Tell me how to love you

The mall was a distant hum now, the crowd and the noise fading away as if the space around Emma and Mark had quietly drawn itself into a world of its own. No longer did she hear the steady tapping of heels against the polished floors or the buzz of the occasional conversation. All that mattered was the space between them—less than a breath, and yet somehow more.

Her fingers still rested gently on his chest, feeling the flutter of his heartbeat beneath her touch. It was faster than usual, unsteady. She could sense the same nervousness in herself, a tremble beneath the surface that neither of them had the courage to speak about. Emma wasn't sure how she'd ended up here—standing so close to him, barely breathing, feeling the warmth of his skin, the softness of his lips hovering just millimeters from hers.

His lips were still on hers, but it wasn't a kiss, not yet, not the way she had imagined it. It was something else—something fragile and slow, a barely-there connection that told her more than any words could. The gentleness of it felt like it had always been there, this moment stretched between them, waiting for this very instant when everything they had shared over the years finally came to the surface.

Mark's fingers, still lightly cradling her cheek, trembled slightly, and she felt it in the way his palm rested against her skin—hesitant, as though he were afraid of touching her too much, afraid of breaking something fragile between them.

Emma tilted her head just a fraction of an inch. She didn't want to rush it. She didn't want this moment to end, but she couldn't help herself. The way he stood there, holding her so gently, was making her feel things she hadn't dared to imagine. Her lips parted slightly, allowing him more space, but still she didn't pull away.

He didn't pull away either.

They both stood there, suspended, their bodies in sync, the air between them thick with unspoken things. Emma could feel the shift inside her—the slow blooming of something she had kept buried for so long. She wasn't sure what it was—was it longing? Desire? Or just the feeling of finally being seen, truly seen by him? She couldn't quite put a name to it, but it felt like her heart was stretching out of her chest, pulling her closer to him without a single word needing to be spoken.

Mark exhaled a breath. It was slow and shallow, and for a second, she thought maybe he was about to pull away, but then she felt the softest pressure against her lips—a quiet request. She wasn't sure if it was him asking or her answering, but either way, she met him halfway.

His lips moved just the smallest fraction, brushing against hers, and it was a soft, lingering touch. It wasn't hurried. It wasn't the passion she'd read about in books or seen in movies. No—it was something far gentler, far more intimate. The kind of kiss you give someone when words have long since failed you, when everything between you has built up to this moment. His lips were warm, soft, like velvet, and the small movements of his mouth were deliberate, as though he was waiting for her to lead, to show him what to do.

Emma felt her breath hitch as the kiss deepened, but only by the smallest degree. Still, it was enough. She could feel the change in him now—how his posture relaxed slightly, how his hand at her cheek shifted just a little, as though he had found the rhythm, the space to let himself move with her.

She moved with him, just as slowly, her lips parting slightly more as she leaned in, shifting her body closer. She could feel the faint heat of his chest beneath her fingers. She could feel the tension in his arm as it rested along her waist, the slight tremble in his fingertips when they brushed against the curve of her back. Her chest tightened, the feeling almost unbearable now—this need for closeness, for connection, for more than just this quiet kiss. She wanted to feel him, not just his lips, but the weight of his presence, the warmth of his body, the quiet certainty of him being here with her, now.

The kiss slowed again. She wasn't sure if it had even truly deepened yet. They were still just there, lips gently grazing, barely more than a whisper of a kiss. But the weight of it, the pressure of it, made her feel things she couldn't quite put into words. She couldn't look away, couldn't break it. She was afraid of what would happen if she did—if the moment slipped away, if they both stepped back from this fragile thing they were building.

Mark's lips pressed a little harder against hers now, but still there was no rush. He wasn't pushing. He wasn't trying to make it anything more than it already was. His hand moved again, shifting a little further along her back, his fingertips gently pressing into her skin, and she shivered at the sensation. The feeling of his hand there, of him so close to her, was a silent invitation, one she wasn't sure she was ready for, but also one she couldn't resist.

Emma's breath came faster now, though she was still trying to control it. Still trying to keep the moment suspended, to keep the weight of the world from crashing back in around them. But the more she felt him—his warmth, his touch, his presence—the more she wanted it. Wanted him.

She didn't know when it happened, but somehow, her hand had moved again, slipping up from his chest to rest lightly on the back of his neck. Her fingers brushed the soft hair there, and she felt him tense for a moment, before he relaxed again, allowing her touch. His lips brushed hers once more, and this time, just the tiniest trace of pressure added to the contact. A question. A request. And Emma, finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, answered.

She shifted slightly, leaning just enough to kiss him more deeply—still slow, still careful—but with more certainty now. She wanted him to feel it. Wanted him to know that she wasn't afraid. That she was here, with him, and she wanted more of this. More of him.

Her lips parted just a little more, and she felt his mouth respond, the kiss deepening ever so slightly. She could feel the weight of his body pressing closer to hers, his chest moving against her own, his breath mingling with hers in a shared rhythm that made her head spin. Her body was so aware of him now—aware of the way he smelled, of the heat radiating from his skin, of the sound of his breath as it caught in his throat.

Mark's hand moved again—slow, hesitant—and he cupped her face gently, as if afraid she might slip away. But she didn't. She stayed with him, her own hand sliding further into his hair, threading through the strands, and pulling him a little closer.

There was a moment where neither of them moved. Their lips were still touching, but everything had stilled. The world around them disappeared entirely. All that existed was this. The soft warmth of his lips against hers, the quiet ache in her chest, the way her heart seemed to beat in time with his.

Mark's lips were softer than she had expected. There was a gentleness to him that she hadn't known was there, and it made her feel things—things she wasn't sure she was ready to face, but things that had been building for a long time.

She had always known Mark. He was the awkward, endearing guy she'd laughed with for years. But now, in this moment, she saw him differently—felt him differently. His nervousness was palpable, but so was the quiet intensity he gave her with every shift of his lips, every subtle touch.

For a moment, neither of them moved, just lost in the shared breath, in the moment stretching out before them.

Then, almost without thinking, Emma pulled back just slightly, her forehead resting gently against his. She felt the heat of him still, the way their breath mingled, and she let out a quiet breath of her own, not wanting to pull away but knowing they couldn't stay suspended forever.

Her eyes fluttered open, but she didn't look at him immediately. She let herself linger in the feeling of him, in the intimacy of this moment, before slowly lifting her gaze to meet his.

Mark's eyes were still closed for a moment, and when he opened them, he didn't speak. He didn't need to. The look in his eyes—soft, uncertain, and a little awed—told her everything.

Neither of them moved to say anything. Neither of them knew what to say.

But they didn't need to. Not yet.

***

A/N: broo let her go.

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