The car was parked in an empty lot, the dim glow of the streetlights casting soft shadows across the dashboard. Music played low through the speakers, just background noise to the silence stretching between you and Drew. You sat in the passenger seat, legs tucked beneath you, stealing glances at him while he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, lost in thought.

You weren’t official. Not yet. And the waiting was starting to drive you insane.

Then, without warning, Drew turned toward you, his hand reaching out, fingers grazing your jaw before gently cupping your face. Your breath caught in your throat as he guided you to look at him, his blue eyes dark and unreadable.

“You know I’m yours, right?” he murmured, his voice low, rough.

Your heart pounded. “Am I yours?” The question slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

Something flickered in his expression—something raw. Then, instead of answering, he pulled you in. His lips brushed against yours once, twice, slow and testing, before he kissed you fully. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t hurried. It was deliberate, deep, like he was telling you everything he couldn’t say out loud.

You melted into him, your hand slipping to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. His grip tightened on your face, his other hand finding your thigh, anchoring you closer. The world outside ceased to exist—just the warmth of him, the taste of him, the feeling of being completely consumed.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless. A slow smirk tugged at his lips.

“So… does that answer your question?”