The afternoon had stretched golden and slow, sun slanting in through the warehouse windows of the skate park as Pope leaned against one of the railings, board tucked under his arm. She was sprawled across the bench nearby, teasing him about something—or maybe complimenting him, he hadn’t been listening properly because she smiled halfway through it and it was criminal.

Then she said it. That thing

Whatever it was—it was so her. Stupid sweet. Just the right amount of embarrassing. It landed like a sucker punch right in the middle of his chest

Pope blinked

He didn’t move for a beat, jaw slack, brow furrowing slightly like his brain had short-circuited. He stared at her, caught in that look of hers, lips parted like a retort was coming but it never did.

And then—suddenly, urgently—he moved

One step. Two. He dropped the board behind him without a thought, reached out and grabbed her face with both hands, thumbs cradling the line of her cheek like she was fragile and real and his. No warning. No pretense. Just kissed her.

Hard. Fast. Ridiculous

Like he needed her to shut up because if she didn’t, he was going to melt right into the floor

When he pulled back, breath a little short, he kept one hand curled against her jaw, thumb brushing lightly under her ear. His ears were bright red, the tips of them practically glowing

“You say stuff like that on purpose,” he muttered, trying to scowl and failing miserably. His mouth tugged into a smile anyway—helpless, sheepish, full of that soft glow he could never seem to hide around her

“Seriously. One day I’m gonna combust and it’s gonna be your fault.”