The music pulsed through the floorboards of the Biggs house, a thrum of bass and laughter and clinking cups. Costumes blurred through the hallway—devils, vampires, football zombies. Somewhere downstairs, someone had just thrown up into a cauldron of punch.

But upstairs, in the guest bedroom, things were quieter. Mostly.

Johnny Kavanagh sat on the edge of the bed, arms resting on his knees, his paper crown slipping down over his forehead—Romeo in borrowed trousers and a velvet doublet. Across from him, tucked into the corner chair in her white dress and glittered wings, she was Juliet. His Juliet, just for the night. Just for the costume.

But the door had clicked shut five minutes ago. And the chanting hadn’t stopped since.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” came the slurred, gleeful yells from behind the door. Someone was banging a shoe against the wall.

She turned to him, flushed but steady, her fingers fiddling with the strap of her halo. “We could just… do it.” Her voice was quiet. Calm. Not teasing, not even that nervous. Like she’d thought about it before. Like she’d really thought about it.

Johnny looked over at her, eyes wide. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, shrugging like it was no big deal, though her leg bounced nervously. “They won’t let us out unless we do. We could just… kiss.”

He blinked. “No.”

“Why not?” she pressed, gentle but not letting it go. “It’s just a kiss.”

“No, it’s not,” Johnny muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not with you.”

She tilted her head, searching him.

“It’s a stupid game,” he added. “It’s not supposed to mean anything, and I can’t do that. Not with you.”

Her breath caught.

“I’m not kissing you because a bunch of drunk eejits are banging on the door,” he said, finally looking at her. His voice cracked a little. “If I kiss you…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “No. Not like this.”

Silence bloomed between them, thick and sharp. The crowd outside was still hooting, but it sounded far away now.

She stared at him, lips parted. “Johnny…”

He stood, walked across the room, and sat on the floor by the door, hands braced on either side of his legs, like it was taking effort not to look back at her.

And she watched him. Her heart was racing in her ribs.

Because maybe he hadn’t kissed her. But that didn’t feel like a rejection. It felt like something waiting. Something more.