The gazebo sat empty, moonlight slanting across the polished wood.
Daphne was there, alone, a cigar pinched between her fingers. At first, she tried to hide it when she saw me approaching, but the second I got close, she chuckled—half amusement, half exasperation.
"Oh, it's just you… again," she said, voice sharp, cutting, like she'd been expecting someone far less irritating.
"I know," I replied, hands loose at my sides, watching her every flicker of expression.
Her eyes narrowed. "Look here… it's either you get the fuck out of my sight, or… you slide over next to me."
It didn't sound like a request. It was a dare. A challenge. A test. And I slid over, careful not to break the fragile gravity pulling us together.
The gazebo was silent, heavy, the outside world erased. Only her, only the smoke curling between her fingers, only the tension stretching tight as wire.
She exhaled slowly, shoulders easing just a fraction. Frustration bled into the quiet, unguarded, and I noticed everything—the tiny tremor in her jaw, the flicker of worry behind her eyes, the subtle sighs that betrayed the calm she tried to maintain.
"You okay?" I asked, voice low, careful.
Her lips twitched, almost a smile. "I will be… eventually."
"You don't have to spell it out if you don't want to," I murmured, letting the words hover, letting her breathe without pressure.
And in that instant, I knew she was letting me in—just a crack, but enough.
Minutes passed in quiet, a silence heavier than words, yet somehow full of understanding.
"I shouldn't care," she finally said.
"We're not friends. We don't agree on a single thing. Two opposites, constantly clashing, constantly testing each other. And yet… here I am. Caring too much."
I watched her, shoulders tense, smoke lingering like a barrier. That spark she tried to hide—the part of her no one sees—flickered in her eyes.
"You probably don't understand what I'm saying," she added, wary.
"Actually… I do," I said.
A pause. I let it settle before continuing. "It can be… difficult sometimes," I said slowly. "I know the feeling. My brother and I—we fight, we clash, we don't see eye to eye on half the things that matter. And yet… ever since I left, he's the only person I've missed. The only one I trust, really."
I shrugged, letting her see, letting her know. "It's complicated. Hard to understand. But sometimes… it's only because the other person matters. More than you want to admit."
I met her gaze. Quiet. Steady. "I get that. I really do."
The words lingered, heavy but gentle. For a fleeting moment, the tension softened, just enough to remind both of us that even in silence, someone could be on your side.
Then—our lips met. Tentative. Testing. But the heat was immediate. Her fire collided with mine, sharp, sudden, impossible to ignore.
My hands hovered, careful not to scare her away, careful not to break the fragile gravity.
She shivered against me, small and sharp. Her lips parted just enough to send everything racing.
Then she pulled away, too soon, too sharp.
"This… never happened," she said, eyes bright and defiant. And just like that—she was gone.
I stayed. Still. Heart thundering. Smoke swirled around me, but it could not erase the memory—the heat, the hesitation, the quiet pull she left behind. I knew, then, it was far from over.