Ethan's smirk was so bright and irritating that Aurora almost grabbed a pillow to launch at him.
Damian, meanwhile, looked like someone had just unplugged him from an emotional life-support machine.
Ethan stepped inside Damian's cottage, glancing between them.
"Sorry," he said with absolutely zero actual sorry in his tone. "Didn't mean to interrupt your… moment."
"It wasn't a moment," Aurora blurted.
Damian rubbed his forehead. "It truly wasn't."
Ethan grinned wider. "Uh-huh."
Aurora made a strangled noise.
Damian looked like he wanted to move to an uninhabited mountain.
Ethan clapped his hands together. "Anyway! I came to check the back fence—same issue as Aurora's. Thought I'd knock out both today."
Aurora sighed. "Thank you, Ethan."
"No problem." He winked. "Always here to help."
Damian muttered under his breath, "Lucky us."
Aurora pretended she didn't hear that.
Ethan headed out back. As soon as he was gone, the entire room felt heavier—dense with everything that had almost happened.
Aurora's heart was still racing.
Her hand still tingled where Damian had held it.
Her breath still trembled from how close he'd leaned in.
Damian sank back onto the couch, staring at the wall. "He has impeccable timing."
Aurora sat beside him slowly, careful this time—but not too careful.
"Where were we?" she asked softly.
Damian's head turned at the sound of her voice.
There it was again—that look.
The one that felt like a hand closing around her heart and gently, carefully, refusing to let go.
"Aurora," he said quietly, "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For—"
He gestured helplessly.
For the emotions, the closeness, the trembling in his voice.
"All of it."
Aurora shook her head. "Don't apologize for being human."
His eyes darkened. "I don't know if I'm allowed to feel that way."
"Who told you you aren't?"
He swallowed. "Experience."
Aurora's chest cracked open.
She reached out, softer this time.
Her fingers brushed his cheek.
Just a featherlight touch.
Enough to feel him inhale sharply.
Damian didn't pull away.
Instead, he leaned—
just a little—
just enough that her hand slid down to his jaw.
"Aurora…" he whispered.
She didn't move.
Couldn't move.
His eyes flicked from hers
to her lips
then back again.
The space between them melted.
Electric.
Fragile.
Inevitable.
He leaned in—
Slowly.
Cautiously.
As if she were a dream he was afraid to wake from.
Aurora felt her breath catch, her heart pounding in her throat.
Their foreheads brushed, gentle and unbearably intimate.
Her voice was a whisper of a whisper.
"Damian…"
He exhaled shakily.
"Aurora, tell me to stop."
She didn't.
He moved closer.
Their noses brushed.
Her lips parted.
He was so close she could feel the soft tremble of his breath against her mouth—
And then—
CRACK.
A loud snapping sound echoed from the backyard.
Aurora jerked back.
Damian flinched so hard he nearly fell off the couch again.
Ethan's voice shouted through the window:
"ALL GOOD! JUST THE OLD BOARD BREAKING!"
Aurora covered her flaming face with her hands. "I'm going to kill him."
Damian leaned back, one hand over his eyes, exhaling through his teeth.
"I'm starting to think the universe doesn't want me to kiss you."
Aurora froze.
Damian froze.
Both processed what he'd just said.
And then—
Aurora whispered, still breathless,
"…You wanted to kiss me?"
Damian dropped his hand from his face, eyes wide—caught, vulnerable, exposed.
"Aurora…" His voice cracked. "Want isn't the right word."
She swallowed. "What's the right word?"
He looked at her like she was gravity itself.
"Need."
Aurora's heart nearly stopped.
But before either of them could say anything else—
Ethan appeared at the broken back door.
Not knocking.
Not apologizing.
"Hey! You guys have lemonade? I'm dying out here—oh."
He paused, staring at their flushed faces, their proximity, the heavy tension in the air.
"…Did I interrupt again?"
Aurora screamed internally.
Damian's soul briefly left his body.