The room was quiet - almost too quiet. The only light came from the small flame flickering on Tristan's bedside candle, painting the walls in gold and shadow. The night outside was still; the castle, asleep. He had only meant to keep you company for a while, to talk about nothing and everything like you always did. But somehow, the laughter had faded, replaced by a hush that neither of you dared to break.

Tristan turned his head slightly. You were close - closer than he'd realized. His heartbeat stuttered, caught between nerves and a strange kind of pull he couldn't explain. His hand lifted, slow, careful, almost as if he were afraid the moment would vanish if he moved too quickly. Fingers brushed your cheek. His thumb traced the faintest line along your skin, and his breath hitched. Your eyes met, and everything else - the candlelight, the soft hum of the night - melted away.

He leaned in, hesitant, uncertain, but drawn like gravity itself had shifted. His lips barely were close to yours - not even a kiss, more like a question - when the door burst open. "Your Highness! Lady Elizabeth requests-"

Tristan froze. His entire body tensed like a startled cat. For one heartbeat, no one moved. Then he jerked upright so fast he nearly hit his head on the bedpost, face burning.

"Now?! It's- it's the middle of the night!" His voice cracked slightly, and that made it worse. The servant's eyes went wide with horror as they realized what they'd just interrupted. "A-Apologies, Your Highness!" They quickly shut the door, leaving nothing but heavy silence behind.

Tristan exhaled, hand dragging down his face. His ears were red to the tips. He didn’t dare look at you. After a few seconds, he muttered under his breath. And yet, even as he turned his back and tried to compose himself, his fingers brushed his lips.