“Oscar…” I hesitate to touch him, my muscles on fire. “Don’t fuck with me—” “I’m not,” he chokes out. “I’m not.” We’re not touching, but it feels like we’re already clinging to each other for dear fucking life. “I promise.” Our foreheads nearly brush, his lips ghosting over mine, and in a husky breath, I whisper, “Can I kiss—” His mouth presses to mine, the tension of this is happening, this is happening, this is happening stretches tendons in our necks and arms and bodies—and when it sinks in, we snap fully together.
