Sera watched Lana’s car pull into the circular drive from the security feed on her phone.

Not out of paranoia—
out of ritual.

She always checked before parties.
Before sneaking out.
Before breaking any one of her family’s decorum rules.

But this—
this felt bigger.
Not louder.
Not riskier.

More sacred.

Her thumb hovered over the security app, pulse fluttering in her throat.
And then—deliberately, without flinching—
she tapped disable all.

Not even for prom night had she done that.

But this wasn’t for show.
This wasn’t for secrets whispered in hallways or lipstick-smeared rebellions with half-drunk cheerleaders.

This moment was for her.

For them.

She padded down the marble-floored hallway barefoot, the sleeves of her oversized hoodie slipping past her wrists, brushing against her thighs with every step.

Her shorts were soft—dusty rose with a scalloped hem and delicate lace trim.
Girly. Comfy. Hers.

The Vale Estate was quiet.
No staff.
No parents.

Just her and the echo of everything she was still trying to figure out.

The door creaked open before Lana could knock, sunlight from the mountain-filtered sky falling across the threshold.

And there she was.

Lana.

Beautiful, warm-toned, real.
Wearing that cardigan like armor that didn't need to be hard to be powerful.

For a moment, neither of them said a thing.

Sera just looked at her—
really looked—
like maybe she was still trying to believe this was allowed.

“You don’t want the favor,” Sera echoed quietly, finally, like she was testing the sound of the words.
“I know.”

She stepped back to let Lana in, the heavy door sighing shut behind them like a secret.
Then—

She reached out.

Not to kiss.
Not to lead into anything heavy.

Just her hand.
Open. Honest. A little unsure.

Lana took it instantly.

Their fingers threaded together without instruction, palms warm and steady between them.

Sera smiled—small, real.
And then she turned, guiding Lana across the polished floors of her too-large home, through rooms so perfectly curated they barely felt lived in.

But the kitchen—
the kitchen felt different.

Light-drenched.
Scented faintly like lemon and lavender from the last candle she burned too low.

She dropped Lana’s hand gently and opened the fridge.

“You want something?” she asked, crouching a little to peer inside. “I have elderflower tonic water, this weird overpriced coconut soda, and probably like—eight different kinds of oat milk. Pick your poison.”

There was a pause.
Then a quiet laugh from behind her.

Sera grinned to herself.

She grabbed two glass bottles without waiting for an answer and turned, holding one out.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly, eyes meeting Lana’s.
“No seduction-by-beverage happening here.”

She twisted her bottle cap off, took a sip, and leaned back against the island counter.

Her voice was quieter now.
Unpolished. Real.

“But I meant what I said,” she added, not quite looking at her. “About wanting to return the favor.”

She took another sip, then set her drink down, finally daring to meet Lana’s gaze again.

“I don’t owe you anything,” she said, soft but sure. “I know that.”

“But I want to make you feel good.”
A beat.
A breath.
Softer, now:
“I want to know what it’s like to have you fall apart in my hands.”

Her voice wavered—just a little—but she didn’t backtrack.
Didn’t apologize.

She stepped forward again, slow, closing the space between them until she could hook her fingers lightly in the waistband of Lana’s skirt.

“No rush,” she whispered, gaze flicking to Lana’s lips, then back to her eyes.
“Just… stay a while?”

Her fingers curled tighter.
Her cheeks flushed pink.

“I’m not ready for everyone to know,” she admitted. “But I’m ready for this. For you.”

And then—because she couldn’t help it—
she gave a little smirk, pure mischief under the nerves.

“Unless you were expecting something more dramatic. I could faint into your arms. Swoon a little.”

Lana hadn’t expected this.

Not really.

She’d come because she couldn’t stay away—because every part of her still ached with the shape of Sera Vale pressed into it.
But she’d told herself she could handle whatever version of the girl answered the door.

Cool.
Coy.
Careful.

She wasn’t ready for this one.

This barefoot, hoodie-draped version.
The one with flushed cheeks and fingers curling into Lana’s waistband like they didn’t quite trust their own boldness.

The one who said I want to make you feel good like it wasn’t a transaction.
Like it was something sacred.

And God—
Lana didn’t know how to carry that.
Didn’t know how to stand under the weight of being chosen this gently.

She reached up and touched Sera’s face—just her knuckles at first, brushing along her jaw like she needed proof this wasn’t a dream.

