It's Wednesday night.

The kind of night that started quiet but thrummed with tension just beneath the surface.

John stood outside Candy’s door, hoodie zipped halfway, the chilled winter air biting at his fingertips as he rubbed them together. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet—not from nerves exactly, but from anticipation that had grown steadily, over the past few days.

He was early. Just a few minutes.

He’d been mentally walking this hallway since Monday, counting down until he could see her again. To be in her calm, to let all the anxieties of the week fall aside as they do when she was present.

There was her door.

When she opened it, the light from inside spilled out over his sneakers, casting a soft glow against the hallway tile. Candy was standing there in a loose sweater and shorts, her bare legs golden in the warm light, her eyes soft but steady.

“You came,” she said with a half-smile, stepping aside.

“I said I would,” John replied, brushing past her, catching the scent of her perfume—a vanilla musk, familiar now, and still dangerous.

They didn’t rush the drinks this time.

They knew the routine.

He pulled out the vodka she liked. And he brought out the copper mugs. There was a rhythm to it, something unspoken.

They drank, slow and quiet, and let the space fill in around them.

John looked at her, head tilted just slightly. “You know,” he said after a long pause, “it’s been a weird week.”

Candy looked over at him, her legs curled beneath her, drink resting against her thigh. “Weird how?”

He thought for a moment, rolling the mug between his palms. “I think about you at the oddest times. Like when I’m brushing my teeth. Or in between work tickets. Or just… when it’s quiet.”

Candy didn’t say anything right away.

John’s eyes followed her every motion like it had magnetic pull.

She finally said, “Is that weird?”

“No,” he said. “It’s…familiar. Like you’ve already made a home in places I didn’t realize had space for someone.”

Candy blinked slowly, but her heart was thudding with the weight of his words.

John reached for her, just the lightest touch to her thigh.

She climbed into his lap like she belonged there, like this was the only seat that made sense.

"Come here," he said.

Their lips met in the middle of a shared breath, a slow press of mouths that deepened. His hands found the back of her neck, cradling her like something precious. Her fingers slid under his hoodie, palms flat against his chest, fingernails starting to caress.

“I missed this,” she whispered.

He smiled against her mouth. “I missed you, too.”