The IHOP booth creaked as Chloe settled in, sliding across the cracked vinyl until her knees brushed the table's underside. The laminate was cool under her forearms, slick from a recent wipe-down, and the air hung thick with stale coffee and bacon grease. She barely noticed. Her eyes were on Liam across from her, his gray-blue eyes soft in the fluorescent light, his chestnut hair still damp from his rushed shower.
"Strawberry milkshake," she announced, closing the menu without looking at it. "Extra strawberries. Whipped cream. The works."
Liam smiled, that quiet, crooked thing that made her chest feel too full. "Pancakes. The kind with chocolate chips."
"Basic." She grinned. "I love it."
The waitress scribbled, nodded, and disappeared. Chloe pulled the paper straw wrapper off, the thin strip crinkling between her fingers. She meant to ball it up, toss it on the table, forget it existed. But her fingers moved on their own—a stretch, a gentle pull, the wrapper taut between her thumbs.
She froze.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She dropped the wrapper like it had burned her, her cheeks flooding with heat. Across the table, Liam's eyes had gone dark. Knowing. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"Don't," she whispered, but she was already smiling, embarrassed and caught.
His hand reached across the table. Slow. Deliberate. His fingers closed around the other end of the wrapper, tugging it gently from her grip. She didn't let go.
"What are you doing?" she breathed.
"Tug of war." His voice was low, amused. "You started it."
She laughed, breathless. "This is a paper straw wrapper."
"I know."
The wrapper stretched between them, thin and fragile, a millimeter from tearing. Chloe felt her thighs press together under the table. The tension was ridiculous—it was paper, for god's sake—but his eyes held hers, dark and playful, and her pulse hammered in her throat.
"Whoever loses," he said, "pays for the milkshake."
"You're already paying for breakfast."
"Then whoever loses pays for the next one."
She bit her lip. "Deal."
She pulled. He pulled back. The wrapper held, just barely, bowing in the middle. A bead of sweat formed at her temple. This was absurd. She was absurd. She loved every second of it.
He tugged harder, and the wrapper snapped. The sound was quiet—a crisp, clean tear—but it rang in her ears like a gunshot. The broken ends dangled from their fingers, his shorter than hers.
Liam looked at his piece. Then at her. He laughed—a real laugh, surprised and warm, his cheeks flushing pink.
"I lost," he said, still smiling.
Chloe's thighs pressed tighter. The sound of the tear echoed in her chest, a vibration that settled low in her belly. She dropped her half of the wrapper on the table, her fingers trembling.
"Next time," she managed, "I'll make it harder."
"Next time." His eyes hadn't left hers. "I'll be ready."
The waitress arrived with the milkshake, setting it down with a clunk. Chloe wrapped her hands around the cold glass, letting it ground her. The whipped cream was piled high, a cherry perched on top like an afterthought. She stabbed it with her straw and took a long sip, the sweetness coating her tongue.
Liam watched her. She could feel his gaze on her mouth, on the straw, on the way her throat moved when she swallowed. She set the glass down and licked her lips.
"What?"
"Nothing." He looked away, but the tips of his ears were red. "Just... you look happy."
"I am happy." She reached across the table, lacing her fingers through his. His palm was warm, his thumb tracing circles on her knuckles. "I'm with you. I have a milkshake. Life is good."
"And you won a paper wrapper tug of war."
"The highlight of my week."
He laughed again, and she felt it in her chest, warm and bright. The waitress returned with his pancakes—a towering stack, butter melting into the crevices, chocolate chips glistening. He doused them in syrup, the amber liquid pooling across the plate.
"You're going to give yourself diabetes," she said.
"Worth it."
She stole a bite off his plate, the pancake fluffy and sweet, the chocolate still warm. He didn't protest. He just watched her, his eyes soft, and took a bite of his own.
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the clatter of plates and murmur of conversation filling the space around them. Chloe's milkshake was half-gone, her straw making that hollow slurping sound, when she set it down and looked at him.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"When did you know?" She gestured vaguely between them. "About me. About the balloons."
He chewed slowly, thinking. "The first night. When you popped that balloon."
"Before you saw me?"
"Before I saw you." He set his fork down. "I heard you. The way you stretched it, the way you gasped. I knew. I don't know how, but I knew."
