The kettle had long gone cold. Neither of them moved to reheat it.
Instead, they sat side by side on the couch—shoulders touching, legs tangled, the silence between them comfortable, earned.
Sebastian reached for the old quilt draped over the armrest and pulled it gently around her shoulders. Emilia didn't protest. In fact, she leaned into him more, her body unwinding like thread coming loose from a tightly wound spool.
"Do you ever miss it?" she asked, her voice low. "The simplicity? Before everything became about power and reputation?"
Sebastian tilted his head, thinking. "Sometimes. But then I remember I never really had that kind of simplicity. I just had... less noise."
She chuckled softly. "Noise. That's a good word for it."
"Your world's a symphony of expectations," he said. "I'm just the guy who paints in silence."
She turned to look at him. "And yet here we are."
"Maybe opposites are just missing halves of the same whole."
He wasn't trying to be poetic. It was just what came out.
But it made something inside her ache in the most unexpected way.
Emilia reached for his hand again, lacing her fingers through his slowly, deliberately. There was something grounding about the shape of it—larger than hers, rougher, but gentle in the way it held on.
"I don't want to be perfect with you," she whispered. "I just want to be real."
Sebastian's eyes softened.
She rested her head back against him, eyes closing as his thumb brushed softly across her knuckles.
Minutes passed like this.
Eventually, he asked, "When do you have to go back?"
"Tomorrow," she murmured. "There's always something waiting. A board meeting. A PR crisis. A father's shadow."
"But not tonight," he said.
She nodded. "Not tonight."
He kissed her temple—slow, unhurried—and she let herself fall into the warmth
There was no need to speak again. The night said everything.
---
The city outside had quieted, the lights beyond the windows soft and golden. Somewhere, distant traffic hummed—but here, in Sebastian's apartment, the world had narrowed to stillness.
Emilia stirred beneath the quilt, shifting to face him. Her gaze held something different now—no longer guarded, but curious. Open.
"Sebastian?" she asked, her voice almost shy.
He turned to her fully. "Yeah?"
She hesitated, then spoke with a quiet courage. "I want to stay. With you. Not just tonight. Not just in silence."
He didn't rush toward her. Instead, he sat up slightly, his fingers brushing her cheek with a reverence that made her pulse slow.
"Are you sure?" he asked, not out of hesitation, but out of respect.
She nodded, gaze steady. "Yes. But I want it to be you. Only you."
Silence passed, neither of them moved. The silence between them thickened, charged with anticipation, nerves, and something deeper—
Then he kissed her.
It started slow, his lips pressing against hers . But the moment she responded—tilting her head, pulling him closer—it changed. The heat between them surged. His mouth claimed hers with hunger, and she gave back just as much.
Clothes came off in a blur of touches and sighs, not frantic, but filled with urgency that had been building for too long. When his hands found her bare skin, she gasped—half from surprise, half from how right it felt.
When he moved over her, she didn't feel nervous. She felt seen. Wanted.
He looked at her like she was everything.
And when he entered her, it was slow, deliberate. Her breath hitched, and his hand slid to hers, fingers lacing together as he gave her time to adjust.
"You okay?" he murmured, his forehead resting against hers.
She nodded, whispering, "Don't stop."
Their bodies found a rhythm, slow at first, then deeper. Every movement was filled with tension, soft moans, tenderness, and raw need. She held onto him tightly, her nails dragging along his back, his mouth pressing kisses along her throat, her collarbone, her jaw.
It wasn't perfect. It was messy. Real. Intense.
And still, it was everything.
By the time they collapsed into each other, breathless and tangled in the sheets, it wasn't just about the sex. It was about all the things they hadn't said but had just felt....
"You're beautiful," he whispered, and for the first time in her life, Emilia believed it.
Her body tucked into his, her fingers idly tracing the curve of his collarbone.
"I didn't know it could feel like that," she whispered.
Sebastian smiled, his lips pressed to her forehead.
"Neither did I."
The city had gone completely quiet now. Even the usual hum of late-night energy had faded into a hush.
Emilia lay beside him, curled under his arm, her legs loosely tangled with his. Her breathing had slowed, but her mind was very much awake.
She wasn't used to this—the stillness after vulnerability. No retreat. No awkward shuffle toward clothes. Just peace.
"You're staring," she said softly, smiling against the curve of his shoulder.
"I'm memorizing," Sebastian replied. "You look different when you let go."
She chuckled lightly. "Different how?"
"Softer. Lighter." He ran his fingers through her hair. "Like the weight's gone for a little while."
"I didn't realize how heavy it all was," she whispered.
They lay in silence for a few heartbeats before Emilia tilted her head up to look at him. "Do you ever wonder how this fits into everything else?"
"All the time," he admitted. "But I don't care tonight."
"Me neither."
She pressed a kiss to his chest, then curled into him tighter, drawing the quilt over them both. The heat between their bodies lingered—not just from the passion, but from the safety.
"I used to imagine love being a kind of thunder," she said drowsily. "Loud. Chaotic. Impossible to ignore."
"And now?"
"Now I think... maybe it's this." She smiled faintly. "Just a heartbeat next to mine. Quiet. Steady. And warm."
Sebastian kissed the top of her head. "Then I'll be that heartbeat. As long as you'll let me."
They didn't say anything else after that. Their bodies settled. Their hands stayed intertwined. And somewhere between the breath of two people finally letting go, sleep claimed them—slow, tender, and completely without fear.