The faint hum of the crystal lamp filled the room, its golden glow reflecting softly against the walls. Neither Trafalgar nor Mayla moved after the kiss—they just stood there, close enough to feel each other's breath, unsure what to do next.
Trafalgar lifted a trembling hand and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Mayla's eyes met his, wide and uncertain, but she didn't pull away. Her heart was pounding; so was his. The silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable—it was the kind that carried everything they couldn't say aloud.
"You should rest," he murmured finally, voice low and rough.
Mayla shook her head gently. "Not yet… stay a little longer."
Trafalgar hesitated. His instincts told him to step back, to keep the distance he'd always used as armor. But this time, he didn't. He stayed.
