The air smelled like exhaust fumes, thick and heavy, clinging to everything, but all it did was feed the adrenaline running through him. It had become something familiar over time. Something steady. Something reliable. Something that made him feel anything at all since his sister died. No… that wasn’t entirely true. Something - or someone - else had managed to do that too. His jaw shifted slightly, a subtle movement, as if he could physically push the thought away before it settled too deep. Now wasn’t the time for that. Not here. Not when everything around him was built to keep exactly those thoughts out. That had been the whole point. The races. The speed. The noise. The late nights that bled into early mornings. He had thrown himself into it without hesitation, let it swallow him whole until it stopped feeling like an escape and started feeling like routine. Like something close to a life. A version of one, at least. And still… some things didn’t stay buried. A lost Alfa. A memory that came with it - sharp, precise hands on a steering wheel. Control where there shouldn’t have been any. Skill where he hadn’t expected it. A woman who looked like she belonged anywhere but there and yet had owned the road like it was made for her. His gaze lingered on his Camaro as he stood beside it, the deep red paint catching the scattered neon light. A different car. A better one, some would say. Stronger. Louder. Reliable in a way that didn’t leave room for mistakes if you knew what you were doing. His car. For a moment, he didn’t move. Just stood there, breathing in the mix of oil, heat, and anticipation, letting it settle in his lungs like something grounding. Around him, voices blurred into background noise, engines revved, laughter cut through the night, but none of it really reached him. Then the first signal was called and just like that, everything snapped back into place. A faint, almost careless smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he glanced over at James. No words needed. There never were. He reached for the door and slid into the driver’s seat, the movement smooth, automatic. The leather was cool against his back. Familiar. It should have been enough to settle him completely. His hands moved on instinct, finding their places without thought - left on the wheel, right on the gear shift. The small, precise adjustments he made were barely noticeable, but they were there. Muscle memory. Control. Routine. And yet.. he stilled. Just for a second. It was subtle. Almost nothing. A scent. Faint. So faint he could’ve ignored it. Should’ve ignored it. But it was there. His brows drew together slightly as he inhaled again, slower this time, like he was trying to place something that didn’t belong. No. That wasn’t possible. His grip tightened just a fraction before he forced it to loosen again, his fingers readjusting on the wheel like nothing had happened. A quiet breath left him as he shook his head once, controlled, dismissive. His mind had done that before. Filled in things that weren’t there. Created ghosts where there shouldn’t be any. He wasn’t about to fall for it now. So he didn’t think about it again. Didn’t allow himself to. Outside, a blonde girl stepped forward, preparing to give the start signal. His gaze flicked over her automatically, assessing without really seeing. She was put together, confident in the way she held herself. But it didn’t hold his attention. It didn’t stay. Compared to Vee… The thought slipped in uninvited, quiet and effortless. Compared to Vee, she felt like background noise. His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted, barely noticeable. The thought passed just as quickly as it had come, filed away before it could become anything more. Then.. he pressed the clutch. The engine roared to life beneath him, deep and powerful, the vibration running through the frame of the car and into his chest like a second heartbeat. It filled the space completely, drowning out whatever had lingered before. Good. That was better. That was what he needed. The signal dropped and Creighton moved. There was no hesitation. No second guessing. Just instinct. Gas. Release. Acceleration. The force pressed him back into the seat as the Camaro surged forward, tires gripping asphalt, engine demanding more with every second. The world outside narrowed immediately, collapsing into something smaller, more manageable. Everything else disappeared - or it was supposed to. The first turn came up fast. He took it clean, controlled, cutting just close enough to the edge without losing traction. The second followed, tighter, sharper - he adjusted without thinking, hands steady, movements precise. He knew this route. Knew where the asphalt dipped just slightly, where the streetlights failed, where you could push harder than you should and still come out ahead. His body followed the rhythm automatically. Every shift, every turn, every adjustment was second nature by now.
