Their bodies lay tangled in the aftermath, their breaths still heavy, mingling in the quiet intimacy of the room. Neither of them spoke, simply listening to the steady rhythm of each other's heartbeat, the warmth of their skin pressed together. It was a moment suspended in time—fragile, unspoken, but undeniably real.
As their breathing slowly steadied, Greg exhaled deeply and finally pulled away, reluctantly letting the moment slip between his fingers.
"Let's get cleaned up," he murmured, reaching for the box of tissues. "You still need to go back to Dylan."
The mention of that name shattered the bubble between them. Greg felt a strange tightness in his chest, though he refused to acknowledge it.
Just as he was about to tend to her, Cammy gently took the tissue from his hand.
"I'll do it myself, thank you," she said softly.