She felt her cheeks warm. "I thought I was being quiet."
"You were." His voice was soft. "But the walls are thin. And I was listening."
The admission hung between them, raw and honest. She reached for his hand again, squeezing it.
"I was listening too," she said. "That night. After you heard me. I heard you breathe."
His blush deepened. "You did?"
"Mm-hmm." She traced a pattern on his palm. "It was... nice. Knowing you were there. Knowing you heard me."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I thought you'd be weirded out."
"I thought you'd be weirded out."
They looked at each other, and then they were both laughing, the sound bright and unguarded, drawing glances from the table next to them. Chloe didn't care. Let them look. Let them wonder.
"We're a pair," she said, wiping her eyes.
"The weirdest pair." He grinned. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."
She leaned across the table and kissed him. Quick, soft, tasting of strawberry and syrup. When she pulled back, his eyes were dazed, his lips parted.
"Payback," she said, echoing his words from the park.
"I'm starting a tab."
She laughed and took another sip of her milkshake. The ice cream was melting, pooling at the bottom of the glass. She swirled it with her straw, watching the pink swirl.
"Do you ever think about it?" she asked. "What it would be like if we'd met somewhere else? If we didn't have the walls?"
He considered it. "I think..." He paused, his fork tracing patterns in the syrup. "I think we would have found each other anyway. Maybe not as fast. But eventually."
"You sound sure."
"I am." He met her eyes. "You're not someone I could miss, Chloe. You're too bright."
Her chest ached, full and warm. She blinked back the sting in her eyes. "That's the cheesiest thing you've ever said."
"I meant every word."
She reached across the table and stole another bite of his pancake. He let her, smiling that quiet smile that made her heart stumble.
When the plates were cleared and the bill came, Liam pulled out his wallet. Chloe grabbed his wrist.
"I lost the bet. The milkshake's mine."
"You won the bet," he said. "You got the longer piece."
"The bet was whoever loses pays." She grinned. "You lost."
He stared at her, realization dawning. "You tricked me."
"I absolutely did."
He laughed, shaking his head, and pulled out a twenty. "You're dangerous, Chloe Hartwell."
"You have no idea."
They slid out of the booth, her hand finding his, their fingers lacing together like they'd been doing it for years. The parking lot was bright, the sun warm on her shoulders. She swung their joined hands as they walked, the motion easy and natural.
"What now?" he asked.
"I don't know." She looked at him, his hair ruffled by the breeze, his gray-blue eyes soft. "Anything. Everything. As long as it's with you."
He stopped walking. Turned to face her. His free hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone.
"I love you," he said, the words simple and sure.
Her heart skipped. "I love you too."
He kissed her. Slower this time, deeper, his lips warm and tasting of syrup. She melted into him, her hand fisting in his hoodie, the world fading to just them, just this moment.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, she pressed her forehead to his.
"Take me home," she whispered. "Our home. With the thin walls."
He smiled. "Yeah."
They walked back to the dorm, hands intertwined, the spring air warm against their skin. The building loomed ahead, familiar and safe, and Chloe felt a surge of affection for it—for the paper-thin walls that had brought them together, for the sounds that had connected them in the dark.
She glanced at Liam as they climbed the stairs. His profile was soft in the dim light, his jaw relaxed, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
"I'm glad you were listening."
He stopped at her door, turning to face her. "I'm glad you weren't quiet."
She stood on her toes and kissed him, quick and warm, then pulled back with a grin. "See you in five minutes?"
"I'll be counting."
She slipped into her room, the door clicking shut behind her. The familiar space greeted her—the pile of balloons in the corner, the half-inflated pink heart on her bed. She pressed her palm to the wall, feeling the faint vibration of him moving in his room.
Through the thin wall, she heard him laugh. Soft. For himself.
She smiled, her hand still pressed to the warm surface.
Five minutes. She could wait.
She stood at the wall, palm flat against the warm surface, counting seconds. Five minutes stretched into seven, then eight, and she was about to knock when she heard it—a soft, familiar creak from his room. Latex stretching. Slow. Deliberate.
Her breath caught.