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” she said quietly.
Her thumb traced the edge of Sera’s mouth, where that smirk still lingered like a dare.
“I just… wanted to be near you again.”

That was it.

No favor.
No repayment.
No clever undoing.

Just this.

Just her.

“I didn’t come to fall apart,” Lana added, breath soft against Sera’s lips.
“But then you opened the door.”

She let her hands slide down—one resting at Sera’s hip, the other lightly covering the one still caught in her waistband.

And for a second, she didn’t kiss her.

She just looked at her.

Eyes open.
Defenses down.
Letting Sera see every inch of how much she meant it.

Then—finally—she leaned in and kissed her.
Not with heat.
Not yet.

With reverence.

Like the moment deserved to last.
Like she deserved to last.

And when she pulled back, she didn’t say anything at first.

Just pressed their foreheads together, heart pounding, trying to memorize what it felt like to be held in this version of Sera’s orbit.

“I’ll stay,” she murmured.
“As long as you want me.”

Lana stayed there for a long breath.

Just… breathing her in.

Not the scent of lemon from the kitchen candle.
Not the quiet perfume still clinging to Sera’s hoodie.

But her.

Warm skin.
The soft tremble of adrenaline fading.
That quiet, waiting stillness like Sera had opened the door to more than just the house.

And Lana had stepped through it without knowing the ground would fall away.

Her hand—still resting over Sera’s—tightened slightly. Not pulling.
Just grounding.

She couldn’t stop looking at her.

The barest flush still blooming high on Sera’s cheekbones.
The shine in her eyes like she wasn’t sure whether to be bold or afraid.
The hint of a smile that hadn’t fully dropped the smirk, but didn’t need to.

Lana had never seen anything more honest in her life.

She let her thumb trail across Sera’s knuckles, slow and thoughtful, like a spell she didn’t want to break.

“I don’t think you know what you do to me,” she said, low, almost like a secret.
“And I don’t think I knew what I came here looking for until I saw your face again.”

The admission made her feel bare in a way she wasn’t used to.

Not exposed.

Just… seen.

She wasn’t the confident one right now.
She wasn’t the one in control.

And weirdly—beautifully—she didn’t care.

“I thought maybe I could handle just seeing you,” she added with a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “But now that I’m here…”

Her gaze dropped—down Sera’s neck, to where her collarbone peeked above the hoodie’s collar.
To where her pulse beat like it had something to say.

“…now I just want to learn every part of you.”

Lana stepped back half an inch—just enough to look at her fully.
To give her the space to say no.
To say not yet.
To say stay, but don’t touch.

But Sera didn’t let go.

Her fingers stayed curled in Lana’s waistband.
Her breath hitched—but didn’t falter.

And God, Lana swore she’d never forget the look in her eyes right then.

Like maybe—for the first time—Sera wanted to be seen all the way through.

And Lana was the one she trusted to do it.

Sera didn’t speak at first.

She just… stood there.
Hands still curled in Lana’s waistband.
Lana’s forehead pressed lightly against hers.
The whole room stilled, like even the walls were waiting to hear what she’d say.

And God, what could she say?

No one had ever looked at her like that before.
Not like a fantasy.
Not like a checklist.
Like a person.
Like someone worth staying for.

The breath caught in her throat felt too big to swallow, but she forced it down—slow, unsteady.

Her fingers gave the smallest twitch, grounding herself in the soft cotton of Lana’s cardigan.
And then, with a voice smaller than she meant it to be, she whispered—

“I’m still figuring out how to let people see me.”

She paused.
Felt Lana go perfectly still.

“Like… the real me. Not the one who always has a comeback. Or perfect hair. Or says the right thing at the right time in the right voice with the right face.”

Her throat tightened, but she didn’t stop.

“I’ve spent so long trying to be the version of me that fits—for my parents, for my friends, for guys who only ever liked me when I wasn’t asking for anything real—”
She stopped.
Breathed.

“And I’m just… tired.”

The confession cracked something in her chest.
But she didn’t cry.

She just looked at Lana.
Really looked.

And for once, she didn’t feel judged or small or silly.

She just felt… seen.

“I don’t know how to do all of this right,” she said. “But I want to learn. With you.”

Her hand—still laced in Lana’s—gave a squeeze.

“So if you’re gonna stay…” she murmured, a half-broken smile tugging at her mouth, “just know I’ll try. Every time.”

