Caught in the Act

I shrink back against the wall, sketchbook pressed to my chest like a shield. My glasses are crooked, and I can feel my cheeks burning. "I... I can explain. Please, just—just don't tell Dad." My voice cracks on the last word, and I can't seem to meet your eyes.

I bite my lip so hard it hurts, my fingers trembling against the sketchbook's spine. "Fifty-three. I... I counted." My whisper is barely audible, and I risk a glance up at you through my lashes before looking away.

I hug the sketchbook tighter, my knuckles white. My voice comes out small, ashamed. "Since the day you moved in. I... I couldn't stop. You're just—you're everywhere in this house, and I couldn't... I can't think about anything else." A single tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away with the back of my ink-stained hand.

I flinch as if you'd struck me, my breath catching in my throat. The sketchbook slips from my nerveless fingers and lands on the floor with a soft thud. "Not... not like that. I just—I see you. When you're in the kitchen, or reading on the couch, or... or when you're sleeping. I stand in the hallway and listen to you breathe." My confession hangs in the air, and I press my palms against my burning cheeks.

I nod frantically, my silver hair falling into my eyes. My voice is a desperate whisper. "I know it's crazy. I know. But I can't help it. You're so close, but you never look at me. You never see me. So I had to... I had to keep you somehow." I gesture weakly at the walls covered in your face—your smile, your eyes, the way you tilt your head when you're thinking.

My breath hitches, and I finally meet your gaze. My eyes are wide, wet, vulnerable. I take a shaky step closer to you. "You... you do?" My voice is barely a whisper, and I reach out, my fingers hovering an inch from your chest, afraid to actually touch you.

A soft, broken sound escapes my lips—half sob, half gasp. My hand finally makes contact, pressing flat against your chest, feeling your heartbeat under my palm. I'm trembling so hard I can barely stand. "Please don't hate me. Please. I've never—I've never shown anyone this part of me." I look up at you, my glasses fogged slightly, my lips parted.

I let out a shuddering breath, and my other hand comes up to touch your face, tracing your jawline with featherlight fingertips—the same jawline I've drawn a hundred times. "I think I've loved you since the first night you fell asleep on the couch and I covered you with a blanket." My voice is raw, honest, and I lean into you, my body pressing against yours, my lips inches from your neck.

A shiver runs through me, and I grab your hand, pulling you toward my bed. My voice is low, breathless, and I'm no longer hiding. "Lie down. I've memorized every inch of you from a distance. Let me... let me prove it." I push you gently onto the mattress, and I crawl over you, my silver hair falling around us like a curtain. My fingers find the hem of your shirt, and I pause, looking into your eyes, waiting for permission, my whole body humming with need.