She pressed her ear to the wall, eyes wide. The sound was unmistakable—the rhythmic pull of his lips around a balloon's neck, the careful exhale as he inflated. She'd heard it a hundred times through this wall, but never like this. Never knowing what his mouth looked like doing it.
The creaking stopped. A pause. Then a soft, muffled sound—his hand cupping the inflated latex, testing its tension.
Chloe bit her lip. Her thighs pressed together.
She slipped out of her room, barefoot, and padded to his door. The crack of light beneath it told her he was awake. She knocked—soft, just two taps.
The sound stopped. Silence. Then footsteps.
The door opened a few inches. Liam's face appeared, flushed, his hair messy, his eyes wide. Behind him, on his desk, a half-inflated red balloon sat on its stem, waiting.
"Hi," she said, her voice light.
"Hi." He swallowed. "I was just—"
"I heard." She pushed the door open, stepping inside. "Don't stop on my account."
He stared at her, his ears burning. "You heard?"
"Through the wall." She grinned. "Paper thin, remember?"
He opened his mouth, closed it, then let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Right."
She walked past him, her eyes on the balloon. It was a standard red latex, maybe twelve inches, half-filled. She picked it up, the rubber cool and smooth in her fingers. "You were in the middle of something."
"I was just... practicing." He rubbed the back of his neck. "For next time."
"Next time?" She turned to face him, the balloon dangling from her hand.
"With you." His voice dropped. "I wanted to be ready."
Something warm spread through her chest. She set the balloon down, crossed the room, and took his face in her hands. "You don't need to practice for me, Liam. You're perfect exactly as you are."
He kissed her. Soft, then deeper, his hands finding her waist. She melted into him, her fingers threading through his hair, the world shrinking to the heat of his mouth, the solid warmth of his body against hers.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, she pressed her forehead to his. "I have an idea."
"Yeah?"
"Let's play a game." She pulled back, her eyes bright. "Whoever can make the other one come first, wins."
His eyebrows shot up. "Wins what?"
"Bragging rights." She grinned. "And the next three milkshakes."
A slow smile spread across his face. "You're on."
She stepped back, reaching for the hem of her shirt. "Then get ready, Porter. I play to win."
She pulled the shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor. His eyes traced down her body, lingering on the curve of her hips, the soft swell of her breasts. She unfastened her shorts, letting them fall, standing before him in just her underwear.
"Your turn," she said.
He didn't look away. His hands found the hem of his hoodie, pulling it off in one motion, then his t-shirt. His jeans followed, pooling at his feet. He stood before her in boxers, his chest rising and falling, his skin flushed.
She stepped closer, her fingers finding the waistband of his boxers. "Can I?"
He nodded, his throat working.
She pushed them down. His cock sprang free, already hard, the tip glistening. She wrapped her hand around him, slow, savoring the feel of his heat, the way he shuddered at her touch.
"Lay down," she whispered.
He moved to the bed, his eyes never leaving her. She followed, crawling over him, her body hovering above his. She kissed his chest, his stomach, lower, her lips trailing down his skin. His breath hitched as she took him in her mouth, slow and deliberate, her tongue tracing along his length.
His hands found her hair, fingers tangling in the blonde waves. "Chloe..."
She hummed around him, feeling him twitch. She worked him slowly, building the rhythm, her hand wrapped around the base of his shaft. His breathing grew ragged, his hips beginning to move, and she felt the familiar tension coiling in his body.
But she wanted to tease him. She wanted to drag this out.
She pulled away, her lips leaving him with a soft pop. He groaned, a sound of pure frustration.
"Not yet," she said, smiling. "I want to try something."
She reached for the half-inflated red balloon on his desk. His eyes widened as she brought it to the bed, holding it between them.
"You said you were practicing," she said. "Show me."
He sat up, taking the balloon from her. His fingers found the stem, bringing it to his lips. He blew, slow and steady, his eyes locked on hers. The balloon grew, the rubber stretching taut, the red surface gleaming under the lamplight.
She watched, transfixed. The way his cheeks hollowed, the way his chest rose with each breath, the way the latex came alive in his hands—it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
When it was full, he twisted the stem, tied it off, and held it out to her. "For you."
She took it, the rubber warm and tight. She pressed it to her cheek, feeling the subtle give, the familiar scent of latex filling her senses. "Thank you."
