We’re standing so close that I can feel Henry’s muscles tense as I wait for his answer, hear the subtle shift in his breathing. After what seems like an excruciatingly long pause, he replies, “I...do not have the faintest clue what you’re saying.”

I bite back a frustrated sigh and look at him. Really look at him, at the rare hints of uncertainty mixed with amusement in his elegant features, at the slight part of his lips, the scorching black of his eyes.

Dimly, I remember myself thinking not too long ago that we could never kiss. Something about stubbornness. Something about discipline. I remember thinking a month ago about how much I hated him, how I couldn’t bear to even be in the same room as him.

Now I can’t bear the few inches of distance between us.

“You know what? I’m just going to go ahead with it,” I decide out loud.

Henry freezes and stares at me as if I’m speaking another language. “With what?”

“This.”

I draw in a sharp breath. Focus on his lips.

Then, before I can lose my nerve, I seize Henry Li’s collar and kiss him.

Or rather, I sort of smash my face against his, which is exactly as smooth and romantic as it sounds. I don’t even have time to register how it feels when he jerks his head back with a muffled yelp.

I release him, mortified, and see him raising one finger to the corner of his mouth, a stunned expression on his face. Both his lips and ears are tinged red. “Alice. You just bit me.”

Well, shit.

“I—I’m so sorry,” I babble, fighting the urge to flee to the other end of the universe. Oh my god. Why did I just do that? What was I thinking? Why am I even alive right now? “I swear I wasn’t—It didn’t—”

I break off when I see Henry double over, his shoulders shaking. For one horrifying, heart-stopping moment, I’m scared I might’ve actually caused some severe tissue damage.

Then I realize that he’s laughing.

All my concern boils into indignation.

“It’s not funny,” I protest, my cheeks hot, my voice coming out embarrassingly shrill. “This—this was meant to be a very serious, touching moment, and you were meant to fall desperately in love with me on the spot and discover how good I am—”

The rest of my words die on my tongue as Henry straightens, laughter still dancing in his eyes, cups my face in one hand, and presses his lips against mine.

This time, I do register the kiss, everything from the warmth of his skin to the brush of his lashes when he closes his eyes and—

Wow.

It’s nothing like the way they describe it in the movies, like all the stars aligning and fireworks exploding across an ink-black sky. It feels both quieter and bigger than that, as simple as coming home and as dizzying and all-encompassing as the wind rushing in around us. It feels like a thousand banished and buried moments have been building up to this—to us alone and untethered and weak with wanting—and maybe they have.