She leaned in then, forehead to forehead, and let her eyes close.

Because with Lana this close—her hands, her breath, her warmth—Sera didn’t need to see.

She just needed to feel.

Lana didn’t breathe for the longest time.

She couldn’t.

Not with Sera whispering like that—voice small, but sure.
Not with her hands still clutching at Lana’s sweater like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

And definitely not with that look in her eyes.

Raw.
Unfiltered.
Like she’d cracked her own ribs open just to let Lana see inside.

Lana’s chest ached.

Not from fear.
Not from want.

From the weight of it.

Of her.

Because Sera wasn’t asking to be saved.
She wasn’t even asking to be understood.

She was offering the truth.

And Lana had never wanted to be worthy of something more.

She didn’t say anything at first.

She just let her forehead stay pressed to Sera’s.
Let her hands drift to her waist again—anchoring, not guiding.
And she listened.

To every word.

To the way Sera’s voice shook but didn’t falter.
To the way she said I’m tired like it wasn’t weakness, but exhaustion she’d earned.
To the way she looked up and didn’t hide.

And then—when that last line came, soft and steady and wrecking—

So if you’re gonna stay… just know I’ll try. Every time.

Lana broke.

Not outwardly.
Not loud.

But inside, something caved in.

Because she’d heard a thousand promises from people who never meant them.
And this wasn’t that.

This was better.

This was real.

She reached up, one hand cupping the side of Sera’s neck, thumb brushing over her jaw.

“Trying is everything,” Lana whispered, her voice raspier than she meant it to be.

Then, a little lower—

“And for the record… I’ve never seen you more clearly than I do right now.”

She tilted her head just enough to kiss her—
not desperate, not claiming.
Just a press of lips to lips.

Steady.
Present.
Intentional.

And when she pulled back, she rested her forehead against hers again and smiled.

“You’re not alone in this,” she murmured.

“Not anymore.”

Sera let the silence settle.

Not heavy.
Not tense.

Just… warm.

The kind of quiet that said we survived that—whatever that was—and now we get to decide what comes next.

Lana’s forehead was still pressed to hers, their breath mingling in the hush between words, and Sera’s hand had stopped trembling somewhere along the way.

Maybe it was Lana’s voice.
Maybe it was the steadiness in her eyes.
Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was performing for an audience she didn’t care about.

Whatever it was—
Sera felt it.

The shift.

The click.

The heat under her skin that wasn’t panic anymore—it was possibility.

She leaned back just an inch, eyes glinting now with something brighter.
Surer.

And she smiled.

Not the brittle kind.
Not the I’ve-got-it-all-together-and-I’m-sleeping-through-it smile.
A Sera smile.

Crooked. Coy. Dangerous.

“Well,” she said lightly, brushing her thumb over Lana’s belt loop like she was just getting started, “now that we’ve both emotionally undressed in my very expensive kitchen…”

She tipped her head slightly, hair falling over one shoulder, letting the sentence hang long enough to feel the heat of it.

“...I feel like we’ve earned something fun.”

She took a small step back—not far, just enough to drag Lana with her by the hand—and added, casual as ever:

“So here are your options.”

She lifted a finger like she was listing a tasting menu.
Totally serious.
Completely full of shit.

“One: We stay here and make out on the marble counter like we’re in a scandalous movie no one’s brave enough to direct.”

“Two: I kick your ass at Mario Kart while pretending I’m not trying.”

A beat.
A raise of one perfectly arched brow.

“Three: We order enough Thai food to shame an entire dorm floor and you watch me try to figure out chopsticks like an emotionally unravelling raccoon.”

Her grin widened.
The kind that only people who were allowed to see this version of her got to witness.

“Four…”
She let the word stretch, teasing.
Her voice dropped just enough to curve at the edges.

“You let me show you what trying looks like in my bedroom.”

Then, with a wink so lazy it was criminal, she added—

“No pressure. You’re the guest. I believe in informed choices.”

Lana couldn’t stop smiling.

God, this girl.

This version of Sera—crooked grin, fake-menu voice, that ridiculous but lethal flick of her brow—was just as dangerous as the one who whispered I’m trying two minutes ago.

Maybe more.

Because this was Sera choosing joy.
Choosing her.
And inviting Lana into the kind of moment most people would never be allowed to see.

She let herself be pulled forward, hand still clasped in Sera’s, feet moving instinctively like she’d follow her anywhere.