He leaned in, kissing her neck, his hands finding her waist. She arched into him, the balloon still pressed to her face, and let herself feel everything—his mouth on her skin, his fingers tracing down her spine, the heat building between them.
He laid her back against the mattress, his body covering hers, the balloon trapped between them. He kissed down her throat, her collarbone, his lips finding the swell of her breasts. She moaned, her fingers gripping his shoulders, the world narrowing to the press of his mouth, the weight of his body.
He reached her stomach, kissing lower, his hands finding the waistband of her underwear. He pulled them down, slow, his breath warm against her skin. She shivered, anticipation pooling low in her belly.
He looked up at her. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
"I don't want you to stop."
He lowered his head, his mouth finding her. She gasped, her back arching, her fingers fisting in the sheets. His tongue moved with practiced precision, circling, teasing, building the pressure until she was trembling, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
She was close. So close. But she wanted to win.
She reached down, grabbing his hair, pulling him up. He came willingly, his lips slick, his eyes dark. "What—"
She flipped them, straddling him, the red balloon still beside them. She positioned herself over him, his cock pressing against her, and she sank down, slow, taking him inch by inch until he was fully inside her.
They both groaned, the sensation overwhelming. She began to move, her hips rolling, her body finding a rhythm that made his eyes roll back. His hands found her hips, guiding her, his breath ragged.
"Chloe..."
"Not yet," she said, her voice strained. "I'm winning."
She leaned forward, her chest brushing his, and kissed him. Deep and hungry, her tongue finding his, her hips never stopping. She felt the tension building in him, the way his body tensed, the way his breath caught.
She slowed down, teasing him, pulling back just as he was about to tip over. He groaned, a sound of pure desperation.
"That's cheating," he managed.
"All's fair in love and war." She grinned. "And this is both."
She reached for the red balloon, bringing it to her lips. She bit the knot, pulling it free, and the air rushed out with a high-pitched squeal. The sound filled the room, sharp and sudden, and she felt him twitch inside her.
She laughed, breathless, and let the deflated latex fall to the bed. "Your turn."
He sat up, his arms wrapping around her, and flipped them again. Now he was on top, his body covering hers, his cock still buried deep. He began to move, faster now, harder, his eyes locked on hers.
She didn't hold back. She let herself feel it, the pleasure building, the pressure coiling in her core. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper, her nails digging into his back.
"Liam—"
"I know," he breathed. "Me too."
They came together, a shared wave of release that washed over them both. She cried out, his name a prayer on her lips, and he followed, his body shuddering, his forehead pressed to hers.
They lay there, tangled together, breathing hard. The deflated red balloon lay crumpled beside them, a witness to their game.
After a long moment, she spoke. "Who won?"
He laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "I think we both did."
She smiled, her hand finding his. "I'll take it."
He kissed her forehead, then rolled off, pulling her with him so she lay curled against his side. She pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his heartbeat, steady and sure.
"Hey, Liam?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
His arm tightened around her. "I love you too, Chloe."
She closed her eyes, the sound of his heart filling her senses, the scent of latex and sweat and him surrounding her. Through the thin wall, she heard nothing but silence—their silence, together.
She smiled, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.
She'd won. They'd both won.
The knock was soft. Three quick taps against the wood of his door, a rhythm he already knew by heart.
Liam lifted his head from her chest, his hair mussed, his eyes still hazy from the aftermath. Chloe lay beneath him, her skin flushed, her breathing slowly returning to normal. The deflated red balloon lay crumpled beside them, a witness to their game.
"Expecting someone?" she asked, her voice lazy and warm.
He shook his head, frowning. "No."
The knock came again. Louder this time. A voice followed, muffled through the thin door. "Liam? You in there, man?"
Recognition flickered across his face. "That's Mark." He sat up, grabbing his boxers from the floor. "My roommate from last year. He said he might stop by."
Chloe didn't move, her naked body still sprawled across his sheets, a lazy smile playing on her lips. "Should I hide?"
"No." He pulled on his jeans, zipping them with quick, efficient movements. "Stay. Just—" He ran a hand through his messy hair, his cheeks already flushing. "Give me a second."
She laughed, soft and teasing. "Take your time."