The third turn came in quicker than most expected, a narrow cut between two rows of parked cars, barely wide enough if you misjudged it by even a fraction. Creighton didn’t slow. His foot hovered over the brake for half a second, then chose against it. Instead, he downshifted, the engine snarling in response as the rear of the Camaro loosened just enough to slide through the corner. The tires screeched, rubber biting back into asphalt as he straightened out again, accelerating hard the second the road opened up. A glance in the mirror. Headlights. Close. Too close. Of course they were. He exhaled slowly through his nose, adjusting his grip on the wheel, fingers tightening just enough to remind himself where he was. What this was. Focus. The next stretch was longer, a straight line broken only by flickering streetlights and the occasional shadow of a side street. He pushed the car harder, the engine responding instantly, speed climbing in a smooth, relentless pull. The world outside blurred at the edges, details dissolving into streaks of color and light. For a moment - just a moment - it was clean. No thoughts. No memories. No ghosts. Just speed. Then the next corner approached. Sharper. Riskier. He braked this time, before shifting down and turning in. The back end followed a split second later, not as clean as before. Not sloppy. Just… off. Barely noticeable, but enough. His jaw tightened again. That same fraction. Too late. The car corrected under his hands, engine roaring as he pushed out of the turn, but the feeling lingered. That tiny delay. That almost imperceptible hesitation. It shouldn’t have been there. It never was. Another glance in the mirror.. Headlights gaining. His focus snapped back, sharper now. He adjusted immediately, pushing harder, forcing the Camaro into the rhythm he knew so well. Faster shifts. Cleaner lines. Less room for error. This was his space. His control. And yet.. Something slipped. Not on the road. In him. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again and then, he saw her. For a second, his brain didn’t process it. Didn’t allow it to make sense. It felt like one of those tricks his mind had been playing on him all night. A ghost. A projection. Something pulled from memory and thrown into the present where it didn’t belong. Blonde hair. Still. Unmoving. Too real. His gaze locked. Just for a second, but a second was enough. Everything slowed - not the car, not the world outside - but him. That sharp, precise rhythm he had held onto so tightly slipped, just enough to matter. His foot eased off the gas. Barely. Unintentionally. And that was all it took. The engine behind him roared louder, surged forward, headlights flooding his mirror as the other driver seized the opening without hesitation. A blur of motion in his peripheral vision as the car pulled alongside him. Past him. Creighton’s focus snapped back like something had been yanked into place. His jaw clenched hard, something dark flashing across his expression as his foot slammed down on the gas again, the Camaro responding instantly, aggressively, but the moment was already gone. Lost. Because of her. His grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles paling as his gaze shot back to the mirror. She was still there. Not a ghost. Not a trick. Real. Sitting in the back of his car like she had every right to be there. His pulse hit harder now, not from the race. From her. For a fraction of a second, everything else faded again, but not into that clean, controlled focus he was used to. This was different. Messier. Dangerous in a way the road never was. His eyes met hers through the mirror and there it was. That same sharp feeling. The world outside rushed back in all at once -engine screaming, the finish line approaching faster than it should, the other car already ahead. A humorless breath left him, almost a quiet scoff, though there was no amusement in it. His eyes flicked back to the road, but his focus wasn’t clean anymore. Not like before.“You really believe that?” His voice was low. But there was an edge beneath it now, something that hadn’t been there before.“That that’s all you fucking were?” His grip on the wheel tightened again as his eyes snapped back to the mirror, sharper this time, clearer now that the initial shock had settled into something more tangible. His brows pulled together. “What the hell are you doing here?” The question came out low, but there was something underneath it. Something that didn’t quite sound like anger - or maybe not just anger. His gaze dragged over her reflection, like he was trying to make sense of it. Of her. Sitting there like she belonged. "In my car.” A short, disbelieving exhale left him “During a race.” Another glance forward. It was over. The realization didn’t hit all at once. It settled slowly, almost quietly, threading its way through everything else still running high in his system. He had lost. Again. Creighton eased off the gas, the Camaro rolling forward a few more meters before he finally let it slow properly. The engine still hummed beneath his hands, steady, like nothing had changed. But everything had. His jaw tightened as he stared ahead for a moment longer, unmoving. Then.. a humorless breath left him, quieter this time. “…fuck.” Not loud, just flat. His fingers loosened slightly on the wheel before tightening again, as if the motion alone could undo what had just happened. His car. Gone. His head tilted back slightly against the seat for a brief second before he let it fall forward again, eyes closing just long enough to steady himself. Then he turned his head - finally, fully this time - just enough to look at her directly instead of through the mirror. There was no smirk now. No detached calm. Just something rawer beneath the surface. “You cost me the race..”

