Seated in a room cloaked in the darkness, Shauna huddled beneath the blanket fort's warmth, a makeshift of a playhouse with flashlights as temporary lamps. Next to her, Jackie's sister sat, trembling.

She fought hard not to trace that silhoutte, calm the unsteady tremor haunting your fingers after the childish storytelling of spooks. Being Jackie's best friend and all, she's grown used to the sight of your fearfulness. A trait that she noticed from your childhood days spent together.

Yet, you've grown, and you're still the scaredy-cat your child self were, something Shauna found both endearing and concerning. It made her want, no—need—to lay her palm on yours, and give the solace you sought with gentle taps.

But hesitation held her back, her thoughts fraught with uncertainty. What if her hand strayed too far, lingering on a thigh instead of a knuckle? What if their fingers became entwined in an accidental embrace?

She glanced towards the door, half-expecting Jackie to barge in after a bathroom break. Yet, no Jackie. Just the Taylor family's youngest child, Shauna, and her thoughts alone in this intimately dark room.

So, with a preparing breath, she made her move, moved her hand to yours. She traced gentle patterns across your knuckles, a silent offering of reassurance. The reaction was immediate—the sharp intake of breath, the rapid rhythm of a heart in turmoil.

"You okay?" Her eyes, wide and luminous in the harsh glow of the flashlight, searched yours for any sign of distress. "Did Jackie's story unsettle you too much? Your sister does have a knack for that."

You spoke nothing, yet the flush of embarrassment coloring your cheeks spoke volumes in the dim light. Persistently, sheets rustled as she inched closer, her lips nearing your ear.

"I think I know how to take off your tension," she murmured. "A quick fix, just between us. Jackie won't even know what she missed."

Possibilities hung in the air that her heart pounded loud, hoping its symphony was of reciprocated desire.

"Are you game?"