Sparks Beneath the Surface

The morning after their kiss was quiet.

Lila stirred awake on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that Roy must’ve tucked around her. She blinked, sunlight streaking across the hardwood floor. There was a warm mug of coffee waiting on the table beside her, steam still rising, with a note scribbled on a napkin:

> "Went for a quick walk. Didn’t want to wake you. You looked... perfect. - R"

She pressed the napkin to her lips, smiling.

It had been years since she had let someone in—even longer since she had felt this safe, this seen. And somehow, in the span of a single night, Roy had rekindled something she didn’t even know she missed.

When the door opened an hour later, and Roy stepped in, windblown and holding a bag of croissants, she didn’t hesitate.

She stood, walked right up to him, and kissed him—slowly. Like punctuation. Like claiming him in the morning light.

He smiled against her lips. “Well... good morning to you too.”

“Hi,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

“You miss me after an hour?”

“I missed this version of me when you're not here.”

That made him pause. Eyes softening, he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then maybe I should stay a while longer.”

---

The day became theirs.

They spent it curled on the couch, sharing old memories—recounting moments from childhood, like how Lila used to draw flowers on Roy’s math books, or how he once stood up for her in front of a bully.

But beneath the laughter, a current of longing flowed.

Their fingers touched often. A brush of knees. A lingering glance. The space between them kept shrinking, not just physically—but emotionally, spiritually, gravitationally.

By late afternoon, they sat side by side on the bed, her head resting on his shoulder, the world outside forgotten.

“I kept thinking,” Roy murmured, “what if we never found each other again?”

Lila tilted her face to him, eyes searching his. “But we did.”

“I don’t want to lose this. Not again.”

She reached up, cupping his cheek. “Then don’t.”

And just like that, something shifted.

---

He leaned in—not rushed, but sure.

Their lips met again, familiar now, but hungrier. This time, their kiss deepened. His hands ran up her sides as hers curled into his hair. They pressed closer, mouths parting, breath catching.

Her legs tangled around his as she pulled him down onto the bed. The sheets were soft, but the tension between them was anything but.

Roy's voice was a whisper against her skin. “Are you sure?”

Lila nodded, tugging his shirt up. “I’ve never been more sure.”

What followed wasn’t just physical—it was the unraveling of years apart. They explored each other with reverence and urgency. Every touch spoke volumes. Every kiss ignited more.

His hands trailed her curves like they were meant for them. Her lips mapped his chest, his neck, his jaw. Clothes fell away, not hastily, but with purpose—every layer stripped revealing more trust, more heat, more them.

They moved together with instinct and connection. No hesitation. No doubt. Just raw, beautiful passion and the aching sweetness of reunion.

It wasn’t about lust alone.

It was about belonging.

And when they collapsed into each other afterward—sweaty, tangled, breathless—it wasn’t awkward or uncertain.

It was home.

---

As night fell, Lila rested her head on Roy’s bare chest, listening to the slow rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Did we just make up for all those lost years in one day?” she whispered.

Roy laughed softly, stroking her hair. “Not even close. I plan to make up for every second. Starting tomorrow.”

She smiled against his skin. “Good. Because I don’t want to let you go again.”

“You won’t have to,” he murmured, holding her tighter.

Outside, the city buzzed, unaware of the quiet magic unfolding in a modest apartment.