@Verity Jean Banks

For a moment, Creighton didn’t move. Not when she leaned closer, not when the already fragile distance between them collapsed into something dangerously thin, charged in a way that had nothing to do with the race still pulsing through his veins and everything to do with her. Too close. Too real. Too much in a space that was never meant to hold anything beyond speed and control. His gaze lifted to meet hers properly then, no mirror between them anymore, no distance to dull the impact, and it hit harder than he expected. It always did, because there it was again. That realization, quiet and unwelcome, slipping in without permission. She was.. His jaw tightened before the thought could fully take shape, before it could settle into something he’d have to face. He cut it off before it finished, like shutting a door on something that had no place being there. He didn’t let himself linger on the way the dim light caught in her hair, the way it softened the sharpness of her expression just enough to make it worse, not better. Didn’t let himself focus on how her eyes held his a fraction too long, like there was something unspoken there, something neither of them had the control to name. He forced it down. Buried it somewhere deeper, somewhere it couldn’t interfere. But control wasn’t perfect. It never was. His gaze dropped. Her lips. Just a second. Barely even that. And still, it was already too much. His fingers flexed against the steering wheel, the leather creaking faintly under the pressure as if the physical sensation alone could anchor him, could pull him back into something steadier, something familiar, something that didn’t feel like it was slipping through his grasp. Don’t. The thought came sharp. Immediate. Almost instinctive. Because he knew that line. Knew exactly how thin it was. And he knew how easily it could disappear entirely. A quiet breath left him, controlled, but tighter than it should’ve been, as he forced his gaze back up to hers, this time holding it there deliberately, like sheer will could undo the moment that had already happened. It didn’t. Then her words settled in. It’s not like you haven’t cost me something too. Somewhere beneath the surface, beneath the carefully maintained control, threading into something he refused to look at directly, because he already knew it wouldn’t be simple if he did. His expression didn’t soften. But it shifted. “Yeah?”, he muttered, low, the word rough around the edges, not quite dismissive, not quite challenging. More like he was weighing it, turning it over, trying to decide if there was truth in it… or if it was just another move in a game that had long since stopped feeling like one. He didn’t look away. Even when the space between them felt too tight to breathe in properly. Even when instinct pulled him in a direction he had no intention of following. His gaze dipped again, before snapping back to hers, sharper this time, more controlled, like he was overcorrecting for something he hadn’t meant to reveal. That pull. Still there. A sharper breath left him as he leaned back just enough to create distance, , not enough to break the tension, but enough to keep himself from doing something he wouldn’t take back. “You always talk like that. “Like you can just fix things after you break them.” His hand slipped from the wheel entirely, the absence of contact leaving it hovering for a second before he turned more toward her, fully this time, no reflection to hide behind, no angle to soften anything between them. “Win it back.”, he continued, a faint, humorless breath leaving him. “Buy it back.” His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing, not in anger, but in something closer to disbelief, edged with something sharper beneath it. “You really think that’s the point?” The noise outside pressed closer - voices, movement, impatience - but it blurred into something distant, irrelevant compared to the way she was still there, still looking at him like that, still saying things that didn’t align with the version of her he had forced himself to believe in. His gaze dropped for a fraction of a second before lifting again, slower this time, more deliberate. “Funny thing is…”, he said quietly, the words measured, controlled in a way that made them land heavier than intended, “I didn’t care about the car until you said that.” A lie. “Now I do.” Because now it wasn’t just about losing. Now it carried weight. Now it had her tangled up in it, threaded into it in a way that made it impossible to separate. And that made it worse. His jaw shifted again as the outside noise finally broke through properly, his name, overlapping questions, that familiar edge of expectation pressing in from all sides.
