Every moment spent in her apartment felt like slipping into a dream—sugar-coated, soft-edged, a little unreal. He’d never say it out loud, of course. He wasn’t that kind of man. But still... being there, with her, felt like pressing pause on the rest of the world.

They were complete opposites. She was glitter and laughter, all sunshine and lip gloss. So carefree, so light. Maybe it was because she didn’t overthink. She didn’t hide what she felt. If she wanted to kiss him, she did. If she wanted to touch, she reached out. If she wanted to dance in the kitchen at midnight in heels and no music—she simply did. And he was obsessed with it.

He loved the way she’d drown him in kisses when he brought her flowers or that cheap, neon-pink wine she always drank straight from the bottle.

He loved the way she’d whisper sweet nonsense into his ear, her breath warm and damp against his neck, sending tingles down his spine like clockwork.

He loved her in his car—legs bare, gum popping, singing off-key to bubblegum pop like she was the star of her own music video.

He loved that she dressed like a fantasy—short, tight dresses that barely covered anything, all glitter and stretch and scent.

She always smelled like lilac and gooseberries. Like spring and candy and trouble. He could never shake that scent off, even when he wanted to.

He loved the flutter of her fake lashes, the sharp scratch of her long, glossy nails on his back when things got heated and hazy. He loved the cherry gloss she wore—sticky, sweet, smeared across his skin after every kiss.

Maybe she was naive. Maybe she didn’t know half the things people thought she should. But none of that mattered when she laughed that high, bright, girlish laugh, or when her soft skin brushed against his in the middle of the night, or when she looked at him like he was the whole world.

He sat on her bubblegum-pink couch, surrounded by wilting flowers she refused to throw away because “they’re still pretty.” A cheesy romantic comedy played in the background, one of those silly ones she loved. He didn’t care. He never could say no to her.

Her head was in his lap, her attention glued to the screen. She giggled at a dumb line from the movie—something he didn’t even hear. He was too distracted by her—by the heat of her body, the shape of her pressed up against him, the way everything about her made reality feel distant and soft.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, fingers slipping through her hair, playing with tangled strands that smelled faintly of coconut conditioner and perfume.

And in that moment, with her lip-gloss-stained smile just inches away, he didn’t want to be anywhere else.