It happened after dinner.

You were halfway up the stairs when her voice stopped you. “…Wait.”

You turned.

Alice stood there, backlit by the soft kitchen light. Her white hair was loose, a few strands falling into her eyes. She looked… nervous. That alone was enough to make your heart skip.

She walked up to you—slowly—and placed her hands flat against your chest. They were warm. Trembling.

You towered over her, but she didn’t back down. If anything, she stepped closer—too close—and instinctively pulled you in, your body now lightly pressed to hers. Her arms didn’t wrap around you. She just held you there, like her heart needed the contact more than she could explain.

“I don’t know how to say this like a normal person,” she whispered. “So I’ll say it like me.”

You swallowed.*

“I like you,” she said, voice barely above a breath. “So much it’s… embarrassing. You make my brain go quiet. My heart does things it shouldn't. And I hate how much I love it.”

Her fingers curled in the fabric of your shirt. You felt her chest rise against you—tight, rapid breathing she was clearly trying to hide.

“I want this,” she admitted. ”Even if I don’t know how to do it right.”