Chapter 19: Between Regret and Relief
It was already past twelve midnight and Ozaire and I have been drinking since ten, so i was more light headed right now. I notice that Ozaire was looking intently at me.
"What's wrong" I asked, my voice slightly slurred.
Instead of answering, he stood up, his expression unreadable. I watched as he took a slow step forward, then another, until he was standing right in front of me. My heart thudded in my chest, but I was too light-headed to figure out if it was from the alcohol or from him.
Without saying a word, he sat down beside me—so close our knees brushed. For a second, he just looked at me. That kind of look that feels like it's peeling back every wall you've ever put up. My breath hitched.
Then suddenly, gently—but without hesitation—he reached for me. His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me toward him. Before I could blink, before I could ask what he was doing, his lips met mine.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't soft, either. It was somewhere in between—tender, aching, and full of everything neither of us had said over the years. His mouth tasted faintly of beer and something heartbreakingly familiar. His grip tightened ever so slightly like he was afraid I'd pull away.
But I didn't.
I froze. My mind struggled to catch up with my body, the alcohol buzzing through me like static. I couldn't think—I could only feel. And then, just as quickly as it began, he pulled back.
We stayed like that for a second. Breathing. Watching.
His forehead was still close to mine, his hand dropping slowly from my neck. His eyes searched mine, wide and hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he'd made a terrible mistake.
And me?
I laughed.
A breathy, stunned laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. Not because it was funny—but because the moment felt too big. Too surreal. Like something out of a dream I'd had once and never expected to live again.
"Ozaire…" I whispered, my voice wavering with something between disbelief and buried feelings clawing their way back to the surface.
I didn't know what I was supposed to say.
So instead, I did what I always did when I was overwhelmed: I blurted out the truth.
"You know, Ozaire…" I began, my voice quieter now, the alcohol making my emotions unfiltered, raw. "I've always had feelings for you."
My words hung in the air, fragile and trembling. I looked down at the can in my hands, fingers fidgeting with the rim. "But everything changed when that locker incident happened."
He didn't say anything. No reaction. No comment. Just silence. Maybe he didn't know what to say—or maybe he already knew.
But the silence hurt more than if he'd laughed.
So I kept going, the words spilling out faster, like a dam had cracked and I couldn't stop it now even if I wanted to.
"I even used my childhood friend just to make you jealous," I admitted with a breathless laugh, the sound bitter and small. "I thought… I thought maybe if you saw me with someone else, you'd notice me. Want me. But…"
I trailed off, my voice cracking. I looked away for a second, blinking back the sting in my eyes. "I guess that didn't work either. Because not long after, you started dating Katie."
I forced a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "And I get it. She's beautiful. Put together. The kind of girl who doesn't walk into locker rooms raging like a storm."
Another pause. My chest ached.
"I should've just told you, right? Should've said something back then. Saved myself all the pretending and waiting." I turned to him fully now, my gaze steady even though my heart was trembling. "I actually like you."
I shook my head slowly. That wasn't the truth anymore. It wasn't enough.
"No…" I whispered, the admission catching in my throat. "I love you."
And before I could second guess myself, before fear or pride could drag me back—I leaned in and closed the distance between us.
My lips met his in a kiss that tasted like longing and regret, like all the moments I'd spent dreaming of this exact thing but never daring to act. It wasn't perfect. It was messy. Fierce. A little desperate.
But it was real.
And for a heartbeat—just one—I felt him respond. Felt the way his hands gripped the edge of the couch. The way his breath caught. The way he kissed me back like he'd been waiting too.
Everything else—the pain, the history, the heartbreak—faded into the background.
There was just this.
Me and him.
Finally colliding.
I wasn't sure who deepened the kiss first—me or him—but once it started, stopping felt impossible.
Ozaire's hands found their way to my waist, strong and steady, pulling me closer as though letting go wasn't an option anymore. My fingers fisted the front of his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left in a world spinning too fast. The alcohol blurred the edges of everything—our decisions, our doubts—but the way his lips moved against mine? That felt vivid. Anchored. Undeniably real.
His mouth traveled from my lips to my jawline, lingering there for a heartbeat before tracing back again, like he couldn't stand the distance of even a breath. Every touch, every kiss felt like it carried years' worth of repressed emotion—frustration, confusion, longing. It wasn't just heat. It was history.
Then he paused—forehead pressed gently to mine, our breaths colliding in the thin space between us.
"Are you sure…?" he whispered, his voice rough, laced with restraint. His eyes searched mine—not for lust, but for permission. For honesty.
"I don't know," I said, the truth trembling in my voice. "But I don't want to stop."
It was like something clicked.
Like we both understood that we were standing at the edge of something—dangerous, raw, possibly regrettable—but neither of us cared enough to turn back.
And then it ignited.
We stumbled backward, laughter bubbling between stolen kisses. I tugged at his wrist, leading him to the couch—but he guided me toward his bedroom instead. In the dim light, we fumbled and fell into one another. His shin hit the edge of the bed frame with a loud thud.
"Of all nights…" he muttered through a groan, rubbing his leg.
I burst into laughter, a real, tipsy, breathless laugh that broke the tension. "You okay, champ?"
"Yeah," he chuckled, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me toward him again. "You're lucky I'm too into you to care."
The next kiss was different.
Hungrier.
