The car was too quiet.

The rain was still falling, but it had softened to a whisper against the glass. My hands were still pressed against the window, the fogged-up surface hiding us from a world that no longer felt real. I could still feel the phantom heat of him on my skin, the lingering tingle where his mouth had been, and the heavy, intoxicating weight of the last hour.

I shifted slightly and winced—not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of the sensation. Every nerve ending was alive, humming with the aftershocks of a storm that had swept us both away.

Roman leaned back in the driver’s seat, his chest still rising and falling in a heavy, uneven rhythm. The windows were so thick with steam it felt like we were floating in a void, trapped in a bubble of our own making.

"Well," he said finally, his voice a hoarse, jagged sound in the silence. "That happened."

I glanced at him. He was already watching me, his eyes dark and unreadable. I didn't know what to say. I knew I must look wrecked—my hair a mess, my lipstick gone, my dress ruined at the seams. Wrecked by him.

We remained quiet for a long stretch. The only sounds were our breathing, the rhythmic ticking of the cooling engine, and the steady patter of rain.

I couldn't look at him without remembering the way he’d looked at me in the dark. The way he’d claimed me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I swallowed hard, my throat tight.

"We should... probably go home," I whispered.

Roman nodded but didn't move. Neither did I. The terrifying truth was that even now, in the middle of the wreckage, part of me still wanted to reach for him.

He noticed the shift in my expression. "Sav," he murmured, his voice softening. "Hey. You okay?"

I straightened up slowly, trying to pull the remnants of my dress back into place with shaking hands. "Yeah," I lied. "Just... dizzy."

He let out a short, breathy laugh—a sound caught between irony and disbelief. "Dizzy from the adrenaline, or from how much we just crossed the line?"

I whipped my head around to glare at him, but my anger died as soon as our eyes met. The moment was naked, raw, and far too real.

Suddenly, the excitement was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp fear. I felt terrified. I knew exactly what we’d just done. I had taken the only stable, good thing in my life—our friendship—and set it on fire for a night of passion.

Roman was my anchor. My best friend. Our bond was the most precious thing I owned. Now, what were we? Where did this leave us?

Roman was watching me as if he didn't understand my sudden stillness. He looked so calm, as if this was always meant to happen, while I felt like I was drowning in the fog of our choices.

The silence was too loud—the kind that stretches between two people who have committed a sin they can’t undo.

Roman reached for the glove compartment and pulled out a pack of wipes, tossing them onto the console without a word.

I blinked at them. "Seriously?"

"I like to be prepared for anything," he said, shrugging, though a trace of a smirk returned to his lips. "Don't judge me."

"Prepared for anything? Roman, you just... you completely overwhelmed me in the back of your car." My voice came out lighter than I expected, a reflex to mask the panic.

He grinned, but it faded quickly. The joke didn't stick.

I quietly cleaned myself up, my hands still trembling. Every touch reminded me of his fingers on my skin, of the way he’d held me as if he owned me. Across the seat, he fixed his appearance and ran a hand through his hair, trying to restore some semblance of the man he was before the storm.

We sat there in the silence, clothes straightened, pretending the air wasn't still thick with the echo of what we’d done. I could still see the faint print of my hand against the window, a silent witness to the moment I let him in. I looked away immediately.

Roman cleared his throat. "So..."

Here it comes, I thought, bracing myself. The apology. The 'we were caught up in the moment.' The 'let's never speak of this again.'

But all he said was, "You hungry, love?"

I blinked, stunned. "What?"

"Waffles? A burger?" He threw a glance at me. "You get weird when you don't eat after... intense activity. You’ll get a headache, Sav."

I gaped at him. "Did you just call that 'intense activity'?"

"I’m pretty sure we both earned a high-calorie breakfast. I want waffles."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, I just nodded, my voice dry. "Yeah. Waffles sound good."

He shifted the car into drive and pulled back onto the road. We didn't speak another word. But at the first red light, I felt him glance at me, his hand twitching on the gear shift as if he wanted to reach out, then thinking better of it.

My heart felt heavier than it ever had before. Because I knew that no matter how many waffles we ate, everything had changed. We had stepped out of the safety of 'best friends' and into a territory that had no map.

And I wasn't sure if we’d ever find our way back.