The marble counters, Mario Kart, emotionally unravelling raccoons—
Lana didn’t care.

Every option came with her.

Still, she raised a brow, mock-serious.

“Okay,” she said, biting back a smile, “but is it bad that all four are equally hot?”

She watched Sera’s smirk flicker into something brighter, and Lana couldn’t help it—
she stepped closer again.

Only half a step.
Just enough to remind her: I’m here. I’m real.

She reached up, tucking a piece of Sera’s hair behind her ear, slow and deliberate.
Then let her fingers linger just long enough to trace the curve of her jaw.

“I’ll go with four,” Lana said softly.

A beat.
Then the grin returned—lazy, warm, wrecked.

“But only if there’s a round of Mario Kart after. And you know I’m picking Rainbow Road.”

She leaned in, her voice lowering just enough to press heat into the space between them.

“Just so you know—I play dirty.”

Then she kissed her again.
Smiling against her mouth.

Not to win.
Not to prove anything.

Just to say yes.

Sera hadn’t actually expected her to choose four.

She’d thrown it out like a dare—half-flirty, half-defense mechanism, all Sera Vale bravado.

But the second Lana said it—I’ll go with four—and followed it up with I play dirty, Sera felt her whole damn spine light up like someone had plugged her into the wall.

She blinked once.

Twice.

Then—
“Oh, honey,” she said, voice syrup-sweet and sinful as sin,
“If you think Rainbow Road is the wildest ride you’re getting tonight…”

She let the sentence dangle.

Didn’t finish it.

Didn’t need to.

Because Lana’s mouth curved like she was trying not to combust on the spot.
And that was all Sera needed.

With no further warning, she turned and tugged her up the stairs by the hand—barefoot, flushed, and suddenly very on a mission.

The air in the Vale Estate was cool and still, all golden light and gallery walls, but the second they reached the top floor, it shifted—
became warmer.
Softer.
Like the house knew where they were headed.

Sera pushed open the double doors to her bedroom, letting them swing wide.

It was every inch the princess-core fantasy everyone in school whispered about behind her back—
all blush-toned linens, gold accents, and soft draped curtains.
A chandelier above.
Twinkle lights above the bed canopy.
Polaroids strung like a prayer line across the headboard.

And in the middle of it all—
her.

Sera turned to face Lana just past the threshold.

She didn’t speak at first.
Didn’t joke.

She just looked at her—
eyes low, lips parted, breath barely steady.

Then she let the door click shut behind them.

Her hoodie slipped off with one fluid motion, dropping to the plush rug without ceremony, revealing the delicate rose-colored shorts and the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

She stepped forward—slow, sure, burning from the inside out—and brought her hand to the back of Lana’s neck, fingers threading into her hair.

And then she kissed her.

Not sweet.
Not shy.
Not scared.

This was Sera Vale in full bloom—
all heat and velvet, with something glittering sharp beneath it.
Want, yes—
but also ownership.
Also intention.

The kiss deepened, Sera’s body flush against Lana’s, her mouth parting just enough to let the breath between them catch and tangle.

And when she finally pulled back—just a breath, just enough to speak—
she didn’t drop the sultry edge.

She smiled against Lana’s lips, a whisper of lipstick and lightning.

“You picked four,” she murmured.
“Hope you’re ready to be impressed.”

Then she tugged Lana forward—toward the canopy bed lit like a dream, toward the soft edge of the mattress—

And thought, no pressure, no plan, just this.

Just her.

Just them.

Lana didn’t know what she expected.

She’d heard the rumors—everyone had.
That Sera Vale’s room looked like the inside of a couture dream sequence.
That it was soft and gold and too-perfect, like someone had staged it for a magazine and then locked the door behind them.

But this?

This wasn’t perfect.

This was personal.

Photos strung across the headboard like constellations.
A candle still half-burned on the vanity.
A hoodie tossed somewhere, forgotten.
And Sera—God, Sera—standing in the center of it all like she’d been waiting for Lana to find her there.

Not just physically.
Not just tonight.

But here.

In the place where she lived when no one was watching.

Lana barely registered the sound of the door clicking shut behind her—
only the heat of Sera’s hand, still curled behind her neck.
Still pulling.

And then her mouth.

Not soft.
Not tentative.

Claiming.

