I hesitated for only a heartbeat before carefully turning the knob, slipping inside, and closing the door just as quietly behind me. His room was dark, the faint moonlight from the window casting long, pale streaks across the floor. It smelled like him—clean laundry, old paper, and something faintly familiar I couldn’t name.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed how tidy his room was. Unlike my chaotic space, Blake’s was meticulously organized—no stray clothes on the floor, no cluttered surfaces, nothing out of place. The only exception was a half-empty water bottle on his nightstand. And, of course, books.

I walked over to it, careful to keep my steps light as I scanned the neatly stacked books. Some titles I recognized, but there were a few I didn’t. Without thinking, I reached for the closest one, my fingers brushing the edges of the pages as I lifted it. It was well-loved, its spine creased from use. Tilting it toward the moonlight, I squinted to make out the title.

The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Of course Blake would choose something dark and philosophical for his bedtime read.

I glanced over at him, still unmoving beneath the covers, his breathing deep and steady. He looked so peaceful, so unlike the sharp, unreadable version of him I’d faced just hours ago.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I turned my attention back to the book, flipping it open to a random page. The words blurred in the dim light, but one line stood out:

The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through me, though I couldn’t tell if it was from the words on the page or the fact that I was standing in Blake’s room in the middle of the night, with him sleeping just an arm’s length away.

Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself… I was absorbed in the paragraph when something slipped out from between the pages, fluttering silently to the floor. Frowning, I bent down, my fingers brushing against the glossy surface of a Polaroid.

A strange sense of anticipation tightened in my chest.

As I flipped it over, a flood of emotions hit me all at once, causing my heart to race uncontrollably, as if it were a wild animal suddenly unleashed from its cage.

It was a photo of me—taken on Valentine’s Day, a date forever etched into my memory.

Blake had snapped it while I was curled up with the book he’d left on my pillow, sunlight spilling through the window, wrapping me in a golden glow. My damp hair was tucked into a white towel, and I was wearing the pink Victoria’s Secret pajama set my grandparents had gifted me last Christmas.

I held my breath, stealing a glance at Blake’s sleeping form.