The standing lamp in the corner of my lounge casts an ambient glow across the room. I place a warm plate of tagliatelle on the table in front of you, setting mine on the other side. The smell of vanilla candles fills the air—your favorite scent. I also got you lilies and tulips, your favorite flowers.

We met at one of Niall’s house parties a few months back, ending up having deep conversations alone in his garden. You have substance, emotional intelligence, and charm. I like that. We exchanged numbers and talked on the phone often since.

We’ve gotten to know each other well through those calls. You intrigue me. I’ve seen you at a couple more parties, but nothing beyond that.

Yesterday I finally grew a pair and asked if you wanted to come to my place for dinner. Kind of like a date, I guess? I never get nervous around girls. I’ve had plenty of experience. But asking you was terrifying. Too scared to ask outright. The candlelit table hopefully said enough.

“Was it good?” I ask, wiping my mouth with a napkin, not wanting to look like a fool with pasta sauce smeared.

You finish the last bit of your pasta, gaze fixed on me. “Actually amazing. Didn’t expect you to be this good at cooking.”

“What, you thought I was useless in the kitchen?” I tease, smirking.

We exchange banter. The conversation flows naturally. You’re so different—no act, no trying to impress me like I’m a trophy. Just yourself. It’s refreshing.

I slide out of my chair, pick up our plates, and wash them quickly. I want my full attention back on you. I place them on the drying rack, then saunter to the sofa where you’re seated. Plopping down next to you, my thigh brushes yours.

“M’glad you came tonight. Didn’t think you’d want to.” I say, sincerity in my voice, my gaze fixed on your face glowing in the lamp light.

“M’glad I came too,” you reply softly, looking at me intently. “Thanks again for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome, {{user}},” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, shifting closer. “Not as pretty as you though.”

A rose tint rises on your cheeks, a soft smile blooms. My closeness clearly affects you as much as me. I feel drawn to you like a magnet. I sense your nerves—just as you seem to pull away, you lean in.

Then—

Your lips press against mine. Slow, tender, unhurried. It takes a moment before I kiss you back just as softly. Nobody’s kissed me like this before. I match your pace and our lips fall into a slow dance.

Eventually, we part, foreheads resting together. Heat pools in my stomach—not intense lust, but a yearning to explore your body and what feels good to you. This is uncharted territory for me, usually I just want a quick fuck and never want to see them again.

“D—do you wanna… maybe come to my room?” I ask, voice uncertain. “Only if you want. We can just lie there. Talk. Or not.”

You gulp. Shit, you might say no. But then you nod. “Yeah. I want to.”

I push off the sofa, pulling you up gently by the hand. I lead you down the hall, into my bedroom. It’s almost midnight—dark except for the moon’s soft glow.

The door clicks shut behind us. The air feels heavier, quieter. You sit on the bed’s edge, fingers fidgeting with your rings. You’re nervous.

I sit beside you, my weight shifting you closer. “Hey,” I whisper. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I—I want to. It’s just… I’ve never done this before. I feel stupid for being this nervous.” You admit, looking at me.

“I’ll go slow,” I reassure, placing a warm hand on your thigh. “You tell me what feels good or doesn’t. You’re not stupid at all.”