Page 125 of Under the Lights

The tension lingered but slowly began to dissipate as we were surrounded by their warm, gentle glow.

Dom hesitated just inside the doorway, scanning the space. I’d never actually invited him into my room before, not like this.

This wasn’t a date. This wasn’t a declaration. This was a truce. A pause button. And maybe that was all I could give him.

Dom had already taken off his shoes at the door, acting like he belonged there. I should’ve told him to stop. Should’ve made a joke, drawn a line, something. But I wanted him here. That much I couldn’t deny anymore.

He was in my room before I could think too hard about it. Sprawled across the foot of the bed, head propped up on his arm like he’d done this a hundred times.

I pulled off my hoodie and tossed it onto my desk chair, watching him through the mirror as I brushed out my hair. He didn’t say anything.

Just watched me, uncharacteristically quiet, like the moment might shatter if he breathed too loudly.

When I slipped under the covers, I stayed on my side with my legs tucked and my back to him. I heard the rustle of fabric behind me as he stretched out beside me, not touching me. Not pushing. Justthere.

He didn’t ask if he could stay.

And I didn’t kick him out.

We were both quiet for a while, the soft buzz of the streetlight outside filtering through the blinds. My fingers curled under the edge of the blanket. I felt the mattress shift slightly as he turned toward me.

“Didn’t think I’d get this far,” he said, voice low.

“You wore me down,” I murmured, not facing him. “Like water torture.”

A breath of laughter. “Romantic.”

I let the silence stretch for a bit. It was the soft kind—not awkward or tense. Just… full.

Then, without giving myself the chance to overthink it, I shifted. Turned toward him under the covers. Inch by inch, I moved closer until my forehead barely grazed his shoulder.

He went still. Not in a bad way, just caught off guard.

“Don’t make it a thing,” I muttered into his chest. “It’s cold.”

I felt him smile against the top of my head. Smug bastard. But he didn’t say anything.

His tattooed arm moved slowly, like he was giving me time to pull away, until it settled around my waist — heavy and warm and right. And just like that, my stomach flipped.

Butterflies. Full-on wingspan chaos. The kind I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time.

I pressed my face closer into his chest. Still not a thing.

But God, I never wanted to move. Letting him in didn’t feel like surrender.

It felt like relief.

I stayed curled against his chest for a moment, taking in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the way his hand traced slow circles down my back.

“I wasn’t always like this,” I blurted out.

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I hadn’t meant to speak — but once I did, I couldn’t seem to stop. Dom didn’t speak, he just kept his arms around me, waiting.

“I used to be…” I huffed out a humorless laugh. “Fuck, I don’t even know. Softer, maybe. Hopeful. I believed in people.”

He didn’t push. Just listened. And somehow, that made it worse.

“I worked my ass off to get into UCLA,” I said, my voice quieter and more brittle now. “Like obsessively hard. I had the merch, the vision board, quotes taped to my mirror. I even wore this one sweatshirt so much the colors faded.”

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