Chapter 25

By the time I got home, my body felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry. I went through the motions—keys on the counter, jacket on the chair, makeup wipes, shower—automatic, mechanical. But my head? My head was still stuck in that bedroom set, Rowan’s breath in sync with mine, the way neither of us moved when the director called cut.

I poured a glass of water instead of wine, knowing if I drank, the thoughts would spiral even harder. I curled up on the couch in my hoodie, phone balanced on my knee.

For once, I didn’t wait for her.

Celeste: Hey. Just wanted to check in. Are you okay?

The dots popped up almost instantly.

Rowan: You beat me to it. I was just about to text you the same thing.

I smiled faintly, tension easing from my shoulders.

Celeste: Long day. Just wanted to make sure you’re not… rattled.

Rowan: Rattled? Yeah. In the best possible way. That scene it didn’t feel like acting. It felt like something else.

I chewed my lip, thumbs moving before I could stop them.

Celeste: I know. I felt it too. Maybe too much.

A pause. Then,

Rowan: Too much isn’t always bad. Sometimes it means we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, her words sinking in like they were meant for more than tonight. My thumbs hovered again.

Celeste: Hey… if you aren’t able to sleep, you can call me. Or come over. Whichever works best for you, okay?

No reply. The dots didn’t even appear.

I frowned, setting the phone aside, telling myself I shouldn’t have sent it. Too much. Too forward.

Then—
A knock at the door.

My pulse spiked.

I padded across the apartment barefoot, pulling the hoodie tighter. When I opened the door, Rowan stood there in sweats and a hoodie, her hair tied back, her hands shoved into her pockets.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, eyes tired but steady. “And I… I don’t want to be alone right now.”

I blinked, caught between shock and something warmer. “So you just came over?”

She gave the smallest shrug, a ghost of a smirk. “You said I could.”

My chest tightened. I stepped back, holding the door wider. “Yeah. Come in. I couldn’t sleep either.”

Rowan slipped inside, brushing past me, and for a moment the scent of her—something clean, sharp, familiar—filled the space.

She turned, her voice softer now. “Can we just… cuddle? As friends.”

The words felt fragile, but her eyes said more.

“Yeah,” I whispered, my throat thick. “Yeah, we can.”

I closed the door behind her, the click echoing louder than it should have, like the start of something neither of us were ready to name.

The couch didn’t feel like enough. At some point, without even discussing it, we moved to my bed.

We lay side by side beneath the blankets, the room dim except for the soft glow of the lamp on my nightstand. Rowan curled into me, her head resting just beneath my chin, one hand loosely clutching the edge of my hoodie like she didn’t want me drifting too far.

For the first time all day, I felt my own breathing steady. The chaos of set, the director’s voice, the weight of lights and eyes and scripts—it all faded until there was just this: the warmth of her pressed against me, the rhythm of her breath syncing with mine.

“Thanks for this,” she whispered, voice low enough that I almost thought I’d imagined it.

“Of course,” I murmured back, my lips brushing her hairline as I spoke. Without thinking, I pressed a soft kiss against her forehead.

The moment it happened, my chest seized. I pulled back slightly, eyes widening. “Sorry,” I blurted, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Rowan tilted her head just enough to look up at me, her eyes soft in the lamplight. “No need to apologize.”

The words were simple, but the way she said them steady, unshaken, almost like she’d been waiting for me to do it left my chest burning.

I nodded, swallowing hard, trying to hide the way my hands wanted to pull her closer. “Okay,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

Rowan gave the faintest smile, then settled back against me. Within minutes her breathing evened out, but mine never did.

Rowan’s breathing steadied against me, soft and even, her body finally surrendering to sleep. Her hand stayed curled at the hem of my hoodie like she needed to anchor herself, even in dreams.

I lay awake, staring into the shadows stretching across my ceiling. Every inch of me wanted to move wanted to touch her cheek, wanted to trace the lines of her face, wanted to kiss her in a way no script could ever capture.

Instead, I held still.

The words slipped out in a whisper, so quiet I almost convinced myself they were safe.

“I already know you’re the one for me,” I murmured into the dark. “But I don’t want to be the one who gets in the way of your career. So I’ll hold back. As long as I can. For you to make it.”

My throat tightened, the weight of the promise pressing heavy in my chest. I brushed my lips once more against her hair, gentle enough not to wake her.

Then finally, exhaustion claimed me too. I closed my eyes, letting sleep take me with Rowan still nestled in my arms, the unspoken truth locked between us.