June

His breath touch my skin before his lips does.

I can feel him hesitate — an inch between us — his warmth ghosting against my mouth like a question he was too afraid to ask. My chest rise and fall in uneven rhythm, the air between us too fragile to disturb.

"Breathe," he whispered, almost to himself.

And I do.

Then he move slow, careful, as if he is learning how to exist in this moment. The first brush of his lips is hesitant, barely a touch. My heart thud painfully in my chest. His ...