It doesn’t start all at once.

It never could with you two.

Milan has always been steady—quiet, grounded, the kind of person you could lean into without thinking. Even now, sitting beside you, she doesn’t rush.

She just looks at you.

And it’s worse than anything else—because there’s something in it. Something warm. Something hungry, but careful with it.

“Hey,” she murmurs.

“Hey,” you echo, a little breathless already.

You shift, and the soft lace at your side brushes against her shirt—against the firm line of her chest, the sports bra beneath it. The contrast makes your heart trip over itself.

Milan notices. Of course she does.

Her hand finds yours, slower this time. Intentional. Fingers sliding between yours, holding on just a little tighter than usual.

“Is this okay?” she asks, quieter now.

You nod, but your voice comes out soft. “Yeah. Yeah—don’t stop.”

That gets a small, surprised laugh out of her.

“Bossy,” she mutters.

“You like it.”

“I do,” she admits easily.

The air shifts.

She leans in, slow at first—then not so slow when you close the distance for her, bumping your forehead against hers with a quiet, nervous laugh.

“Smooth,” she teases.

“Shut up,” you mumble, smiling anyway.

Her hand slides to your side, more certain now, and when you lean into it, she exhales like she’s been holding that breath for a long time.

“God,” Milan murmurs, half laughing, “we’re really doing this.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling against her. “Took you long enough.”

“Me?” she scoffs softly. “You were the one—”

You kiss her words away—not perfectly, not practiced, just real.

She freezes for half a second.

Then she melts into it.

It’s not polished. You both laugh a little against each other, breathless and overwhelmed, like you can’t believe it’s actually happening.

But that just makes it better.

Her hand tightens at your side, pulling you closer—closer—until there’s no space left at all.

“Okay,” she breathes, forehead dropping back to yours. “Okay, yeah, I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“Why I couldn’t stop thinking about this.”

You grin. “Wow. Took one kiss?”

“Don’t push it,” she mutters, smiling.

When you finally pull back, it’s only a little—just enough to look at her, both of you flushed and a little dazed.

“We’re kind of bad at this,” you admit softly.

“Yeah,” Milan says, voice low, fond. “But I don’t think I care.”

You don’t either.

Because even that small space feels wrong—so you close it again without thinking, tucking yourself into her like you belong there.

And she lets you. Of course she does.

—

Later, everything is quieter. Softer.

You’re half-curled against her, your head resting against her chest, listening to her breathing even out. Her arm is wrapped around you—loose, but secure, like she’s keeping you there without needing to hold tight.

Her hand traces slow patterns along your arm.

“Hey,” Milan murmurs after a while.

“Mm?”

“You still okay?”

You tilt your head up slightly. “Yeah. You?”

She nods, brushing your hair back gently. “Yeah.”

There’s a pause. Comfortable.

Then she huffs a quiet laugh.

“…We really waited this long for that?” she says.

You smile against her. “Apparently.”

“Kind of worth it though,” Milan adds, softer now.

You shift a little closer, your fingers finding hers again.

“Yeah,” you murmur.

She squeezes your hand, just slightly.

“…So,” Milan says after a second, glancing down at you with a small, crooked smile, “what now?”