Sophie couldn’t sleep.

  She had tried. Honestly.

  The fairy lights were off. Froggle the Emotional Support Frog had been lovingly plumped and positioned beside her. She’d done the complete nighttime ritual, skincare, tea, pylist set to “gentle queer yearning.” She even wore her coziest socks, the ones with tiny, embroidered peaches.

  But her body had other pns.

  She felt it before she acknowledged it: a low, golden thrum beneath her skin. Not frantic. Not demanding. Just... alive.

  Her phone, still face-down on the nightstand, might as well have been a fre in the dark.

  She could recite the message from memory by now.

  Max:

  Yeah. I’d like that.

  It wasn’t a grand confession. It wasn’t poetry. But it was Max. Sincere. Unpolished. Like a door left open just enough for her to step through.

  Her lips curved as she shifted beneath the bnket. Her tank top had ridden up a little, and the contrast of cool air on her stomach and warmth between her legs made her breath catch.

  She let her hand rest there for a moment, just below her navel, before it drifted lower, a slow and reverent gesture.

  Not need.

  Not yet.

  Just exploration.

  She pictured Max sitting across from her, the way they leaned forward when they were focused, how their fingers twitched when they were nervous. How their voice went low when they teased. The sharp lines of their ink peeking from under a sleeve. The way they always seemed like they were holding something back.

  She wanted to be the one they unraveled for.

  Her fingers slipped under the waistband of her sleep shorts, and she sighed, soft, controlled. She wasn’t in a rush. That wasn’t what this was about.

  This was about wanting.About allowing it.About choosing it.

  She imagined Max kissing her like they meant it this time, steady and lingering, one hand cupping her jaw, the other gripping her hip. No running. No apologies. Just warmth and weight and that low growl of want in their throat.

  Her hips lifted gently into her hand, and her other arm curled over her head, fingers digging into the pillow.

  She let her legs part, knees drawing up.

  Max’s hands would be rough, she thought. Not in a careless way, just real. Skilled. Careful at first, but only until she told them not to be.

  And she would. God, she would.

  She imagined whispering "more" into the curve of their neck, felt the flush rise in her cheeks even now as her fingers moved in tight, slow circles, building rhythm with her breath.

  She let out a quiet moan, the kind only her bnkets would hear.

  She rolled her hips with more intent, now fully surrendered to the heat that pulsed under her skin. Max’s voice in her ear. Max’s mouth on her colrbone. Max, saying her name as if it were the only one in their story.

  She felt it crest, a slow, searing wave, and let herself ride it all the way through, her thighs trembling, lips parted in silent pleasure, body curling in on itself like a secret.

  And when it passed, she didn’t retreat.

  She just y there, damp, flushed, deeply okay. One arm over her eyes, the other resting gently between her thighs. Froggle was still at her side, stoic as always.

  Sophie let out a soft ugh into the quiet.

  “Don’t judge me,” she whispered to the plush frog. “I’m emotionally processing.”

  And for once, her heart wasn’t beating fast from fear or doubt or too much hope.

  It was just beating.

  Because something was happening.

  Something real.

  And her body had known it before her mind had caught up.

  Max hadn’t pnned on touching themself.

  It just wasn’t something they did much anymore. Not because they didn’t want to, but because when they did, it got messy. A touch too tender could spiral into something ugly. A moment of pleasure could unlock a memory they’d spent weeks trying to bury.

  Usually, it was easier to just… not.

  But tonight wasn’t usual.

  Tonight, the air around them felt different. Like it was charged. Like Sophie’s message had cracked open a space inside Max, they didn’t know what was still reachable.

  Max:

  Yeah. I’d like that.

  They had typed it. Sent it.Meant it.

  And now? Now their body felt like it remembered something their mind had forgotten. A low thrum of need, starting between their hips and blooming outward like warmth under skin that hadn’t held anything but armor in months.

  Max y still in their bed, one leg bent, the other stretched to the edge of the mattress. The sheets were slightly tangled, cool against their thighs. Their hoodie was pulled up just enough to let air in, their fingertips resting low on their stomach, just above the pce where everything ached.

  They didn’t move at first. Just let their hand rest there. Felt their warmth. Felt the potential in the stillness.

  Very gently, they let their fingers drift lower.

  Not fast. Not greedy.

  They weren’t trying to come. Not yet.They were trying to want.

