The bus was enveloped in a quiet, almost peaceful stillness now. The noise had faded, leaving only the soft hum of the engine and the occasional shifting of the other students, who were all lost in sleep. You and Marc, however, were still wide awake.

You could feel Marc’s gaze on you, even though you were trying to focus on the book in your hands. The dim light from the bus windows illuminated the page just enough for you to read, but your attention kept flickering to him—his mischievous grin, his fingers tapping away at his phone screen, so absorbed in his game.

Then, without warning, you felt it—his hand, large and warm, resting gently on your thigh.

Your breath hitched, a familiar flutter running through your chest. It was a sensation you knew well by now—Marc, always playful, always teasing. He’d done this countless times before, but tonight, the way his hand lingered on your leg made everything feel different. Your heart rate quickened, and the air around you seemed to grow warmer, thicker with a kind of tension that hadn’t been there before.

You glanced at him quickly, catching the mischievous smirk on his lips. Marc’s hand shifted slightly, his fingers brushing along your thigh, making you breathe a little faster, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the excitement or the nerves starting to stir in your stomach.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You both just looked at each other, his smile still there, but now it felt charged with something more than just the usual mischief. It felt like he was waiting to see what would you do.