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Water droplets still clinging to her skin, Tina shivered as the late afternoon air hit her bare shoulders. She pulled Tyler's hand, leading them toward the towel rack at the edge of the pool deck, her wet chestnut hair leaving dark trails down her back. Behind them, the party continued—music thumping, laughter rising—but she felt disconnected from it, like watching through a window.

Tyler grabbed two towels, handing her one without meeting her eyes, his ears already pink. She pressed the towel against her chest, blotting the water, watching him rub his hair dry with rough, mechanical motions.

"You okay?" she asked, soft enough that only he could hear.

He nodded, a tight jerk of his chin. "Y-yeah. Just. Just thinking."

She stepped closer, close enough that the heat from his body cut through the wet chill. "What about?"

His eyes finally lifted to hers, and she saw something there—an urgency she hadn't seen before. "Y-you. Always you."

Her heart stuttered. She bit her bottom lip, the confession hanging between them like the first note of a song she already knew the words to.

Dave approached, clapping his hands together with a grin. "Yo, you two heading out?"

Tina turned, the easy confidence sliding back into place like a familiar jacket. "Yeah. Thanks for having us, Dave. It was fun."

"Anytime, Star. You know my door's always open." Dave's eyes flicked to Tyler, a look of genuine warmth there. "Take care of her, Volkov."

Tyler's throat worked. "I—I will."

They gathered their things—Tyler's backpack, her small crossbody purse—and walked through the house to the front door. The evening light was golden, soft, catching the dust motes floating through the living room where a few people were sprawled on couches, nursing drinks. No one paid them any attention.

The walk to Tyler's house was quiet, their fingers interlaced, swinging slightly between them. The neighborhood was familiar now—the cracked sidewalks, the fence with the missing slats, the house with the porch light always on. She'd memorized every step of this route, the way his house came into view after the third streetlamp.

When they reached his front door, he fumbled with the keys, his hands shaking slightly. She pressed her front against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist, and felt him freeze.

"What's wrong?" she whispered against his spine.

His keys clattered. He bent to pick them up, and when he straightened, he turned in her arms, his face close to hers. "I—I keep thinking something's gonna. Gonna wake me up."

"What do you mean?"

"This." He gestured between them, helpless. "You. Us. It—it feels like a dream. Like I'm gonna. Gonna open my eyes and. And you'll be gone."

Her throat tightened. She reached up, cupping his jaw, feeling the slight stubble that had grown in over the day. "I'm real, Tyler. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing, his breath shuddering out. "Promise?"

"I promise."

The key finally found the lock. They stepped inside.

His room was the same as always—small, tidy, the twin bed neatly made, the dresser with its single picture frame, the mirror still leaning against the wall from the photos she'd taken the other day. She dropped her bag by the door and sat on the edge of his bed, her wet swimsuit pressing against the sheets.

"I should—I should grab you something to. To sleep in," he said, already moving toward his dresser.

"Tyler."

He stopped, turned.

"Come here."

He walked over, and she stood, meeting him halfway. She pulled the damp towel from her body and let it fall to the floor. Her swimsuit was still wet, clinging to her, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide her nipples, the curve of her hips. She didn't care.

"I don't need anything to sleep in," she said, her voice low, steady. "I just need you."

Something in his eyes shifted—a flicker of heat, of wanting, that made her breath catch. His hands found her waist, sliding over the wet fabric, then under it, pressing against her bare skin.

"I need you too," he whispered, and the stutter was barely there, just a soft break in the word.

She kissed him. Slow. Deep. Her tongue found his, and she tasted chlorine and salt and him, and she felt the world narrow to the shape of his mouth, the press of his hands, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under her palm.

They fell onto the bed together, still wet, still tangled. She tugged at his swim trunks, and he kicked them off, his boxers clinging to his thighs. Her own bottoms came off next, discarded on the floor beside his. She lay back, naked, wet, watching him look at her like she was the first sunrise he'd ever seen.

