Silence filled the car, heavy and awkward, as both Ethan and Lena quietly reached for their scattered clothes. Neither spoke as they avoided each other's eyes, the air still thick with the remnants of what just happened.
Ethan was the first to move, pulling up his trousers and fastening them, still shirtless. He bent slightly, reaching beneath the seat and pulling out Lena's bra and blouse—creased, one button hanging loosely by a thread.
"How... did these even get here?" he muttered more to himself than to her.
"Thanks," Lena said softly, taking the clothes from his hands without meeting his gaze.
He bent again, reaching for her jeans. But as he found her panties tangled in the fabric and handed it over, their fingers brushed. She jerked her hand back instinctively, as if burned.
"I think I should give you some privacy," Ethan said quickly, voice tight. He opened the door and stepped out, leaving Lena alone inside the car.
Lena quickly gathered the rest of her clothes—whatever she could find. Her blouse was clearly beyond salvaging in public, buttons torn, the fabric rumpled beyond recognition. She sighed, then reached for the car door and knocked gently to signal him.
Ethan stepped back in, quiet as ever. His eyes glanced at her shirt, still barely clinging to decency.
"Home or boutique?" he asked flatly.
She blinked. "Why?"
"Your blouse," he said, nodding to the open front, "it's not really... wearable."
"Take me home," she muttered. "I need to freshen up... unless you want to pick the blouse for me."
"Fine," he muttered, sighing. "Boutique it is."
They drove to the nearest boutique in silence. Ethan was the one who got down, grabbed a plain shirt that looked Lena's size, paid quickly, and returned without a word. He handed her the shirt through the passenger door.
"Thanks," she murmured, pulling it on and buttoning it up as best as she could. It hung loose on her but at least she was covered.
Back on the road, the silence returned.
Lena glanced sideways at him. "How long before we reach?"
"About an hour."
She inhaled deeply. "I guess... that's enough time to talk about it."
Ethan didn't take his eyes off the road. "About what?"
She turned toward him fully, her expression composed, too composed. "What just happened."
He was quiet for a beat too long. Then: "Okay?"
"In my defense," she began, lips twitching, "I've been under a lot of stress lately. Guess I... needed that. No regrets."
She looked at him, waiting. "And you?"
"I guess the same," he answered, still not looking at her.
"Okay. So the conclusion is—we both needed it," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, "and... it's not happening again?"
Her words hung in the air like a question she hadn't meant to ask aloud.
"I guess," Ethan said simply.
She gave a short nod, lips pressing together.
"So," he added after a moment, "no one should know about it, then."
Lena let out a short breath, almost a laugh. "About that... I'm still looking for my panties."
Ethan's head turned so fast it nearly snapped his neck.
"I'm serious," she said, biting back a smirk. "I can't remember where I flung it to in the heat of the moment."
He gave her a long, unreadable stare.
"So far," she added, crossing her arms and looking straight ahead, "no one but me has found it. I guess our secret is safe."
Ethan shook his head slightly, returning his focus to the road. But his lips twitched, just barely.
The drive continued in silence—this time, not so heavy. Not yet comfortable, but a little more bearable.