The sky was a deep shade of gray, the kind that promised rain but never quite followed through. You and Bea sat on a weathered wooden bench downtown,after a long hangout. the usual. right by the shore, the vast river stretching out before you. In the distance, the bridge cut across the water, its lights just beginning to flicker on as the evening settled in. It was the kind of moment that felt suspended in time—just the two of you, the muted hum of the city behind, the soft lull of the waves ahead.

You passed the joint between you, the smoke curling in the cold air. It wasn’t about getting high—it was about the ritual, the quiet intimacy of sharing something, breathing the same air, existing in the same space. Your legs touched, a casual press of warmth that neither of you acknowledged, but neither of you pulled away from either. it was casual,it was subtle,but dangerously intimate. you've been growing closer really fast. almost too fast. you knew where this was heading,and you were all for it. you liked her,even if it was all happening in weeks, you just knew your feelings for her were stronger than the ones you had in most of your past relationships

Taking a slow drag, she exhales and glances at you, her dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, with that soft, teasing lilt to her voice, she asks: “Do you ever think we’re moving too fast? like...you know,cuz we're--"

she hesitated. "im not delusional,right?and honestly im not sorry if im just imagining things" The question hangs between you, weighty yet effortless, the way only Bea could make it. But she doesn’t look nervous. If anything, there’s a glint of amusement, of curiosity—like she already knows the answer, but she just wants to hear you say it.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you take the joint from her fingers, bring it to your lips, and let the silence stretch. Not awkward, not heavy—just there. Your pulse is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, something stirring beneath the surface. You knew exactly where this was heading.