Then the words: Some blonde… again? Something in his expression darkened instantly. His gaze flicked toward the silhouettes outside for half a second before returning to her. “Careful.”, he murmured under his breath. “You’re starting to sound like you care what they think.” But then she pushed and this time, he didn’t deflect. Creighton held her gaze. “Means to an end.”, he repeated, slower, like the words didn’t sit right, like they didn’t belong anywhere near this moment. For a brief second, something flickered across his face - frustration, contained but sharp, directed inward more than at her. Because it would’ve been easier if that had been true. But it wasn’t. "If that’s all you were.”, he said quietly, each word deliberate, grounded in something he couldn’t take back even if he wanted to. “You wouldn’t be sitting here.. and I wouldn’t have taken my foot off the gas.” The silence that followed settled heavy between them, thicker than the air, heavier than the loss still humming beneath his skin. Because that had been a choice. A fraction of a second. And he knew it. That was the part he couldn’t ignore. His jaw tightened again, sharper now, irritation flickering - not at her, not entirely - but at himself, at the realization he couldn’t undo. “Don’t twist that into something it’s not.”, he added. “You didn’t cost me the race.” A short pause. “You’re the reason I lost focus.” There it was. Stripped down and that was the problem. It meant she still had an effect on him. One he hadn’t shut off. One he clearly wasn’t controlling the way he thought he was. The noise outside pressed in harder now - someone hitting the side of the car with more force than necessary. Reality. Creighton’s gaze lingered on her for one second longer, just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them, something he didn’t have the time or the willingness to define. Then something in him snapped back into place. “Get out.”, he said suddenly, his voice flat, leaving no room for argument, no space for hesitation. He didn’t wait. Didn’t give her the opportunity to respond, to push back, to say something that would pull him right back into whatever this was. The seatbelt clicked open in one quick, practiced motion. His hand moved immediately after, grabbing the keys, fingers tightening around them harder than necessary before he shoved the door open. Cold air rushed in, carrying noise, headlights, voices, everything he had shut out until now crashing back in all at once. He stepped out. Controlled only by sheer force of will - and it took more than it should have. The group closed in almost instantly. Questions. Reactions. Noise. Creighton barely registered any of it. His gaze found James. For a second, he just stood there, jaw tight, keys still clenched in his hand, before he shoved them into James’ chest with a sharp, controlled motion that carried more force than necessary. “Congrats.”, he said, the word edged with pressed, biting sarcasm. “Enjoy it.” No explanation. Before anyone could respond, he had already turned away, cutting through the small crowd without a second glance, his focus snapping back to the car. To her. He rounded the front, every movement precise, tension visible in the set of his shoulders, in the way his jaw remained locked, in the way his hands flexed once at his sides like he was holding something back by sheer force alone. Then he reached the door.. and yanked it open. Harder than necessary. The sound cut through the noise around them. His gaze landed on her immediately, unreadable in a way that felt far more dangerous than anger ever could. “Out.”, he said again, lower this time, his voice pressed tight, like something beneath it was trying to surface and he was refusing to let it. She didn’t move.. or maybe it just wasn’t fast enough. Either way, he didn’t wait. His hand came up, closing around her upper arm - not rough, but firm. Unyielding. Enough to make it clear he wasn’t asking. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”, he added, quieter now, but the tension beneath the words was unmistakable. And for a split second - just one - his grip tightened. Not out of anger, but because letting go felt like it would be worse.

