Johnny pushed the door inward and walked us into his room, still holding my hand, still making my heart leap around violently. Depressingly, he released my hand a few moments later, and the lack of contact made me feel oddly bereft. “So, this is my room,” he said with a smirk, waving a hand around the still-messy room. “Again.” “And it’s still a nice room,” I offered with a shy smile. He grinned. “I’m not the best housekeeper.” I can tell.
