14. Savion

FOURTEEN

SAVION

All day, I can't stop thinking about Declan. Wondering what it would be like to kiss him again. If he'd taste the same as that first time—like heat and something raw, magnetic. If he wants it as much as I do. My lips still tingle at the memory, and my heart pounds just imagining it.

But then my thoughts drift to her. My ex. The last person I kissed before Declan. The woman who walked away when she found out the scars—on my face, on my body—were forever. I thought I could handle the truth, but that day, when she looked at me with disgust, something inside me broke. My heart, my soul... they died in that moment.

Even now, the memory lingers, poisoning any chance of feeling hopeful about letting someone in again. I've tried to push the pain aside, but it clings to me, clouding everything. That's probably why, when I thought about reaching out to Declan—to properly thank him for helping me through my panic attack—my hands shook as I typed and deleted message after message. But it wasn't just gratitude. I wanted to be near him again. I miss him—his friendship, the way he sees me, listens without judgment. Eventually, I tossed my phone aside and buried myself in work at the museum, hoping routine would help lift the weight. But it never did. As soon as the day ended, I found myself at the park, desperate for air, for something to clear my head.

The park is quiet in the early evening, with a soft breeze and the sun setting in a pink and orange sky. Tall trees cast long shadows, and the air smells faintly of flowers.

I'm sitting on the bench, my thoughts restless.

My phone buzzes, dragging me from my reverie. Declan's name flashes on the screen, and my pulse quickens.

Dash: Savvy, just checking in. Hope you're doing okay. If you want to talk, I'm here.

My chest tightens. His use of Savvy instead of Savion... The warmth in his offer, the genuine concern—it's a balm to the jagged edges of my anxiety.

I start typing, my thumbs moving quickly, almost as if they have a mind of their own.

Me: Hey Dash. Thanks for checking in. I'm at the park near work, just a few blocks away. It'd be good to see you.

I hesitate, second-guessing the words. My heart pounds as I hit send, nerves jangling with the fear of what might come next.

His response comes almost immediately, adding to the fluttering anticipation in my stomach.

Dash: I'm on my way. See you soon.

A rush of relief washes over me. The brief exchange has already lifted a weight off my shoulders. I feel a rush of excitement and apprehension, my mind racing with thoughts of what to say, how to act. The flutter of nerves makes my fingers tremble as I slip the phone back into my pocket and try to steady my breathing.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, each second filled with the rhythm of my anxious thoughts. The park grows quieter, with only the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional distant chirp breaking the calm as I wait.

Finally, I see Declan approaching. My breath catches in my throat as he draws nearer. His hoodie is pulled down just enough to shadow his face, but his eyes—those deep, warm eyes—shine with earnestness. His relaxed shoulders and the way his hands are stuffed into his pockets make him look both approachable and somehow distant.

He stops in front of me, his presence instantly shifting the weight of my thoughts and fears. For a moment, everything else fades, and all I can focus on is the fact that he's here, right in front of me.

"Hey," he says softly, his voice soothing.

"Hey." My heart races. I try to steady my breath as he takes a seat beside me, the warmth of his proximity wrapping around me.

I glance sideways at him. "Thanks for coming out."

"No problem. I was actually looking forward to seeing you." His eyes meet mine. He shifts slightly, getting comfortable. "So, how're you doing? That panic attack—does it happen often?"

I shake my head, my fingers instinctively rubbing together as I try to find the right words. "Not too often, thankfully. But when it does, it's rough. I've been working on managing it, though. Trying to stay grounded."

Declan leans back slightly, his gaze thoughtful. "Yeah, I get that. It's tough. We're gearing up for Rocktoberfest, and the band has been pushing hard. It's a lot, but it helps take my mind off stuff. How was work today?"

I'm relieved that Declan didn't dwell on my panic attacks but thoughtfully shifted the focus to something else. It's a small gesture, but it eases the pressure I've been feeling. I shift on the bench, looking out at the park as I gather my thoughts. "Pretty standard day at the museum. We had a few visitors, mostly tourists. It's quieting down now that summer's almost over. But it's a good routine."

Declan nods, a knowing look in his eyes. "I hear you. Routine can be comforting, especially when things get chaotic. It's like having something steady to hold onto amidst all the noise." He pauses, then adds, "It's good that you have that, especially with everything else going on."

I let out a small sigh, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease just a bit. "For real."

Our conversation flows with an easy rhythm, but beneath the surface, tension crackles like static. We talk about mundane things—work, music, the changing seasons—but each time our eyes meet, there's that undeniable pull toward Declan.

The desire to be close to him builds with every passing moment, but my past—those lingering memories—shadow my feelings. The thought of opening up, of letting someone in only to get hurt again, gnaws at me.