@Verity Jean Banks

For a moment - just a second too long - Creighton didn’t move. Not after her words or after the way something in her voice had shifted, cracked just enough to let something real bleed through.. and definitely not after what he had just said. Because the silence that followed wasn’t empty. It pressed. And then.. she moved. Not away from him at first, not really. Just enough to break that fragile, dangerous stillness between them. Just enough to remind him that this wasn’t just the two of them in a vacuum. That there were people watching. Waiting, probably, judging. His gaze followed her before he could stop himself. It was instinct more than anything else. And when she turned - when she walked toward them, toward James - something in him tightened before he could shut it down. He noticed everything. He always did. The way her posture shifted, effortless and controlled, like she was stepping onto a stage she hadn’t planned for but would own anyway. The way the dim light caught against the fabric of her dress and the way it had slipped. Just slightly. Barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. But he was... of course he was. His jaw tightened as his gaze lingered a fraction too long, catching the line of her leg where the fabric had ridden up just enough to draw attention, the kind of attention the men around her were already too eager to give. Perfect. Fucking perfect. His fingers curled at his sides, slow at first, then tighter, knuckles paling as something sharper pushed up beneath his control. Because he saw it. The way James looked at her. The way the others did. Not subtle, more like she was something to take in, something to assess, something to want without having any right to it. And the worst part - the part that sat wrong in his chest - was that she knew it and used it anyway. His gaze didn’t leave her. Couldn’t, because as much as something in him recoiled at the way they looked at her, at the way she played into it, he couldn’t deny what was right in front of him. He'd have to be blind not to. She was.. His jaw flexed again, sharper this time, cutting the thought off before it could settle into something he didn’t want to admit, even to himself. But it didn’t change the truth of it. The way she moved. The way she held herself and commanded attention without even trying - except she was trying, just differently than the others understood. She was good at this. Too good. And not like them. Not like her family. That thought slipped in uninvited and just as quickly, he shut it down, cause that line of thinking didn’t lead anywhere he was willing to go. Not here. Not now. Then Creighton saw it - the pen. His gaze dropped to her hand as she took it,and something in him stilled for half a second, like his brain hadn’t quite caught up yet. Until it did. Until he saw what she was doing. Writing. On James’ arm. Slow enough to be seen. Intentional enough to mean something. His jaw locked. The muscle there ticking once - twice - before he forced it still. His hands clenched fully now, fingers curling into his palms as something darker pushed forward, something instinctive, something he didn’t like recognizing in himself. Jealousy. Completely irrational, because he had no claim. No right. Nothing that would justify the way his body reacted, the way his focus narrowed, the way something in his chest pulled tight in a way that had nothing to do with the race he had just lost. It was ridiculous and he knew it. Knew it in the same moment he felt it, which only made it worse. His gaze stayed on her, unmoving, as if looking away would somehow make it easier, like distance would dull the reaction that had already taken hold. It didn’t. James said something, he barely registered what. The others laughed. Background noise. Irrelevant, because all he saw was her. The way she leaned just slightly into it, playing the part so effortlessly it should’ve been convincing. And maybe to them, it was, but not to him. He knew better or at least.. he thought he did. He could’ve stepped in. Could’ve said something. Stopped it, but he didn’t move, because he had no right to. That was the part that sat worst, because it meant he had to stand there and watch. Had to let it happen. Had to swallow whatever reaction threatened to surface and lock it down where it belonged. Even if it took more control than he liked to admit. When she turned back, when she came toward him again like none of that had mattered, his expression had already settled into something else. Something more controlled, but not untouched.. not even close. The tension was still there. In his jaw. In his shoulders. In the way his gaze locked onto hers again - yet carrying something underneath it that hadn’t been there before. Something he hadn’t quite managed to bury in time.
For a moment, he just looked at her. Really looked. Not at the act she had just put on or at the version of herself she had presented to the others with that effortless, calculated ease - but at her. At the way she stepped back into his space like nothing had shifted, like she hadn’t just rewritten the scene outside that car in her favor. Like she hadn’t just lit something in him he was still trying to put out. His gaze dropped, catching where her hand pressed against his chest now, the contact light but deliberate, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe that was worse. His breath slowed, controlled, but it didn’t steady him the way it should have. Not with her this close. Not with the faint warmth of her hand bleeding through his shirt, grounding him and unbalancing him at the same time. His eyes lifted back to hers, darker now, something tightened behind them that hadn’t been there before she walked away. Before James. Before that number. “Careful.” he said quiet, but the edge had shifted -less warning, more restraint. “You’re starting to make this confusing.” Not for her. For him. And that alone