The parking lot is almost empty now.
The sky’s darker, streetlights flickering on one by one. The concrete is cold through your jeans.
Claire’s still sitting on the curb, legs stretched out, oversized jersey falling over her knees. The paper coffee cup is tipped on its side now, forgotten.
You’re sitting close. Close enough that your shoulders touch.
Neither of you have moved away.
“You’re dramatic, you know that?” you murmur.
She huffs quietly. “You’re the one who came out here.”
“You were pouting.”
“I don’t pout.”
You raise an eyebrow. She glares at you — but it’s soft around the edges.
Wind pushes her curls across her face. Without thinking, you reach up and brush them back.
Her breath catches.And something shifts.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she says quietly.
“Do what?”
“Act like you know me.”
You smile a little. “I do know you.”
She stares at you. And then, suddenly, she grabs your wrist.
Not rough. Just decisive.
Before you can react, she tugs you toward her.
You lose balance for half a second— And then you’re sitting in her lap.
Your knees land on either side of her thighs, hands automatically catching on her shoulders.
“Claire—”
“You talk so much,” she mutters.
Her hands settle on your waist. Warm. Firm.
Not hesitant at all.
Your heart is beating louder than the traffic now.
“You were gonna leave,” she says, eyes searching your face.
“I was sitting right here.”
“You were gonna.”
You don’t argue.
Because maybe you were.
Her grip tightens slightly.
“You don’t get to walk away when I’m like that,” she says, quieter now. “You don’t get to just… leave me sitting out here.”
The vulnerability hits harder like this.
With you in her lap.
With her hands on you.
You soften.
“I didn’t want to fight,” you say.
“I didn’t either.”
“But you did.”
She exhales through her nose.
“…I get scared.”
That’s rare.
She doesn’t say things like that easily.
You rest your forehead against hers.
“I know.”
Her thumbs trace small, distracted circles against your sides.
“You’re not allowed to give up on me,” she murmurs.
“Claire—”
“I mean it.”
You slide your hands up to the back of her neck.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She searches your face like she’s looking for cracks in that promise.
When she doesn’t find any—
She pulls you closer.
Her lips brush yours first — softer than before. Testing.
Then deeper.
Not rushed.
Not angry.
Just steady and grounding.
Her fingers press into your waist like she needs to make sure you’re real. Your hands tangle into her curls.
The streetlight above hums quietly.
When you pull back, you’re both breathing a little heavier.
Her forehead rests against your shoulder this time.
“…Stay a minute,” she murmurs.
You settle more comfortably in her lap.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving.”
She smiles against your collarbone.
And her arms tighten around you.