His hands slid under the hem of my borrowed shirt—his shirt now on my body—his fingertips brushing the curve of my back. My hands ran through his hair, tugging gently when he tried to slow the pace, not ready to let this moment breathe. I wanted to forget everything—Sofie, the betrayal, the loneliness—and in him, I found something to hold onto.
He kissed me like I was a memory he'd been aching to relive. Like I was a secret he'd kept buried for too long.
His body pressed against mine, warm and familiar and new all at once. The sheets rustled beneath us, the room thick with the heat of emotions we could no longer suppress. We moved together in sync, clumsy at times, but never unsure.
Between gasps, I heard my name from his lips. Soft. Reverent.
"Ophira…"
My name had never sounded so intimate, so safe.
"I wanted you back then, you know," he murmured against my shoulder, voice ragged. "Even when I was with Katie… I never stopped thinking about you."
I froze for just a moment, overwhelmed.
Was it the alcohol? The truth? Both?
I didn't care.
Because his confession made my heart ache and swell all at once.
So I kissed him again—harder this time.
And for that night, nothing else existed.
Not the past. Not the consequences. Not the years between us.
Just him.
Just me.
And the way we finally let go of all the things we were too afraid to say.
Then his hands explored like he was learning a language he once knew by heart but hadn't spoken in years—tentative at first, then certain. Fingertips traced the ridges of my ribs like they were notes in a song he used to hum. He ran his hand down the dip of my spine, pausing when I arched instinctively into his touch, and then followed the curve of my thigh, as if mapping a territory he never dared cross until now.
My breath hitched.
His lips found the hollow of my throat, my shoulder, the corner of my mouth—like he was memorizing everything he'd missed. And every touch carved new meaning into skin I thought had long stopped feeling.
"Ozaire"—a gasp, a whisper, a plea.
There were no barriers left. No pride. No armor.
Only raw skin and rawer emotion.
I pulled him back into another kiss, unable to let him get too far away. His hands moved lower, tracing the curve of my waist, and I responded with a soft gasp as his touch sent warmth flooding through me. Every inch of him felt like home, like something I had longed for but never fully realized until now.
We moved together, clumsy and eager, shedding the last remnants of hesitation. There was laughter between the urgency, moments of softness amidst the hunger. I could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, as we pressed closer, tangled in the sheets, our bodies learning each other again after too many years apart.
We didn't just give in to desire that night; we let go of everything. The silence. The years of confusion. The unspoken fears. It was as if we both needed this release—needed each other—in ways we had never fully understood until this very moment.
The room was dim, our bodies curled beneath the covers, the air thick with unspoken words and the warmth of shared connection. I didn't remember when we fell asleep. Only that, in his arms, I felt safe—like I had found something I didn't even realize I was searching for. My head rested on his chest, his arm loosely wrapped around me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt at peace.
Morning came too quickly. The light from the window filtered in, soft and bright.
I woke up with a pounding headache and a sore body, I struggled to piece together the events of the previous night. The alcohol's impact had made the night a blur, and the realization of what had happened left me feeling disoriented and uneasy.
I tried to sit up, but the movement only made my head throb more. As I looked around, I realize that I were alone in the room, the faint light filtering through the curtains casting a gentle glow.
With a deep breath, I began to reflect on what had transpired "Shit, what did i do?" I cursed as i remembered what had happened. I walk towards the mirror with the blanket drape around me. I look at the evidence in my neck and around my upper body that something really did happen last night other than the kiss.
The realization hit hard, and I began to question how much of the night had been influenced by alcohol and how much had been genuine emotion. My heart pounded as I tried to piece together the events and their implications.
"Ophira, are you awake?" Ozaire's voice echoed from outside. I immediately took a shower and borrow one of his bathrobe as i went out. I saw him cooking at the kitchen looking like nothing ever happened yesterday. "Morning" he greeted as he notice me.
"Morning" I greeted back feeling quite not understanding how to approach him. I began thinking of ways to do it but Ozaire's voice from behind me broke my train of thoughts. "Ophira, are you okay?" as he set down a plate of freshly cooked egg and rice
I turned to face him, struggling to find the right words. "I—I need to talk to you about what happened. I didn't mean for things to go this way."
Ozaire approached with a concerned expression as he sat down infront of me. "We can talk about it. I want to understand what you're feeling and how we can move forward."
I nodded, trying to steady my emotions. "Can we just... Just forget that it ever happened." i suggested, looking down towards my plate of food "We were both just drunk and in pain that we didn't realize what we were doing"
Ozaire looked at me with understanding, though his eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. "If that's what you need, Ophira, I'm willing to respect your wishes. We can move forward and try to forget what happened."
He took a deep breath, his expression serious but gentle. "But I want you to know that I care about you deeply, and I'm here for you no matter what. If you ever want to talk or if you need anything, just let me know."
I nodded, grateful for his understanding. "Thank you, Ozaire. I appreciate that."
He offered a reassuring smile. "Let's focus on taking care of ourselves and finding a way to heal from all this. We don't have to rush into anything."
As we began to shift the conversation towards more neutral topics, I felt a sense of relief, even amidst the lingering confusion and regret. Ozaire's support and understanding helped me navigate the emotional aftermath of the night.
"Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was something deeper, but I couldn't deny that what happened between us felt too real to pretend it was just a mistake. Still, I needed time to figure out what that really meant for us."