irritated him more than anything else that had happened tonight. He was trying to find something consistent, something he could pin down and trust to stay that way. He didn’t, because she didn’t give him that. Instead, she pushed again and he felt it.The way her words pressed in, the way her tone shifted - dangerously calm, controlled in the same way his was, like both of them were standing on something that could give out any second if they weren’t careful. His hand moved before he thought about it, closing loosely - almost around her wrist where it rested against his chest. Not pulling her away. Not holding her there either. Just… there. Like he needed to feel that she was still real, still present, still something he wasn’t imagining or maybe like he needed to stop her from moving before he figured out what he was going to say. His thumb shifted slightly, the smallest, almost absent motion against her skin - and he stilled immediately after, like he had just caught himself crossing a line he had no intention of crossing. “You really want an answer?”, he asked, voice lower now - not from anger, but from something more restrained, something pulled too tight beneath the surface. “Here’s the problem. You don’t get to decide what you are after the fact. You don’t get to play both sides and then act like it doesn’t matter which one sticks.” His gaze dropped again, catching her lips for just a fraction too long before he forced it back up, jaw tightening as if he physically had to drag himself away from the thought that tried to follow. “First you’re nothing but a means to an end.”, he continued. “Then you’re writing your number on someone else’s arm like it doesn’t mean anything...but now you want an explanation?” Then he inhaled. “Besides…” The word almost an afterthought - but not quite. “This isn’t something I’m going to figure out in the middle of the street.” He knew he needed distance. Not the kind you created with a single step back or a half-hearted attempt at control, but real distance. Space. Air. Something that would clear his head enough to make sense of what had just happened, to separate the race from her, the loss from whatever this was that had nothing to do with asphalt or speed and everything to do with the way she looked at him, because right now, it was all tangled. Too close. Too loud. Too much. His jaw tightened as he exhaled slowly, forcing the breath out in a controlled rhythm that didn’t match the way his pulse still hit too hard beneath his ribs. He could feel it - every second of it - how thin that control actually was. He should’ve been thinking about the car. About the loss. About the fact that he had just handed over something that mattered more than he usually allowed anything to matter. And yeah, there was something there. A dull, familiar weight sitting somewhere in his chest, quieter than it should have been, almost drowned out by everything else. He would deal with that later. He knew he would. But right now? Right now it wasn’t the car pulling at him. It was her - and that was the problem. Because stepping back had been the right decision. He knew that. Logically, there wasn’t even a question about it. Distance meant clarity. It meant control. It meant he could think again instead of reactt. But his body didn’t seem to care much about logic. Not when she was still standing there. “You should go home.” he said finally, his voice quieter now, stripped of the sharp edge from before, but not soft either. Just… tired in a way that didn’t quite reach the surface. “I probably should too.”

@Verity Jean Banks

Creighton forgot how to breathe properly. Not because of the words alone- although those were dangerous enough on their own - but because of the way she said them. The way she stayed exactly where she was instead of pulling away like she should have. Like he should have wanted her to. Maybe I do play both sides… but tonight is only devoted to you. Something in his chest tightened so suddenly it almost felt violent. His gaze stayed fixed on her, dark and unwavering now, like looking away would cost him more control than he still had left to lose. And God, she was close. Too close. Close enough that he could feel the uneven warmth of her breath against his skin, close enough that the faint scent of her perfume had long since drowned out the smell of gasoline and smoke and asphalt surrounding them. The worst part? His body reacted before his mind could catch up. His hand tightened instinctively around her arm - not enough to hurt, not even close - but enough that he noticed it immediately after. Enough that he realized how badly he was trying not to close the remaining distance himself. Because there barely was any distance anymore. And it took an exhausting amount of restraint not to erase it entirely. His jaw flexed sharply. God. He should have stepped back the second she moved closer again. Should have shut this down before it got worse, before she looked at him like that, before her voice dropped into that quiet register that settled somewhere beneath his skin and refused to leave. Instead, he stayed exactly where he was. And that was already dangerous enough. His eyes flickered downward before he could stop them.. her lips again, only for a fraction of a second, but this time it lingered just slightly too long. Because now he was thinking about it. About what would happen if he stopped resisting for even one second. What it would feel like to finally stop fighting the pull that had been tearing at him all night. The thought hit hard enough that he looked away entirely for a moment, a slow breath leaving him through clenched control as he forced himself to focus on literally anything else. The street. The noise. The distant headlights. Anything that wasn’t her mouth barely inches away from him. Control. Get it together. A slow breath left him through his nose, controlled on the surface but nowhere near steady underneath. “You offering