Chapter 57 Vignette 54
Jules' POV
It was just her hand. That’s all. Just Remi’s hand brushing mine in the dark while we both reached for the popcorn. But I felt it.
Not in a dramatic, thunderclap sort of way — just a small spark, like the edge of a match striking too close to skin. Her knuckles grazed mine, warm and careless, and my breath caught like it had no business reacting.
I should’ve pulled away. Said “oops” or made a joke like I usually do. But instead, I lingered. Just for a beat too long.
She didn’t say anything. Her eyes stayed on the screen, expression unreadable.
“Sorry,” I said finally, voice low and weirdly shaky.
“What for?” she asked, glancing sideways at me with the faintest smirk. Then she turned back to the movie, like nothing had happened.
But something had happened. Something I couldn’t explain.. or maybe didn’t want to.
The scene on screen was some dumb action sequence I’d seen before, but I couldn’t focus. Not with the blood buzzing under my skin or the feel of her hand still ghosting over mine.
God, we’d been roommates for months. We shared bills, late-night ramen, laundry mishaps, and once — a bathtub because the heater broke. But this? This was new.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it had always been there, just hiding under our jokes, movie camaraderie and shared Spotify playlists. I decided to let the feeling slide that night, maybe it wasn't something to be treated seriously.
The next day, I woke up to the soft sunlight spilling through the curtains, not to an alarm or a buzz of the outside world. Just the quiet hum of our apartment, the kind that settles in when everything's still, and time feels like it’s barely moving.
Honestly, I thought she was already gone. The apartment was quiet when I woke up, just the soft hum of our aging fridge and the occasional honk from the street below.
But when I turned on the bed, Remi was standing by the dresser in nothing but a black bralette and those high-waisted jeans she wore when she wanted to look “effortlessly hot,” as she put it. Her hair was still damp from the shower, curling at the ends, and a tiny stream of sunlight from the window cut across the small of her back, tracing every line of her body.
I froze.
Not because I hadn’t seen her like that before. We were roommates. We dress up and change whenever, wherever. But this time felt different. I felt different. Or maybe just too aware of what I was seeing.
She reached for a top, paused, and in that pause, her eyes flicked to my bed — to me.
For a split second, neither of us said anything.
Then she gave a slow, crooked smile. “Enjoying the view, Jules?”
My cheeks flamed. “I–I thought you left already.”
“No. Class was shifted, I had to delay a few minutes.” She tugged the top over her head, slow and amused. “You shouldn't be staring like that.”
“Right. Sorry.” I turned away too quickly, heart racing in a way I couldn’t blame on caffeine or morning grogginess.
That spark from that night? It hadn’t burned out. If anything, it was catching fire.
Another night, we decided to go see the movie.
‘I swear this top hates me,” Remi muttered from her bedroom.
I was already dressed — hoodie, jeans, sneakers — casual enough for movie night, nothing special. But the second I heard her frustrated sigh and the unmistakable sound of fabric resisting its fate, I knocked once and stepped in.
She stood with her arms tangled awkwardly behind her back, the white halter top bunched around her ribs. “Can you—ugh—help me with this? The hook won’t stay.”
My mouth went dry.
“Yeah,” I managed. “Sure.”
I stepped behind her, trying hard not to stare at the smooth skin of her back, at the slope of her shoulders, at the way her hair was loosely tied up, exposing the back of her neck.
I reached out slowly, finding the tiny clasp. Her skin was warm under my fingers, and when I brushed her side lightly to steady the strap, my knuckles grazed the curve of her breast.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t react at all. But I did.
Heat flushed through me like a sudden wave. I focused hard on the clasp. But every second felt dangerous. Like if I stayed too long, she'd feel the trembling in my fingers. Like she’d hear the fast, sharp beat of my heart.
“There,” I said, stepping back. My voice was way too soft.
Remi turned and smiled. “Lifesaver.”
And just like that, the moment passed but it stayed with me.
In the movie theater, we chose seats near the back. Remi had popcorn in her lap, eyes glued to the screen. I tried to focus on the movie — some action-sci-fi thing she’d picked, but my mind was still back in her room.
My mind lingered at the warmth of her skin. The accidental touch. The way she didn’t even notice.
Halfway through, she leaned toward me. “Jules,” she whispered, “do you have any idea where the bathroom is?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
We weaved down the aisle, out of the theater’s main room, the hallway lit with blue neon strips. The bathroom was empty when we entered.
She walked in first, heading to the mirror. “Ugh. My lipstick’s smudged,” she mumbled, wiping at her mouth.
I watched her reflection. The soft way she pouted. The curve of her jaw. The way her shirt clung to her in all the ways that tortured me.
I leaned against the wall, swallowing hard, my mind reeling with a million thoughts. Should I? Just once. One kiss. Would she push me away? Would it ruin everything?
Then she turned to me. “You okay?”
No. I wasn’t. Not even a little.
I stepped forward. Just slightly. She tilted her head, curious but not afraid. My hand lifted on its own, barely brushing the side of her face. Then her jaw. Remi didn’t move. She didn’t even blink.
I reached up with both hands now, cupping her cheeks. Her eyes widened just slightly. Her breath hitched. But she stayed still. Perfectly still like if she even breathed too loud, it might shatter whatever was happening between us.
And then… I leaned in closer. Her breath was on my lips. Our noses brushed.
Our lips were so close. I could feel the warmth of her breath brushing against mine, soft and unsteady. Her gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second, then snapped back up, wide and unsure.
My heart felt like it might crash through my ribs. I was scared. Not just of what might happen if I kissed her… but of what might happen if I didn’t.
And Remi wasn’t even pulling away. But she wasn’t leaning in either. She was frozen. Just like me.
Like something fragile and dangerous was hanging in the space between us, held there by hope and hesitation.
My fingers still cupped her cheeks. I could feel the way her jaw tensed beneath my palms, like her body was bracing for something — maybe the kiss, maybe the confusion afterward. Maybe both. I was terrified. But I was also hungry for her.
So slowly, carefully, I leaned closer. My lips grazed the corner of hers — a barely-there touch.
She inhaled sharply. Her breath hitched in my throat. We were only seconds from it.
And then… bang! The bathroom door flew open. A group of girls stumbled in, laughing and talking too loud, echoing off the tile.
I jerked back like I’d been burned. Hands down. Eyes wide. Remi took a fast step away from me, turning toward the sink, fingers shaking as she reached for the paper towels.
No one noticed us. They were too busy fixing lip gloss and checking their phones. But the moment was over. Worse than over — it was stolen.
Remi didn’t say anything. She didn’t look at me and I couldn’t read her face anymore.