Daniel remained with his back to the door, his silence thick with quiet suspicion.
He said nothing, but his gaze held every question he couldn't bring himself to voice.
She caught his eyes—just briefly—and let out a dry breath.
"You're doing that face again."
The words were tossed out casually, but Daniel's gaze didn't waver.
She exhaled, more tired than annoyed, and murmured to herself,
"…Guess I should start picking out a dress for tomorrow."
With that, she walked past the powder room and disappeared into the walk-in closet, her footsteps composed, practiced.
Only when her silhouette vanished from view did Daniel move.
He followed—slow, steady.
In front of the sink, he turned on the water as if by habit, rinsed his hands, let the water run, and dried his fingertips against a towel without a word.
—Click.
The closet door shut quietly behind them, sealing them into a world of their own.
A pause, dense and wordless, settled like dust in the hush.
Their eyes met.
And held.
It was Daniel who broke the stillness.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist.
His lips found hers—softly, briefly.
A kiss not meant to possess, but to confirm what already was.
A silent promise, buried in breath.
"…You know you're terrible at lying, right?"
She didn't answer.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't smile.
Only held his gaze with unwavering calm.
"…Whatever it is—it's okay. Just… when you're ready. Tell me everything. I'll be here."
She inhaled quietly. And gave the smallest of nods.
Daniel pulled her closer again—this time for longer.
No urgency.
Just presence.
As if holding her could explain what words could not.
Their eyes met again, and the space between them grew warmer, softer, until breath became touch, and distance, a memory.
Their lips met once more—this time slower, deeper—with all the emotion they hadn't yet dared to name.
When his hand slid beneath the fabric of her dress, she drew in a small breath and whispered,
"…There are people downstairs."
Daniel paused only a moment, his eyes searching hers, then gently drew her back in.
"…I know."
He buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing her in like scent alone could steady the ache.
"Please… just this. Just a little more time."
Their breath mingled at the collarbone.
His hands rested quietly against her lower back.
And somewhere in the background, the sound of running water softened the silence.
"…That dress for tomorrow,"
he murmured, lips grazing her ear.
"…Would you let me choose?"
She didn't speak.
Only nodded—once.
And then, with a breath that almost broke into laughter, she smiled.