"Come here," she said again.

He did.

They didn't have sex. Not then. They just held each other, skin to skin, her head on his chest, his arm wrapped tight around her waist, his hand stroking her hip. The window was cracked open, and the evening breeze carried the sound of distant traffic, of someone's dog barking, of the world going on without them.

She felt him soften against her, felt his breathing slow, felt his hand go slack. She tilted her head up and saw his eyes closed, his face peaceful.

She kissed his collarbone. "Goodnight, Tyler."

His arm tightened in his sleep. She smiled against his skin and let herself drift.

The night deepened. The room grew dark. Their breathing evened out, two bodies rising and falling as one.

Sometime in the small hours, she stirred—not fully awake, but aware enough to feel the shift. His body had turned toward her in sleep, his hips pressing against her back, his cock hard against the cleft of her ass. She was still damp from the pool, from the evening, from him, and the sensation of him sliding against her sent a pulse of heat through her core.

She heard him murmur in his sleep, a sound that might have been her name, and then she felt him push inside her.

She gasped softly, her eyes fluttering open to darkness. He was still asleep, she realized. His hips moved in a slow, unconscious rhythm, his hand sliding up her stomach to cup her breast, his fingers finding her nipple and rolling it gently.

She didn't move. She didn't pull away. She just lay there, letting him take what he needed, her body responding to his dream-driven motions, her breathing hitching in time with his thrusts. It was slow, so slow, a gentle rocking that felt more like a heartbeat than a fuck. His mouth pressed against the back of her neck, warm and breathy, and she felt her own arousal building, a quiet, steady fire.

She came—soft, silent, a ripple of pleasure that spread through her like warm water. He followed a moment later, his body tensing, his hand tightening on her breast, a low, broken sound escaping his throat. He stayed inside her, softening, his breathing evening out again, and she felt the wet warmth of him against her thigh.

She smiled into the darkness and closed her eyes.

Morning light crept through the blinds, pale and golden. Tina woke to the feeling of him still inside her, still half-hard, and the slow, building rhythm of his hips. His hand was on her breast, possessively cupped, his thumb stroking her nipple in a steady, unconscious rhythm.

She was wet again. She felt his cock slide against her, felt the heat pool low in her belly. She let out a soft moan, and his hips stuttered.

"T-Tina?"

His voice, thick with sleep, confused. She turned her head and saw his face, his eyes wide, his cheeks flooding red, the realization dawning on him.

"I—I'm—" He tried to pull out, but her legs tightened around him, holding him inside her.

"Don't," she murmured, her voice husky with sleep. "Don't stop."

"But I—I was. I was asleep. I—I didn't. I'm sorry—"

She rolled onto her back, pulling him with her, his weight settling over her, his cock buried deep inside her. She looked up at him, her hands framing his face, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones.

"I love when you take what's yours," she whispered. "I love waking up to you inside me. I love that even in your sleep, you want me."

His eyes were wild, searching hers. "R-really?"

"Really." She kissed him, soft and slow, and when she pulled back, she smiled. "Now fuck me like you mean it."

Something broke in him. Or maybe something clicked into place. His jaw set, his eyes darkened, and he moved—a hard, deep thrust that made her gasp. His hand found her hip, gripping tight, and he began to fuck her with a purpose she'd never seen in him before.

She cried out, her nails digging into his back, her legs wrapping high around his waist. He was deep, so deep, and his rhythm was steady, relentless, each stroke driving her higher. His mouth found her neck, her collarbone, her nipple, and he suckled hard, his teeth grazing her, and she felt herself unraveling.

"Tyler—"

"I've got you," he said, and the stutter was gone, replaced by a rough confidence that made her clench around him. "I've got you, Tina."

He reached between them, his thumb finding her clit, and she shattered—a sharp, bright orgasm that tore through her, her body arching, her cries muffled against his shoulder. He followed a moment later, his hips stuttering, a low groan vibrating through his chest, and she felt him pulse inside her, felt the warmth spread through her like a promise.