  Sophie’s face came to mind, not the version Max had fantasized about, not the curated image. Just her. The way she wrinkled her nose when she was thinking. The way she took up space was as if it were a favor to the universe. The way she had looked at them, like they were someone she was choosing, not just someone she’d found.

  That image unraveled something in Max.

  Their breath caught as their fingers brushed deeper, and the tension in their gut coiled tight, sharp, hopeful.

  Sophie would touch them with certainty. Not the kind that came from control, but the kind that came from wanting to understand. She’d ask,” Is this okay?” and she’d mean it. And when Max nodded, because of course they would, she’d kiss them like it was a beginning.

  Max exhaled slowly, hips lifting in time with the rhythm they were building. Their skin buzzed. Their breath deepened.

  But then,

  A memory.

  Not Sophie’s voice.His.

  Unwelcome. Unrelenting.

  “You know you need this.”

  He’d whispered once, and Max’s entire body had gone still. Not with want. With surrender.

  That same stillness threatened to return now. Max’s hand froze. Their throat tightened. The pleasure bled into dread like ink into water.

  They sat upright, chest heaving, hand clenched against the sheets like it might anchor them.

  “No,” they said aloud.

  Their voice cracked on the word.

  The echo of Him still lingered, sticky and cruel. Max could feel it crawling behind their eyes, wrapping around their breath.

  They needed to break it. Required to prove that this moment wasn’t his to ruin.

  With slow, deliberate fingers, they reached up.

  Wrapped one hand lightly around their own throat.

  Just enough pressure.

  Not to hurt. Not to cut off breath.

  Just to cim it.

  A mirror image of what he used to do, except this time, it was Max's hand. Max’s choice.

  Their fingers tightened slightly.

  Not enough to scare. Just enough to push back.

  “I am not yours,” they whispered, almost surprised at the sound of their voice. “Not anymore.”

  The words weren’t loud. But they vibrated in their ribs like a war drum.

  The ghost didn’t vanish.

  But it retreated.

  Max y back slowly, the bnket rustling like a tide going out. Their hand loosened from their throat and drifted back down, shaking just a little. They touched themself again, slower now. Less afraid. Not trying to recim the moment as if it had been stolen.

  This wasn’t a battle.

  It was a balm.

  They thought of Sophie again. Of her softness. Her certainty. The way she’d looked so surprised when Max kissed her, like it hadn’t occurred to her that she was someone worth longing for.

  Max smiled. Eyes closed.

  And when the pleasure returned, it was quieter. Deeper. Something that nded instead of just escaping. Their body curled around it like it was something sacred.

  After, Max y still.

  Bnket drawn to their chin. One hand resting above their heart.

  No guilt. No shame. Just silence.

  The right kind.

  For a long moment, they stared at the ceiling.

  Then, almost instinctively, they reached for their phone. Not to type. Not to expin. Just to see her name again.

  It was still there.Pinned. Unread. Waiting.

  Max didn’t message.

  Just smiled.

  They let sleep come without resistance—a small surrender.

  Two rooms. Two beds.Two hearts still too full for sleep.

  Sophie y on her side, one leg curled over Froggle, her bnket kicked halfway off. She hadn’t bothered turning her phone over again, but the glow of it had already faded across the pillow.

  Still, her fingers reached for it.

  She picked it up. Opened the thread.Max’s st message:

  Max:

  Please spare me the sonnet. I’m free.

  She smiled. Not the big, messy one from earlier. A smaller one. The kind you wear when something you didn’t dare hope for might just be real.

  She opened the keyboard.

  Typed:

  Hey,

  Paused.Deleted it.Tried again:

  Can’t wait,

  Backspace.Backspace.

  Finally, she just tapped the screen once, letting the cursor blink.

  Then locked the phone. Set it on her chest. And stared up at the ceiling with stars behind her eyes.

  Across town, Max was doing the same thing.

  Lying on their side, hoodie half off, sheets tangled. One arm under their head, the other curled protectively around their phone.

  They’d already opened her thread three times.They hadn’t typed a thing.

  Not because they didn’t want to.Because they did, so much it ached.

  They let their thumb hover over the keys. Thought about sending something—a joke. A ‘thank you’—an apology dressed in sarcasm.

  Instead, they just whispered her name once into the dark.Not to summon her.

  Just to keep her close.

  Then they pressed the phone to their chest and closed their eyes.

  Not asleep.

  But safe enough to drift.