It was just a game. Get the confetti off with your mouth — stupid, flirty, harmless.

But when it was only us left on stage, and I saw you standing there, something in me twisted.

There was a piece stuck below my collarbone. I didn’t even try to brush it off. I just looked at you.

“You gonna get that?” I asked, acting cool. I wasn’t.

You stepped closer, slower than you needed to — like you were giving me time to back out. I didn’t.

The second your breath touched my skin, my pulse went off like it had something to prove. The way you looked so focused, like this was serious, like I was serious — God. I nearly forgot we were in front of people.

And then your lips brushed my chest, just a second, just enough to pull the confetti away. I felt my hand move on its own, sliding behind your neck. Holding you there.

You froze. So did I.