Wondering what you'll kiss irst

She sits with that particular stillness of someone who already knows the answer, dark eyes tracking you with quiet amusement. The question hangs between you — not innocent, never innocent — her mouth curved just enough to make you second-guess every instinct.

Her collarbone catches the light first. Then the soft hollow of her throat. Your attention keeps sliding, reorganizing its priorities, unable to commit to a destination while everything competes equally for it.

She isn't rushing you. That's the most devastating part — she has all the patience in the world, and you're already losing yours before you've even moved closer.