Collided Souls

C A N E

"Do you wanna enter the writing portion for the teacher hall awards this year?" Imogen asked suddenly, her voice soft and bright as she looked up at me with those gorgeous, curious eyes. She lay across my chest, lazily tracing the ink on my arm with her fingertip. 

I raised a brow at her question. Completely random. Out of nowhere. No one knew I wrote—it was the one thing I kept for myself. Sacred. Private. 

I didn't want to disturb the peace between us, so I calmly ran my fingers along her back, hoping the rhythm would keep us grounded in this bubble we'd made. 

It was nearly midnight. And she was asking that. 

"No." I said finally. 

Imogen sighed, sitting up beside me. A quiet groan slipped from my lips as our warmth broke apart. I shifted onto my side, one arm propping me up, the other still resting on her leg. No matter the distance—my body always wants to touch her. 

"Cane..." She pressed, brushing hair from her face as the moonlight spilled across her skin. 

My jaw tightened. "No, I do it to blow off steam.." 

Her eyes lit up at my answer, and warmth rippled through me at how easily she could glow from the smallest things. She wrapped her arms around my neck and lowered herself back to my side, fitting perfectly against me again. 

"Please.." 

"No," I shrugged, my hand sliding up and down her arm.  Her lips parted slightly.

"It can't be that bad." 

They're not.

My stories aren't bad. But I haven't touched them since everything changed—since her, since Christian, since now. My head's too cluttered. Too heavy. And maybe I've convinced myself I'm content not writing anymore. 

No, you're not.  

"Cane..." 

"Want a late-night snack?" I cut her off, pushing myself out of bed and heading toward the door. Talking about this—it just makes everything feel heavier. 

I heard her footsteps trailing behind me as I entered the kitchen and opened a cabinet. She said nothing while I pulled out a box of cookies I'd forgotten I bought. Witty purred quietly in the background, filling the silence as she leaned on the counter nearby.

"If I said something wrong... I'm sorry," she whispered, taking a cookie from my hand.

"Don't apologize." I leaned in closer. "I just don't like talking about my writing."

"Something traumatic?" she asked gently.

"What? No." I shook my head. "Writing is just... writing. It's not special. Not magical. I only did it when I was angry. Helped get things out."

"Why'd you stop?"

I looked at her for a moment, my chest tightening before I admitted, "Since I met you. I haven't felt the need since you."

Her eyes widened, a blush blooming across her cheeks like heat from a match. She blinked—visibly short-circuiting for a moment before snapping back.

"Well, thank you for the new intel," she teased, trying to brush past the weight of it.

I chuckled. "You're welcome."

We stood in easy silence, snacking like kids, the hour creeping past one in the morning. If someone told the old me I'd be standing in a kitchen with her, eating cookies and talking about writing, I'd laugh in their face.

I used to hate Imogen. Couldn't stand her. And now? I want nothing more than to be near her. Touch her. Kiss her. Love her—even if we have to hide it from the world.

"Promise me something," she whispered.

"Hm?"

"If something ever happens... with us... what would you do?"
I smiled softly. "Nothing. Because we already have us."

"That's not what I meant, Cane. I meant—" I silenced her with a kiss, cupping her chin and pressing my lips against hers until every thought drowned beneath the tide of our want. If something ever happened to this girl—to us—I'd be ruined.

"Nothing. Will. Happen." I breathed against her lips. "Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

I would die for this girl. Whether I like admitting it or not.

As I pulled away, words swelled on the edge of my tongue. Words I wasn't ready to give—not yet. Not until we could walk in daylight, hand in hand, not looking over our shoulders.

She bit her cheek before speaking again. "And about the writing... promise me you'll publish one day."

"One day?"

"One day," she nodded. "That's all."

I glanced at her hands. An image formed in my head—something that chased away doubt and whispered possibility. A slow smile crept up my face as I looked back at her.

"Promise." She smiled and kissed me again.

And right then, a story began to form. A story about two people who dream of impossible things. Who live in a space between secrecy and freedom. A love story unsure if it ends in heartbreak or hope.

Who knows.

A/N

Ooo!! 💌🥰