Our chatter gradually dwindles, and a comfortable silence settles between us. I feel Declan's gaze on me, steady and intense, making my pulse quicken. There's a heat behind his eyes, a depth that draws me in, makes me want to close the gap between us.

Before I can process my next thought, Declan leans in, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "Can I kiss you?" His eyes search mine, filled with sincerity, and the question catches me off guard. My heart flutters, the mixture of fear and longing swirling inside me.

I nod, breathless, bracing for what comes next.

When Declan's lips touch mine, the world seems to hold its breath, and for a moment, so do I. The kiss starts gentle, almost tentative, like he's testing the waters, and that quiet softness feels electric against the storm of emotions swirling inside me. His lips are warm, comforting, but there's an undercurrent of something deeper—something raw. The faint taste of mint mingles with the scent of his cologne, earthy and grounding, yet the pull between us feels anything but steady. Every fiber of my being is tuned in to this moment, hyper-aware of how his lips move against mine, how the cool evening air feels too distant compared to the heat between us.

Time seems to slow, each second dragging out in a way that heightens everything. His breath mingles with mine, the quiet rustle of the trees around us amplifies the intensity, and I feel the tremor in my own body—the push and pull between wanting to lose myself in him and the fear of where that might lead. He threads his fingers through mine, a simple gesture that sends a shiver racing up my spine, grounding me while simultaneously making my heart race faster.

I want more.

I want everything.

But then, too soon, it ends. We pull apart, and I'm left teetering on the edge, breathless and exposed. My pulse still thunders in my ears, my lips tingling with the ghost of his touch. My eyes search his face, half-expecting to see doubt or regret, but there's only tenderness there, a quiet, almost reverent look that makes something inside me unclench. My heart stumbles, caught between relief and the fear that this is all too fragile.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself hope.

The evening breeze cools the flush on my skin, and the shadows of the park stretch long between us. The world outside seems distant, muffled by the pounding in my chest. I can't shake the weight of what just happened, the kiss playing on repeat in my mind. The tension crackles between us, unspoken words hovering in the air like electricity. My thoughts race, caught between exhilaration and fear, not sure how to bridge the gap between us again.

Declan shifts beside me, his fingers still lightly grazing mine, and I feel the warmth of his presence. It's comforting, even though my heart's still racing from the kiss. We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, and I wonder if he's as caught in his head as I am in mine. Then, his soft voice breaks the stillness.

"So... how was that for you?"

The question throws me off. Declan—this confident, larger-than-life rockstar—asking me with such hesitation if the kiss was okay? It's almost surreal. I glance at him, and he's looking at me like he's unsure, vulnerable in a way that tugs at something deep inside me.

I can't help the small, incredulous smile that pulls at my lips. "You're asking me if the kiss was okay?"

"Yeah," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish look. "I didn't know if it would be too much. Or not enough. I just... wanted to get it right."

There's something so endearing about his uncertainty, something so real in the way he looks at me, searching for reassurance. My heart softens at his vulnerability, and I realize I'm not the only one navigating unfamiliar ground here. He's just as exposed, just as unsure.

"It was more than okay," I reply softly, my voice steadying as the words come out. "It was... unexpected, but in the best way possible."

His shoulders relax, and a relieved smile tugs at his lips. The small gesture makes my chest ache with something warm and familiar. "Good. I was... kind of nervous. This is new for me, too. I've never... kissed a man like this before."

I nod, my gaze never leaving his. "Yeah, me neither. It's... a lot to process, especially after everything with my ex. I didn't think I'd feel something like this again."

We both fall silent, letting the weight of our confessions settle between us. There's a quiet acknowledgment of how vulnerable we're both being right now. It's terrifying, but it's also thrilling. I can't remember the last time I let myself feel this exposed, this hopeful.

Declan shifts closer, just a fraction, but it feels like everything. His hand brushes mine again, a tentative touch, and I can feel his warmth seep into me. My pulse quickens, anticipation bubbling beneath the surface as his voice, softer now, breaks the silence.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice is low, almost hesitant.

"Of course," I breathe, the words barely audible over the hammering of my heart.

"Would you want to... try that again?" His gaze drops to my lips, and the vulnerability in his expression makes my breath catch. "The kiss, I mean. I just... I want to make sure it's right. That it feels as good for you as it did for me."

The sincerity in his voice, the way he's looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters in this moment—it steals the breath from my lungs. My heart flutters, and I feel something inside me loosen, a tension I didn't realize I was holding onto.

"Yes," I whisper, my voice shaky but sure. "Please."