They lay tangled, breathing hard, the morning light painting their skin gold. He kept his face buried against her neck, and she felt his lips press a soft, lingering kiss to her pulse point.

"I love you," he whispered, so soft she almost missed it.

Her heart stopped. Then it started again, faster, fuller.

She turned her head and kissed his temple. "I love you too, Tyler."

They stayed in bed longer than they should have, lazy and warm and tangled. Eventually, the light grew brighter, and the sounds of the neighborhood roused them—a lawnmower, children's laughter, a car horn.

"We have to get ready for school," she said, regret thick in her voice.

He groaned, burying his face in her chest. "Five more minutes."

She laughed, running her fingers through his hair. "We'll be late."

"Worth it."

But they got up, eventually. She pulled on her clothes from yesterday—the same see-through crop top, the same blue ripped jeans—and he found a clean t-shirt and jeans. They walked to the bathroom together, brushed their teeth side by side, their shoulders bumping in the narrow space.

She watched him in the mirror, his wet hair pushed back, a dot of toothpaste on his chin. She reached over and wiped it off with her thumb, and he caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.

"Ready?" she asked.

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and nodded. "Ready."

They walked to school hand in hand, the morning sun warm on their backs. The campus was already buzzing, students clustered in groups on the lawn, by the entrance, around the parking lot. She felt their eyes on her—on him—and she squeezed his hand tighter.

They reached his locker, and he was spinning the combination when the voices came.

"Well, well, well. Look who finally showed up."

Tina turned. Three jocks—big, loud, grinning in a way that made her skin crawl. The one in the middle, a guy she vaguely recognized from a party freshman year, was looking at Tyler with obvious contempt.

"Star, you still slumming it with this loser?"

She stepped in front of Tyler, her body a shield. "Back off, Marcus."

"Aw, come on. You know you want a real man." Marcus puffed out his chest, his friends snickering behind him. "Someone who can actually please you. Not this stuttering piece of—"

A hand gripped her arm, pulling her gently aside. Tyler stepped forward, his face calm, his eyes steady.

"Don't talk to her like that." His voice was low, clear. No stutter.

Marcus blinked, momentarily thrown. "What did you say, Volkov?"

"I said don't talk to her like that." Tyler's posture shifted, his shoulders straightening, and for the first time, she saw the muscle under the baggy clothes, the coiled strength that had been hidden. "She's not interested in you. And you're not gonna scare me off."

Marcus laughed, but it was hollow. "You gonna stop me, nerd?"

Tyler was silent for a long moment. Then he smiled—a small, slow smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I don't have to. She already chose me. And she's the only opinion that matters."

Marcus's face twisted. He took a step forward, but the bell rang, sharp and shrill, and the halls began to fill with students flowing toward their first classes. The moment broke.

"This isn't over, Volkov," Marcus muttered, pushing past them.

"It's been over," Tyler said quietly, "since before it started."

Marcus and his friends disappeared into the crowd. Tina stood frozen, her heart racing, her eyes locked on Tyler. He turned to her, and the hardness in his face softened.

"You okay?" he asked.

She couldn't speak. She just stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. He held her, his hand cradling the back of her head, his lips brushing her hair.

"That was—" she started, her voice muffled.

"Stupid?" he offered.

She pulled back, looking up at him. "Hot. That was hot."

His ears went red, but he was smiling. "R-really?"

She kissed him, quick and firm, right there in the middle of the hallway. "Really. My nerdy, stuttering, badass boyfriend."

"B-boyfriend?"

"Yeah," she said, lacing her fingers through his. "If you'll have me."

The bell rang again, a warning bell. They were definitely going to be late. But he just stood there, looking at her like she'd hung the moon.

"I'd—I'd love to," he said.

She laughed, bright and genuine, and pulled him down the hall toward their first class. His hand was warm in hers, his grip steady, and she felt like she was floating.

The day stretched out ahead of them—full of possibilities, full of each other.