully into Tilly’s hold.
“Oh,” she whispered, the word barely there.
Tilly’s arms tightened just a little, steady and sure.
They stayed like that, the room quiet except for the soft rhythm of their breathing. Savannah focused on the simple things. The warmth at her back. The way Tilly’s hand rested on her arm. The fact that no one was asking anything of her.
After a minute, she laughed softly into Tilly’s chest. “I’m sorry. I think I just needed a second.”
“That’s okay,” Tilly said. “You’ve got all the seconds you want.”
Savannah nodded, eyes still damp, and let herself settle.
The quiet didn’t feel sharp anymore.
It felt full.