He crossed the room, his bare feet silent on the worn carpet. He opened the door a crack, blocking the view of his bed with his body. Mark stood in the hallway, a six-pack of beer in one hand, a grin on his face.
"Hey, man. Thought I'd see how the new place is treating you." Mark's eyes flicked past him, catching a glimpse of the room. His grin widened. "Oh. Am I interrupting something?"
Liam's ears burned. "No. I mean, yes. Kind of."
From the bed, Chloe's voice floated over, warm and unashamed. "Hi, Mark."
Mark's eyebrows shot up. He leaned to the side, spotting her tangled in the sheets, her honey-blonde hair spread across the pillow. He let out a low whistle. "Well, damn. Liam Porter, you dark horse."
Liam's face went scarlet. "It's not—we're—"
"It's fine, man." Mark held up his hands, laughing. "I'll catch you later. Text me when you're free." He turned, then paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Nice to meet you, mystery girl."
"Chloe," she called back. "And nice to meet you too."
Mark winked at Liam and disappeared down the hall, his footsteps fading.
Liam closed the door, leaning his forehead against it for a long moment. He could feel her eyes on him, amused and warm.
"That was mortifying," he said, his voice muffled.
"It was cute." She stretched, the sheets slipping, revealing the curve of her hip. "Your friends seem nice."
He turned, his blush still burning. "He's going to have questions."
"Good." She grinned. "Let him."
He crossed back to the bed, sitting on the edge. She reached up, her fingers finding his, pulling him down beside her. He went willingly, curling around her, his arm draping across her waist.
"I'm not used to this," he admitted, his voice quiet. "Being... seen. With someone."
She turned her head, her hazel eyes meeting his gray-blue ones. "Neither am I. But I like it."
He kissed her forehead, soft and lingering. "Me too."
They lay in silence for a while, the afternoon light slanting through the blinds, casting stripes of gold across the rumpled sheets. Outside, the dorm hallway hummed with distant voices and footsteps, the ordinary sounds of college life.
Chloe's stomach growled, breaking the quiet.
He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Hungry?"
"Starving." She poked his chest. "You wore me out, Porter."
"Me?" He feigned innocence. "You started it."
"I finished it too." She grinned, sitting up, the sheets pooling around her waist. "But I'm still hungry. Let's get food. Real food. Not just pancakes."
"The diner?"
"The diner." She slid out of bed, naked and unself-conscious, gathering her clothes from where they'd scattered across the floor. He watched her, his eyes tracing the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist.
"You're staring," she said without turning around.
"I know."
She laughed, pulling on her sundress, the fabric falling over her body. She turned, her hair mussed, her cheeks still flushed. "Ready?"
He stood, pulling on his hoodie. "Ready."
They walked out together, his hand finding hers, their fingers interlacing. The hallway was quiet, most residents still in class or asleep. They passed the communal bathroom, the vending machine that hummed and flickered, the bulletin board covered in flyers for lost cats and tutoring services.
As they reached the stairwell, a door opened behind them. A girl with purple-streaked hair stepped out, a textbook clutched to her chest. She glanced at them, her eyes landing on Chloe's bare legs, on Liam's hoodie hanging loose on her frame.
She smiled, a knowing glint in her eye. "Hey, you're the balloon girl, right?"
Chloe's step faltered. "Uh. Yeah. That's me."
"I live next door to you." The girl shifted her textbook. "I hear you playing sometimes. It's kind of... relaxing, actually. The squeaking."
Chloe's cheeks flushed, but she recovered quickly, her smile bright. "Thanks. I think."
The girl nodded at Liam. "You're the quiet one. The one who blushes."
Liam's ears went red. "That's... also me."
"Cute." The girl pushed open the stairwell door. "Have fun, you two."
She disappeared down the stairs, her footsteps echoing.
Chloe turned to Liam, her eyes wide. "Did that just happen?"
"I think we've been outed." His voice was strained, but a smile tugged at his lips. "By the whole building."
"Good." She squeezed his hand, pulling him toward the stairs. "Let them talk."
They descended together, their footsteps syncopated, their laughter echoing in the concrete stairwell. When they reached the ground floor, the evening air hit them, cool and fresh, carrying the scent of damp grass and distant exhaust.
