Page 58 of It's Only Ever Been You

But the words are cut off as I close the distance, my lips brushing against hers. It’s hesitant at first, a test, but then she kisses me back, and everything else falls away.

The world narrows to this moment, to the feel of her lips on mine, the way her hands curl into the fabric of my shirt. My heart pounds in my chest, and my head spins as the kiss deepens, as the barriers we’ve kept between us crumble like they were never there to begin with.

I pull her closer, one hand sliding to the nape of her neck, the other gripping her waist like she might slip away if I don’t hold on tight enough. She’s soft and warm and everything I’ve ever wanted but never let myself have.

And just as quickly as it begins, it shifts. Things darken, the warmth replaced by a cold emptiness. She’s gone, the seat beside me empty, her voice echoing faintly in the distance.

“Ethan.”

I jolt awake, my heart hammering against my ribs, my breathing ragged. The room is dark, the faintglow of the alarm clock casting shadows across the walls. Fuck me! It was just a goddamn dream. It clings to me, so vivid and real, and for a moment, I have to remind myself that it wasn’t.

That it never was.

I drag a hand over my face, my skin damp with sweat, my chest tight with the ache of something just out of reach. The dream wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. It was a version of what could have been, twisted by the edges of memory and longing. And now, staring at the ceiling in the quiet darkness, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s a sign—a reminder of everything I’ve lost, and everything I still have to fight for.

My hand drifts to my chest, fingers curling over my shirt as if I can physically hold back the yearning clawing its way through me. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it worse.

Because all I can see is her.

Her on my lap, her hands clutching at my shoulders, her voice whispering my name like it was a prayer. I can almost feel the way her skin felt under my hand, the way her hips moved against mine as we finally gave in to everything we’d been holding back.

A ragged breath escapes me, and I sit up abruptly, raking a hand through my hair. “Jesus, Ethan,” I mutter under my breath, trying to shake off the hazeof desire. But it’s no use. She’s in my head, under my skin, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get her out.

I grab my phone from the nightstand, my thumb hovering over her name. I could text her, ask if she’s okay, tell her I can’t stop thinking about her. But I know it’s too soon. She needs time, and the last thing I want to do is push her away.

Instead, I set the phone back down and lie back, staring up at the ceiling. The tension in my body refuses to ease, every nerve on edge, every thought consumed by her.

If I close my eyes, trying to push thoughts of her out of my mind but I can’t. She’s always there and well… she’s already haunting me while I’m awake.

After about an hour of tossing and turning, the frustration boiling in me doesn’t settle. It lingers, sharp and raw, making the air in my room feel too stifling, the walls too close. Every time I try to push her out of my mind, she pulls me back with a gravity I can’t fight.

I throw the covers off and stand, pacing the small space. My body feels like it’s buzzing, every nerve thrumming with restless energy. It’s not just the physical pull—it’s everything. The memories, the regrets, the way she looked at me tonight like she didn’t know whether to trust me or bolt.

That hesitation… I caused it. Every moment of doubt, every piece of the wall she’s built between us—it’s on me. And that truth cuts deeper than anything else.

I grab my phone again, not to text her this time but to scroll through old photos. It’s masochistic, but I can’t stop myself. The album is labeled College Years, and it’s filled with snapshots of moments I thought I’d always have.

There’s one of her sitting on the hood of my car, a faded sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, her hair windblown and her smile bright. She’d been teasing me about something—probably my shitty taste in music—and I’d snapped the photo when she wasn’t looking.

Another shows her curled up on the couch with a book, her glasses slipping down her nose. She hated wearing them in public, but I thought they made her look irresistible. I used to joke that she was secretly a librarian by day and a rebel by night. She’d always roll her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks told me she loved it.

Then there’s the last one. The one I can barely look at without feeling like my chest is caving in. It’s the two of us, taken by Sarah during our junior year of college. Emma’s tucked under my arm, her head resting on my shoulder, both of us grinning like idiots. We’d just finished a water gun fight on campus, a spontaneous way to blow off steam after finals. Her hair was damp, stray strands clinging to her face, and her tank top was soaked, clinging to her skin. She’d laughed about how ridiculousshe looked, shivering as the cool spring breeze hit her. I’d pulled her close, trying to warm her up, and Sarah snapped the picture before we could protest.

I stare at it now, the memory hitting me like a freight train. The way her body fit against mine, the way her laugh had felt like the sun breaking through clouds. It was one of those rare moments where everything felt right, where I could almost believe we had all the time in the world.

I didn’t know it then, but that was the last picture we’d take together before everything fell apart.

I swipe out of the album and toss my phone onto the nightstand, the ache in my chest growing unbearable. I lean against the wall, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes.

What the hell am I doing?

I can’t keep living this way—caught between the past and the future, wanting something I’m not sure I deserve. But the thought of letting her go again, of watching her slip away without a fight—it’s unthinkable.

I need to see her. Not tomorrow, not later. Now.

The realization hits me like a jolt of electricity, and before I can second-guess myself, I grab my hoodie and my room key. I hesitate for a moment before pulling out my phoneand texting Jace.

Me: What room is Emma staying in?

---