to drive me home..”, he said finally, voice rougher now, quieter too “..is probably the worst idea you’ve had tonight.” There should’ve been more bite to it. More distance. Instead the words landed somewhere dangerously close to honesty. Because he could already picture it too clearly. Her in the driver’s seat. The two of them trapped in another confined space together. No crowd. No noise. No people interrupting every time something real threatened to surface. Just silence. Just her. And him already hanging onto control by a thread. The thought alone made something tense sharply beneath his ribs. His eyes searched hers again, slower this time, like he was trying to figure out whether she understood what she was asking for - or whether she was reckless enough to ask anyway despite knowing exactly what it would do to him. Maybe she did know. That was the worst part, because Verity didn’t look uncertain anymore. Nervous underneath it, maybe. He could see that in the slight unevenness of her breathing, in the way her pulse flickered visibly beneath her skin when she leaned closer again, but not uncertain. She was choosing this. Choosing him. At least tonight. And that realization hit with enough force to leave him briefly speechless. His throat tightened slightly before he looked away for the first time in several seconds, gaze dragging toward the gravel road beside them where headlights still cut through the dark in fractured lines. Anything to stop looking at her for one second. It didn’t work. Nothing did. Because even facing away from her, he could still feel her standing there. Still feel her hand against him. Still hear her voice replaying in his head. Tonight is only devoted to you. Something in his chest pulled painfully tight. He laughed once under his breath then, not because anything about this was funny, but because he genuinely didn’t know what else to do with the pressure building beneath his skin anymore. “You say things like that.”, he murmured, gaze still turned slightly away. “And then expect me to act normal afterward.” His voice had lowered again, the words quieter now, almost dragged out of him reluctantly. Like admitting any of this cost him something. Maybe it did. Finally, he looked back at her. Big mistake. Because she was still there exactly like before, still impossibly close, still looking at him with that expression that kept tearing holes through every defensive thought he managed to build. And suddenly he became painfully aware of how little distance there actually was between them now. One movement. That was all it would take. One slight shift forward and...his hand moved before he fully thought it through, sliding from her arm higher along her side, not enough to pull her closer but enough that his fingers brushed against the fabric of her dress for one brief second before he stopped himself completely. The contact burned. He froze immediately afterward, jaw tightening hard enough to hurt. Fuck. For a second, neither of them moved. And the realization of what he had almost done settled heavily between them. His gaze dropped to her mouth again. This time not brief. This time long enough that the silence around them changed. His breathing slowed - not calmer, just heavier somehow - and he could actually feel the restraint it took not to close the remaining distance himself. It wasn’t just attraction anymore. That would’ve been manageable. This was worse. Because his body remembered her already despite the fact that there was barely anything to remember. A handful of moments. Looks held too long. Near touches. Conversations that left bruises in places neither of them acknowledged out loud. And somehow that had been enough to make him want her in a way that felt deeply inconvenient. Dangerous, even. Especially now. Especially when she was looking at him like she wasn’t planning to move either. A muscle shifted sharply in his jaw before he finally forced himself to take half a step backward. Just enough air to think again. Barely. His hand dropped away from her side immediately after, though his fingers lingered for the briefest second against the fabric before fully letting go. The loss of contact felt immediate. Noticeable. And judging by the flicker that crossed his expression, he noticed that too. Another breath left him slowly. “Vee.” Her name sounded different every time he said it now. Rougher around the edges. Less careful. Like he was getting tired of pretending she didn’t affect him. His eyes stayed on hers for another long second before he finally spoke again. “If you drive me home tonight, you’re not gonna get the kind of answers you think you are.” Because that was the truth. If she stayed this close much longer, honesty was going to stop being controlled. And he wasn’t sure either of them were ready for what came after that. A faint humorless smile pulled briefly at the corner of his mouth before disappearing again almost instantly. “You keep asking me to be honest.”, he murmured. “But I don’t think you realize what that actually looks like.” His gaze dropped once more, slower now, lingering despite himself before returning to her eyes again with visible effort. “And right now?” A pause. “I’m trying really hard not to do something stupid.” There it was again. Too honest. But unlike before, he didn’t seem to regret saying it afterward. If anything, exhaustion had started replacing resistance. Not fully, just enough to make the cracks visible now. Behind them, someone called his name again, louder this time, followed by distant laughter and the sound of another engine starting somewhere down the road. Neither of them moved. Creighton barely even heard it anymore, because all his focus had narrowed down to her standing in front of him, too close, too warm, looking at him like she was waiting for him to finally stop fighting himself. And maybe the worst part was he wasn’t entirely sure how much longer he could.

@Verity Jean Banks