Chapter 6: The Unspoken Fire

Rose was clearly tipsy—her steps unsteady, eyes half-lidded as she swayed under the soft moonlight. The games had been fun, the laughter endless, but she had drunk far more than she was used to. Henry noticed it immediately.

Without a word, he moved toward her, gently placing his arm around her waist to steady her.

"You've had too much," he said softly.

"Hmm… maybe," she mumbled, leaning into him like a sleepy child.

Henry glanced around. Tony was already passed out on a chair, Ethan was too drunk to care, and Sophie had disappeared inside. He carefully lifted Rose into his arms, ignoring Ethan's teasing drunk remark:

"Why are you carrying her like she's your girlfriend?"

Henry didn't answer, but his thoughts screamed: Because I care about her. Because maybe I want her to be.

He drove them to his house. Once inside, he gently laid her on his bed. She stirred a little but didn't wake. He sighed, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. Her skin glowed faintly in the dim light.

Henry hesitated.

Her dress was damp from sweat and heat—not ideal for sleep—but undressing her felt… complicated. He didn't want to cross a line.

Instead, he grabbed one of his oversized T-shirts and sat beside her.

"Rose," he whispered. "Can I help you change? Just so you're more comfortable."

She didn't respond, but her lips curled slightly. Then she mumbled, "Only if it's you, Henry. Only you…"

He froze.

His heart raced. He wanted her—God, he wanted her—but not like this. Not when she wouldn't remember. Not when he couldn't be sure of her mind.

Instead of undressing her, he gently placed the T-shirt over her body like a blanket, covering her dress. He tucked her in and went to shower, staying under the water longer than usual, trying to cool the thoughts running wild in his head.

When he returned, she was still curled on his bed, looking small and vulnerable. He slipped in beside her, fully clothed, careful to leave space between them. But just as he was about to drift off, Rose turned in her sleep and curled into him, her head resting on his chest, her hand clutching his shirt.

Henry didn't move.

His arm came around her, holding her gently.

And in the silence of the room, he whispered to the dark, "I think I'm falling for you, Rose."