Every muscle in my body locked.
Noah noticed.
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“You are allowed to ask.”
“You don’t want to tell me.”
“I want to tell you without making this feel like a promise you’re expected to fulfill.”
His expression changed.
“I don’t owe you that.”
“No.”
“Even if I used to want it.”
“Especially then.”
He looked at the photograph again.
“Were we careful with each other?”
“Yes.”
“Gentle?”
“Most of the time.”
“And the rest?”
“We talked first. We trusted each other. We paid attention. If either of us hesitated, we stopped.”
His breathing had become shallower.
“Who decided what happened?”
“It depended.”
He gave me a skeptical look.
“Did it?”
“You enjoyed challenging me until I took control.”
Color swept across his throat.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You never had to do anything you didn’t want. You only liked discovering how much you wanted.”
The air changed.
Not into memory.
Into awareness.