This time, when Declan leans in, there's no hesitation, no tentative testing of the waters. His lips meet mine with more certainty, more intensity, and the world seems to tilt on its axis. The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, but with a fire that ignites something inside me I haven't felt in so long. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing the edge of my cheek as he kisses me like he's memorizing every inch, every taste.

I respond in kind, pressing closer, giving in to the heat of the moment. There's no room for doubt, no room for fear—only the overwhelming sense of rightness, of connection. It's passionate, but not rushed. Deep, but not overwhelming. And somehow, it feels like more than a kiss. It's a promise.

When we finally pull apart, our foreheads barely touch each other, breath mingling in the cool night air. My heart is pounding, my entire body humming with the lingering warmth of him. Declan's eyes search mine, and there's something beautiful in the way he looks at me, like he's seeing me for the first time.

"Was that... better?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against my lips.

I nod, unable to keep the smile from spreading across my face. "It was perfect."

Our breaths mingle in the cool night air, still heavy with the echoes of the kiss. Declan's eyes flicker with a soft warmth as his hand moves, almost instinctively, like he wants to reach out. I freeze, watching him. He's so close, his fingers hovering near my face as if he might brush the hair from my forehead or… touch my scars.

For a second, I panic. The urge to pull back, to protect myself, surges up, but he hesitates too. His hand falters in mid-air before falling back to his side, the unspoken gesture dissolving between us. My heart hammers, not from fear but from the strange sense of vulnerability. Relief mixes with disappointment, a quiet ache I hadn't expected. I wonder what his calloused fingers would feel like against my rough skin, and part of me—against my better judgment—wishes he hadn't stopped.

He watches me, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, but he doesn't push. Instead, he steps a little closer, his presence grounding me. I lean in, eyes drifting shut, wanting to close the distance between us, to feel his touch again—but not yet. It's too soon. I pull back, hoping he doesn't notice the tremor in my breath.

Declan doesn't speak. He just looks at me, the intensity in his eyes like he's seeing something deeper than I want to reveal. The moment stretches, charged with everything left unsaid.

"I should probably head back," he murmurs, his voice low, though there's a reluctance in his words that mirrors my own. "Walk you to your car?"

I nod, unable to trust my voice just yet. When he reaches for my hand, it's tentative, as though testing the waters. His fingers brush mine, warm and solid, and for a second, I hesitate. Holding hands—it seems so simple, but the moment feels monumental, strange yet undeniably right.

My pulse quickens as I let our fingers entwine. His hand feels strong but gentle, a quiet reassurance that steadies me. The heat from his palm spreads through me, grounding me in this new reality. I glance around, just for a moment, wondering what would happen if someone saw us. If his fans, or worse, my colleagues, spotted us like this—walking through the park, holding hands like any ordinary couple. The thought makes me tense, self-conscious.

But then I steal a glance at Declan, and he's not looking around at all. There's no furtive glances, no hint of fear or embarrassment. He walks beside me as if this— us —is the most natural thing in the world. The moonlight catches the soft curve of his smile, and the quiet confidence he radiates makes something shift inside me.

I force myself to breathe, to let go of the tightness in my chest. For once, I decide not to worry. I push aside the fear, the insecurity, and the constant second-guessing. Instead, I focus on the weight of his hand in mine, the steady rhythm of our steps as we move through the park together.

The silence between us feels companionable now, not awkward, and every now and then our fingers shift, adjusting, finding a comfortable hold. It's small, these movements, but they speak volumes. I can feel the beginnings of something here—something tentative, but real.

By the time we reach my car, the night has grown still, the world around us hushed. Declan pauses under the soft glow of the street light, and for a moment, neither of us moves. There's a stillness in the air, a quiet tension that makes me wonder if he'll kiss me again.

"I really enjoyed tonight," he says, his voice soft but sure, his eyes holding mine. There's a tenderness there that makes my heart stutter. "I know we're still figuring this out, but… I want to see where it goes."

A smile tugs at my lips, a warmth spreading through me, chasing away the last of my doubts. "Me too."

Without another word, Declan leans in, his lips brushing mine again. The kiss is slower this time, unhurried and deep, filled with unspoken promises and hope. It feels like a beginning, like the start of something neither of us fully understands yet, but we both want to explore. When we pull apart, I feel the absence of his touch almost immediately, but the warmth lingers.

"Goodnight, Savion," Declan murmurs, his voice a quiet reassurance.

"Goodnight, Declan."

I watch him turn, the soft thud of his footsteps fading as he walks away. For a moment, I stand there, the cool night air settling around me, but the warmth of his hand, his kiss, still hums beneath my skin. And for the first time in a long while, I feel… hopeful.