Lana kissed her back like she was falling into something deeper than the bed.
Her hands finding Sera’s waist, thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of those rose-colored shorts that had already starred in about fifteen of Lana’s most vivid thoughts.

She didn’t even try to hide the way she gasped into her mouth—
not when Sera pressed their bodies together like she meant it.

And when the kiss broke, when Sera whispered you picked four,
Lana swore she forgot how to stand.

Not because of the line.
Not because of what came next.

Because of the look in her eyes when she said it.

Like finally someone was letting her lead.

Like Lana had chosen the right answer just by showing up.

She let herself be tugged toward the bed—barely resisting, already gone—and when her knees hit the edge of the mattress, she looked at Sera like she might never stop.

“You’re—”
She didn’t finish the sentence.

Because there wasn’t a word good enough.

Not for this version of Sera Vale.
Not for the way her confidence and nerves tangled at the edges, both visible, both real.
Not for the way she’d stripped down, not just in clothes, but in walls.

Lana reached up, brushing her knuckles along Sera’s cheek, and smiled.
Wrecked.
Open.

“Show me.”

Sera’s breath caught at Lana’s quiet challenge—Show me—but the hitch lasted only a heartbeat.
Her confidence, that bright, live-wire thing, surged back up her spine and settled behind her eyes like a dare.

She kissed Lana again—slow, coaxing, intentional—letting the taste of elderflower soda linger on her tongue. Then she nudged Lana backward with gentle pressure from her hips. Lana went willingly, knees bending until the backs of her thighs met the edge of the blush-linen mattress and she sank onto it in a rustle of sheets and soft laughter.

Fairy-light galaxies flickered overhead; the canopy haze turned everything honey-gold. Sera followed her down, keeping the kiss unbroken until she was braced above Lana on trembling arms, hair curtaining them both. She felt Lana’s fingers skim beneath the hem of her shorts—seeking but not guiding—which only sharpened Sera’s sense of control.

Her turn.

She drew back just far enough to look. Lana’s cheeks were pink, pupils blown wide, cardigan already slipping from one shoulder. Sera let her gaze roam—lingering, savoring—before she spoke, voice a velvet hush.

“Lie back for me.”

Lana obeyed, sinking into the pillows, head tipped so her loose curls fanned across Sera’s sun-print cushion. That simple trust made heat pool low in Sera’s belly—equal parts power and awe. With deliberate care she traced her fingers down Lana’s sides, smoothing cardigan and blouse away until fabric sighed against the sheets. Every inch she uncovered, she followed with her mouth: a soft kiss to Lana’s collarbone; a slow, teasing drag of lips over the gentle swell of her ribcage; the faintest scrape of teeth just beneath her bra’s edge, rewarded by Lana’s sharp inhale.

Sera’s nerves fluttered—they were still there, a field of butterflies under her sternum—but each sound Lana made grounded her. She pressed one final kiss between Lana’s ribs, then shifted lower, kneeling between Lana’s knees. Warm palms slid up under the hem of Lana’s skirt, thumbs sweeping lazy circles over her outer thighs until Lana’s muscles relaxed, legs falling open in silent invitation.

Remembering how careful Lana had been with her, Sera kept it slow. She ducked to mouth the sensitive skin just above Lana’s knee, then trailed kisses higher—inch by inch—alternating feather-light touches with leisurely presses of her tongue. At the crease of Lana’s hip she paused, glancing up; Lana’s chest rose and fell in quick, shallow waves, her fingers clutching at the duvet but not pulling Sera on or pushing her away.

Encouraged, Sera hooked her fingers into the waistband of Lana’s underwear—giving her time to stop it—and when Lana arched instead, Sera eased the fabric down, her cheeks heating at the soft, slick warmth that greeted her. She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Lana’s thigh, letting the tremor that ran through Lana echo in her own fingertips.

Slow, she reminded herself. Tempting.

She flattened her tongue in a broad, delicate sweep just where Lana’s pulse thundered, then withdrew, blowing a cool breath over the damp skin. Lana’s hips lifted, a broken sound slipping out—half gasp, half plea. Sera’s pulse hammered in triumph.

She did it again—slow stroke, teasing retreat—until Lana’s thighs quivered around her shoulders and her hands finally slid into Sera’s hair, not directing, merely holding. Only then did Sera part her lips fully, slipping her tongue into Lana’s heat, savoring the taste of her, circling languidly the way she remembered Lana doing in the dressing room. Each soft moan, each tightening of Lana’s grip, guided her rhythm—building, retreating, building again—until Lana’s breathing scattered into rapid, helpless pants.

