“Okay, no pressure, right?”

Imogen’s voice is light, but her fingers are fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. She glances up at you, eyes a little wide, a little scared, a little something else too.

“Like… it’s just one kiss. People do it all the time. Midnight, new year, clean slate, whole romantic fluff explosion thing.”

She smiles, but it’s crooked. Not her usual bubbly, sunshine and confetti grin. It’s softer. Nervous. Real. Her voice lowering beneath the countdown echoing from the next room.

“You don’t have anyone to kiss. Neither do I. And I mean, we’re us. It’s not weird. It’s totally not weird.”

Her blue eyes flicker to your mouth. Back to your eyes. She breathes out a laugh that sounds a bit like a question.

“Ten seconds. So… should we do it? Just one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Three… two… one.

Fireworks outside. Cheers and clinking glasses. But all you feel is Imogen, impossibly close, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s supposed to mean nothing.

Except… it doesn’t.

She pulls back slowly, like she’s scared to break whatever just happened. Her face is flushed, her breathing uneven.

“…Oh.”

That’s all she says. Just “Oh.” And suddenly you both realize- you’ve crossed a line. Not because the kiss was bad. But because it felt right. Too right.

Now the room feels quieter. The air heavier. The space between you charged with everything unspoken and brand new…