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EPISODE 16 — Breathless Confessions
Layla's POV
The campus always felt different at night—quieter, somehow sharper. Like the darkness didn't just settle over buildings but pressed in, drawing out the things you tried to ignore in the daylight.
I stood in front of the mirror in my dorm room, brushing my fingers through my hair even though it didn't need it. I wasn't getting ready for anything. Not for a party. Not to go out. I wasn't even sure if I was trying to calm myself down or distract myself.
The room felt too empty. Too silent. Too big.
Earlier, Chloe had burst out of the bathroom in a sparkly top and leather skirt, eyes glowing with that wild energy she always carried before a night out. Mia had followed, more reserved but still dressed to impress. I watched from my bed as they finished getting ready, squealing about some guy who promised VIP access at Halo Club downtown. They had tried to convince me to come with them, but I declined gently, blaming exhaustion and a lingering headache.
"No pressure," Chloe had said, leaning down to squeeze my shoulder. Her eyes flickered knowingly—she didn't say it out loud, but she knew the real reason. "Text me if you change your mind."
And then they were gone. Chloe's laughter echoing down the hallway and Mia's quiet giggle fading behind her.
The silence that followed felt like a door had closed—not just on them leaving but on all the noise I had been trying to drown in their presence. Now it was just me. Just the echo of too many thoughts.
Ethan.
Everything kept leading back to him.
The moment in his dorm room replayed over and over in my mind—the way his voice dipped when he said "We are"—as if he was claiming something neither of us were ready to articulate. His touch, warm and electric. His breath against my skin. That kiss... God. I'd tried to fall asleep, but it was hopeless. That moment had imprinted itself on my consciousness.
I could still feel the weight of it. The rightness. The danger.
My heart picked up again, just thinking about it.
A gentle buzz broke through the silence—my phone lighting up.
Ethan: Are you awake?
I stared at the message, pulse quickening reflexively. I didn't even check the time—though I knew it was late. Past midnight, probably. The kind of hour where decisions feel heavier and instincts louder.
Yeah. Still up, I typed quickly before I could overthink it.
His reply came almost immediately.
Can I see you?
Every muscle in my body paused—hesitation, yearning, and fear weaving through me all at once. After the kiss in his room, we hadn't talked about what came next. We hadn't even defined what 'we' meant. And now he wanted to see me.
Was it foolish to go? Probably.
But I was already slipping on my hoodie and grabbing my keycard.
The halls were quiet, shadows stretching across the walls as I walked. Every closed door, every quiet corner felt like a challenge daring me to turn back. But something else tugged me forward—something that felt a lot like truth.
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His room felt different tonight. Warmer. Alive somehow.
Ethan stood near the bed when I walked in, hair slightly damp like he'd just stepped out of the shower. He was wearing a black long-sleeve shirt, sleeves pushed up so his forearms were bare, veins quietly pronounced under skin. A simple look, but somehow on him—dangerous.
"Hey," he said softly, eyes locking onto mine in that way that always made everything else fade.
My voice caught, but I managed, "Hey."
For a second, neither of us moved. Then he lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, as if giving me a chance to change my mind. When I didn't, his fingers slid along my jaw, so light I almost shivered.
"You came," he murmured, thumb brushing my cheek.
I swallowed hard. "You asked."
A small smile curved on his lips—soft, disarming, somehow intimate.
As his hand dropped to my waist, guiding me closer, every thought I tried to silence surged forward. The weight of the kiss we shared earlier wasn't just lingering—it was pulling. Demanding. Dragging us both toward a precipice.
He didn't kiss me immediately. He just stared. Like he was memorizing my face again—every angle, every breath, every flicker of emotion. The kind of gaze that stripped you down and rebuilt you in the same moment.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, threaded with something raw. "I keep thinking about earlier. About you. About us."
"Me too," I admitted before I could stop myself. It wasn't a confession—I wasn't ready for that. But it was honest.
His fingers tightened just slightly against my waist, as though the words had anchored something inside him.
"Layla…" he began, leaning in so our foreheads touched. "I don't know what this is supposed to be. And I'm not going to pretend I have answers for the things happening around us." His breath warmed my skin, his voice a quiet magnet. "But I know what I feel when I'm with you."
My pulse beat loud enough to drown out every doubt.
"And what's that?" I whispered, afraid of the answer but already undone by the intensity of his gaze.
He didn't say anything.
He showed me.
His lips captured mine with a heat that stole the air from my lungs. The kiss was different from before—less searching, more claiming. His hand slid up my back, fingers tracing skin beneath my hoodie. Every movement was a mark, a promise, a warning.
And I melted into him.
My hands slid up his chest, fingers brushing the rapid beat of his heart beneath fabric. I wasn't just kissing him—I was falling. Every second with him seemed to pull me further from the surface.
We broke apart briefly, gasping for breath, but not distance.
His thumb traced my bottom lip, eyes darkened with something I recognized but couldn't name. "Layla…" he murmured again, voice trembling with the force of holding himself together.
And something inside me snapped in the best way.
I leaned forward, kissing him again—slowly, deliberately. Answering what neither of us had said out loud.
This wasn't just a moment.
It was a beginning.
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"Ethan…" I whispered, our hands tangled now as he guided me gently toward the bed, sitting beside me, never once breaking eye contact.
A thousand fears. A thousand unspoken thoughts. And yet… none of them mattered when he looked at me like that.
"Tell me I'm not the only one losing my mind," he whispered.
"You're not," I breathed.
Silence stretched—charged, electric, intimate. His thumb traced slow circles on the back of my hand, anchoring us both.
"We still have so much to figure out," I admitted, my voice small but steady.
His lips brushed my temple, not a kiss—just a quiet acknowledgment. "Then we'll figure it out together."
And for the first time in days, the storm quieted.
Not because the world had stopped. Not because everything was fixed.
But because he was here.
And so was I.
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