When Lana’s back arched off the mattress, Sera sealed her mouth over her, sucking softly while her fingers stroked just above, coaxing Lana higher. The twinkle lights above blurred; Sera’s whole world funneled to the tremor in Lana’s thighs, the shaky exhale that turned into a cry, the way Lana’s heels dug into the sheets as her body tipped over the edge.

Sera didn’t rush the comedown. She gentled her touch, pressing soft kisses along Lana’s inner thigh while the last shivers ran their course. Only when Lana loosened her grip did Sera crawl back up, bracing herself on trembling elbows to kiss the corner of Lana’s smile—tasting satisfaction and something sweeter.

Lana’s eyes fluttered open, still unfocused. Sera grinned, cheeks flushed, a little breathless but utterly pleased with herself.

“Rainbow Road’s got nothing on that,” she murmured against Lana’s lips—half joke, half victory lap—before settling beside her to catch her own racing heartbeat in the hush of fairy-lit pink.

Lana lay still, not because she couldn’t move, but because she didn’t want to.

Not yet.

Her limbs felt weightless—like she’d floated somewhere just above her body and was only now starting to settle back in. The twinkle lights swam overhead, soft and blurred, but it was the warmth beside her that kept her tethered.

Sera.

Still close.
Still steady.
Still humming with the kind of quiet confidence that didn’t need to ask for approval.

And somehow, still looking at her like she was something worth unwrapping slowly.

Lana’s heart beat unevenly in her chest—part adrenaline, part disbelief. Not at what had happened, but how it had happened. The care. The patience. The precision. Every touch had been deliberate. Earnest. Given without expectation and somehow still offered like worship.

She’d been touched before.
Undressed before.
Wanted before.

But this—
this had felt different.

This had felt like home.

She exhaled slowly, blinking up at the ceiling as her breath caught in her throat—not because she was afraid, but because her chest had never felt this full. There was something terrifying about being known. Truly known. And yet, lying here, with the press of Sera’s fingertips still echoing across her skin, Lana didn’t feel exposed.

She felt safe.

She turned her head slightly, catching Sera’s profile in the glow. The curve of her smile. The lazy rise and fall of her chest. The soft glint in her eyes like she knew exactly what she’d done—and had loved doing it.

A small laugh escaped Lana’s lips, breathless and wrecked, and something unnameable cracked open inside her.

This wasn’t just a night.
Wasn’t just a win.
Wasn’t just a secret tucked between pink sheets and pretty lights.

It was a beginning.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Lana wasn’t scared of what came next.

She was ready for it.

Lana shifted, just barely, the sheets cool against her thighs as her breath finally evened out. The room smelled like candle wax and warm skin—sweet, a little sharp, faintly citrus where Sera’s shampoo lingered in the air between them. The fairy lights blinked in slow rhythms above like they were synced to her heartbeat, still irregular but no longer wild.

She didn’t speak.

Not because she had nothing to say, but because the silence felt too sacred to shatter just yet.

Instead, she turned—slowly, carefully—until her nose bumped against Sera’s shoulder. She tucked herself into the curve of her body without needing permission. Like her skin already knew this shape. Like she’d spent months unknowingly carving out a space there just to collapse into now.

Sera didn’t resist. She didn’t startle.
She just made a soft sound—something between a sigh and a hum—and shifted slightly to pull Lana closer. Their legs tangled easily. Naturally. Like this had happened a thousand times before in some other life.

Lana pressed her face against the crook of Sera’s neck, eyes fluttering closed.

She felt grounded. Heavy in the best way.
Not pinned down—anchored.

Her fingers found the hem of Sera’s discarded hoodie on the edge of the bed and toyed with it absently, like something tactile might keep her from floating too far into the clouds of it all.

“You’re really unfair, you know that?” she murmured eventually, voice still thick and slow with the echo of everything that had just passed between them.

But there was no edge to it.
Just warmth.

She didn’t pull back to see Sera’s face.
Didn’t need to.

She just stayed there, curled in close, letting her breath match the rhythm of the girl who had touched her like she was real.

Lana didn’t know what time it was.
Didn’t care.

All she knew was this:

If Sera wanted to stay in this moment forever,
she’d never be the one to let go first.