The balcony air had a crisp edge, but it didn't touch the warmth pooling in my chest. I tried to steady my breathing, to push down the flutter Keifer had ignited in me.
"You're quiet," he said softly, voice just above a whisper. His eyes didn't leave mine, calm but probing, like he could see every thought I was trying to hide.
"I'm… thinking," I replied, stiffly. My words sounded hollow even to me. I couldn't deny the truth—that being near him, even a few steps away, made my mind race.
"About me?" he asked, teasing just enough to make my cheeks heat.
"I—No!" I snapped, immediately regretting the harshness. I looked away, pretending the city lights were more interesting than the way his gaze was holding me hostage.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. The breeze shifted, and suddenly his jacket brushed my arm. My pulse jolted.
"You don't have to fight it," he murmured, low and soft, so only I could hear. "It's okay… to feel something. Even if it scares you."
I swallowed hard. My hands clenched the railing, knuckles white. "Scares me?" I whispered back, almost afraid of the sound of my own voice.
"Yes," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Because feelings like this… they don't let you stay calm. They make you reckless."
I turned to look at him, and for a moment, the world around us—the party noise, the whispers, the city lights—vanished. Just him. Just us.
Then, almost instinctively, his hand brushed against mine. Not grabbing, not demanding—just brushing. Electricity shot through me, sudden and sharp. My breath caught, and I froze.
"I…" I started, unsure what to say. Words failed me.
"You don't have to say anything," he said, soft and sure. "Just… let it be."
I felt a strange tension in my chest, equal parts panic and longing. My instincts told me to pull away, but my heart… it wanted to stay. Just a little.
Keifer noticed the hesitation and gave the tiniest, teasing smile. "See? Not so easy to resist me, huh?"
I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the heat rising in my cheeks. "You're impossible," I muttered, though the edge in my voice had softened.
"I'm not impossible," he whispered, closing the space just enough that our shoulders brushed. "I'm… persistent."
I shivered slightly, not from the cold. And before I could think too hard about it, he shifted, letting our hands meet properly this time—lightly, fleetingly, almost accidental.
My heart hammered, and I looked down at our hands. The warmth was real, grounding, terrifying, and… comforting all at once.
"I—" I started again, but he shook his head.
"Shh," he whispered. "No words. Just this. Just for now."
I wanted to argue, to protest, but the tension inside me eased slightly. For the first time since he arrived in my life like a storm, there was a moment of calm. Just us. Just a brush of hands.
And in that simple, fleeting touch, I realized something terrifying… and thrilling: maybe… just maybe… letting him in wouldn't be so bad.