The diner was a ten-minute walk, a neon-lit beacon at the edge of campus. They found a booth near the back, the vinyl cracked and faded, the table sticky with decades of spilled syrup. A waitress appeared, her name tag reading "Brenda," her expression bored but not unfriendly.
"What can I get you?"
Chloe ordered a strawberry milkshake and a grilled cheese. Liam asked for a burger and a Coke. Brenda scribbled on her pad, then shuffled away, her orthopedic shoes squeaking on the linoleum.
The diner hummed around them: the clatter of plates, the murmur of conversations, the jukebox playing a slow, twangy country song. Chloe rested her chin on her hand, watching him.
"What?" he asked, self-conscious under her gaze.
"Nothing." She smiled. "I'm just... happy."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She reached across the table, her fingers finding his. "This feels right. Us."
He turned his hand over, palm up, lacing his fingers through hers. "It does."
Their food arrived, the milkshake tall and frosty, the burger steaming. Chloe took a long sip of her shake, the straw making a gurgling sound as she reached the bottom. She pulled it out, the paper wrapper clinging to the end, damp and wrinkled.
She peeled it off, her fingers working automatically, the paper crinkling. She stretched it between her hands, the thin strip of paper pulling taut, and she caught herself—her breath hitching, her heart pounding—as she realized what she was doing.
She stopped. Her hands froze. The paper wrapper hung between her fingers, stretched thin, ready to snap.
Across the table, Liam's eyes had gone dark. Knowing. He watched her, his gaze fixed on the paper, on her fingers, on the way she'd unconsciously recreated the motion of stretching latex.
She swallowed. "I didn't—"
He reached out, his fingers closing around the other end of the wrapper. He pulled, gentle but firm, and she felt the resistance, the tension building between them.
"Liam—"
"Don't let go," he said, his voice low.
Her thighs pressed together under the table. She held the paper, her fingers trembling, the strip of white stretching longer, thinner, the fibers beginning to fray.
The diner noise faded. The clatter of plates, the murmur of voices—all of it receded, leaving only the two of them, the paper between them, the tension coiling in her core.
The wrapper snapped.
The sound was quiet—a soft, sharp rip—but it cut through the air like a gunshot. Chloe gasped, the pieces falling from her fingers, fluttering to the table like fallen leaves.
Liam held his piece, a small strip of white, his eyes locked on hers. He didn't say a word. He just smiled. A slow, knowing smile that made her breath catch.
She laughed, a nervous, breathless sound. "That was—"
"Accidental?" He raised an eyebrow. "Sure it was."
She grabbed her milkshake, taking a long sip to hide her burning cheeks. He watched her, his smile widening, and she knew—he knew exactly what had just happened. Exactly what she'd been thinking.
She set down the glass, the cold condensation slick on her fingers. "Okay. Fine. Maybe it wasn't entirely accidental."
"I know." He reached across the table, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "I saw it. The way you stretched it. The way your eyes went dark."
She shivered. "You noticed."
"I notice everything about you."
Her heart swelled, warm and full. She turned her hand over, catching his, holding it tight. "I love you."
"I love you too."
They finished their meal in comfortable silence, their hands finding each other across the table, their feet tangling under the booth. When the check came, Liam grabbed it before she could, sliding out of the booth with a grin.
"My treat," he said.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He pulled out his wallet, tossing cash on the table. "Consider it a victory prize."
"For what?"
He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "For winning the wrapper game."
She laughed, her cheeks flushing, and let him pull her to her feet.
They walked back to the dorm under a sky painted with the last streaks of sunset, gold and pink bleeding into purple. The air was cool, carrying the scent of autumn leaves and distant rain. Chloe's hand found his, their fingers interlacing, their steps synchronized.
When they reached the dorm, the hallway was quiet. Most doors were closed, the residents tucked away in their rooms. They stopped outside her door, the familiar numbers—217—staring back at them.
She turned to him, her eyes soft. "Tonight was perfect."
"It was." He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "Every moment with you is."
She rose on her toes, kissing him softly, her lips warm and sweet from the milkshake. He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer.
When they broke apart, she was breathless. "Stay with me tonight?"
His answer was a whisper. "Always."
She opened her door, pulling him inside, and the door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in their own small world, the thin walls holding their secret.