As Michael pulled into the peaceful cul-de-sac outside Lorna's apartment, the stars above the city skyline glittered like far-off promises. Hours had passed since the rooftop dinner ended, but neither of them was prepared to say goodbye. A second drink, a quiet chuckle, a slightly prolonged finger-to-finger contact—one thing had led to another—and now they were caught in an unavoidable moment.
The ambient city glow filtered through the windows, casting a dim glow on the apartment inside. Michael gently grabbed Lorna's wrist as she reached to pour them some water.
"Remain," he said softly.
She gave him a cautious, probing look.
"Just tonight," he continued.
She couldn't help but notice the gravity in the way he said it. Something soft. Something is broken.
She gave a nod.
What followed wasn't rushed. It wasn't flawless. However, it was genuine.
Between tentative touches and murmurs, the clothes gradually fell away. Like a question neither of them had dared to ask until now, their bodies came together.
It was restorative. Uncooked. A desperate honesty encased in desire and heat. A rediscovery dance.
Then, entangled in sheets and half-spoken thoughts, they lay in silence. With her cheek against his chest, Lorna ran her finger along the line of his collarbone.
"You're quiet," she said in a whisper.
With his arm wrapped around her exposed shoulder, Michael gazed at the ceiling.
"This is going to ruin you, I keep thinking."
She sat up a little, frowning. "Michel—"
"This is not fair to me. You. He spoke softly. Distant. "I promised myself that I wouldn't allow it to progress this far."
"However, it has," she stated. "And you weren't by yourself."
He suddenly sat up, withdrew, and grabbed his shirt.
Pain rising like a tide, Lorna held the sheet to her chest. "What are you doing?"
He buttoned up and stood with his back to her. "Because you deserve a complete person." Someone who isn't engaged in ghost combat.
"You don't think I'm also haunted?" Her voice was now sharp as she spoke. "You believe that you are the only one who is scared?"
With hurt eyes, Michael turned to face her. "Lorna, you will be angry with me. When everything breaks down one day, you'll wish you hadn't allowed me in.
"Perhaps," she said, maintaining eye contact. "However, I might wish you had stayed."
Breathless in the silence, they gazed at one another.
Michael approached the door.
He was not stopped by her.
And when he left this time, something similar to regret followed him instead of just fear.