The noise from the party was still thudding through the walls of the Biggs house, the echo of a bassline and muffled chants from the crowd outside the locked guest room door.

“KISS! KISS! KISS!”

Hughie sat on the edge of his own bed, dressed in grey sweats and a Bugs Bunny hoodie with long floppy ears. She was beside him, Lola Bunny ears crooked on her head, her glittery makeup smudged at the corners of her eyes.

They were alone, kind of. The door was locked, but the crowd behind it was relentless. Seven minutes of “fun.” Seven minutes that felt like a trap.

She nudged his shoulder, voice light but shaky. “We could just do it, y’know. Get it over with.”

Hughie looked at her slowly. “Just do it?”

She nodded, cheeks flushed. “I mean, they won’t shut up. It’s a kiss, Hughie. It’s not a big deal.”

Except it was. For him. It always had been when it came to her.

He rubbed his palms over his knees, shaking his head. “No.”

She blinked. “Why not?”

“Because…” he blew out a breath, heart slamming. “No. Not like this.”

The room went still. Her smile dropped. The air between them turned thick, humming with something unspoken. She didn’t push again.

They never kissed.

Not then.

But hours later, after the last song had played and half the party had passed out in corners of his house, Hughie walked her home. The street was cold and quiet, her Lola Bunny ears tucked into her jacket pocket, her hair pulled into a low bun.

They stopped at her front door. She turned to him, opening her mouth to say goodnight—

—but Hughie leaned in first.

The kiss was messy, aching, filled with every second he hadn’t let himself show it. Desperate. Honest.

She gasped against his mouth, then melted into it.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, his voice low and rough.

“I meant something like that.”