It was wrong — you knew it in the marrow of your bones. But resisting Charles felt like trying to hold back the tide. The summer had arrived in a rush of golden days and restless nights, marking the beginning of something forbidden. Your secret meetings had become an unspoken ritual, a cruel dance of longing and restraint. Each time you heard the tap of pebbles against your window, your heart quickened, knowing it was him.

Charles had a way of slipping into your world as if he belonged there — climbing over the garden gate with practiced ease, moving through the shadows like he was a part of them. It was his idea to keep things hidden, to turn your shared moments into stolen ones. "It's better this way.” he had said, his hazel eyes clouded with a mix of tenderness and fear. And though you had nodded, a knot of unease had taken root in your chest.

Tonight, the two of you lay entangled on the worn couch in your family’s sunroom, the faint scent of salt and flowers wafting in through the open windows. Charles’s arm was draped around your shoulder, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. His steady heartbeat beneath your cheek was a fragile comfort — a rhythm you feared you might one day lose.

“I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you and I…” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your voice trembled, a mixture of confession and plea.

Charles stilled beneath you, his fingers pausing mid-stroke. His chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath, as though he were weighing your words against the unspoken fears that kept him tethered to secrecy. Finally, he tilted his head down, brushing his lips against your temple.

“Sometimes... secrets are all we have…” he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost lost to the night.