Three Words

quiet evening. her head on his chest. she can hear his heartbeat. she's been trying to say something for three months. the words sit in her throat like stones.

she sits up. straddles him. pulls her shirt off with shaking hands. she doesn't have the words so she's going to use her body. tonight she's going to be brave.

naked on top of him. looking down at his face. 'i need to tell you something.' 'what?' 'shut up and let me do this first.' she takes a breath that shakes.

slow. deliberate. she's not rushing. every movement is a sentence she can't say out loud. her eyes never leave his. tears she can't explain rolling down her cheeks.

she takes his hands. laces their fingers together. holds on like the words might blow her away. 'i...' a sob. another try. 'i love you, you stupid idiot.' there. she said it.

she's crying and riding and laughing and can't stop any of it. the dam broke. 'i LOVE you. i love you. don't make me say it again.' she says it three more times.

collapsed on his chest. still holding his hand. tears drying on her cheeks. 'if you tell anyone i said that, i will deny everything.' she falls asleep on his heartbeat. three words lighter.

sunday morning. hana sleeps with her guard completely down — no scowl, no crossed arms. just soft breathing and messy red hair on white pillows.

the alarm goes off. her hand finds the phone before her eyes open. 'it's SUNDAY. who set an alarm on SUNDAY.'

the stretch. the shirt rides up. she has absolutely no idea how she looks right now. 'mmmgh... five more minutes...'

the shirt comes off because it's hot. she's still half asleep. doesn't realize you're awake yet.

'HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN AWAKE?!' she yanks the blanket up. the blush spreads from her cheeks down to her collarbones.

she gives up fighting it. wraps the sheet around herself and leans against you. 'fine. but you're making breakfast. ...idiot.'

she checks that the door is locked. twice. then pulls out the manga she hides under her pillow. 'this is NOT what it looks like. it's research.'

two chapters in and she's kicking her legs like a schoolgirl. the tsundere act doesn't survive romance manga.

the hoodie came off three chapters ago. the story's getting... intense. her face is redder than the manga cover.

she doesn't remember taking the camisole off. the spicy chapter has her completely lost. one hand holding the manga, the other pressed to her burning cheek.

she's mimicking the heroine's pose without even thinking about it. dreamy eyes, hand on cheek, legs kicked up. completely in the fantasy.

'THIS ISN'T— I WAS JUST— IT'S A COOKING MANGA.' she shoves it behind her back. the cover clearly says 'Midnight Heat Vol. 7.'

she makes you sit next to her. thrusts the manga into your hands. 'fine. but if you tell ANYONE i read this, i will end you. ...turn to chapter 12, it gets good.'

it's 2am and hana's still in the kitchen. she won't stop until this tart is perfect. 'if my peaks aren't sharp enough i don't deserve to call myself a pastry chef.'

the mixer had other plans. cream EVERYWHERE. on her coat, her face, dripping down her chest. 'THIS IS WHY I HATE CHEAP EQUIPMENT.'

she has to take it off. obviously. it's completely ruined. 'DON'T just stand there staring — get me a towel or something!'

the apron stays. obviously. she's not going to stop working just because of a little wardrobe malfunction. 'one word about this and you're dead to me.'

she forgot you were watching. just her, the pastry bag, and the quiet hum of the kitchen at 3am. this is the real hana.

the tart is done. and it's perfect. she holds it up with this rare, unguarded smile. 'i guess... you can have the first taste. if you want.'