The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant clinking of kitchenware.
Celeste stretched across her bed, limbs sprawled, phone tossed aside. The sunlight filtering through the window warmed her bare thighs. It was the weekend, and she had the whole place to herself—well, not exactly. Ash was here too.
Her lips curled lazily as her mind wandered.
Ash Leclair.
He had only moved in a few days ago—temporarily, of course. His new apartment was under renovation, and her ever-generous brother Rowan had offered their place in the meantime.
Celeste rolled over, hugging her pillow, cheeks tingling from memory.
⸻
—five years ago—
She was fifteen then. Fourth-year high school. That was the first time she met Ash.
Their parents were visiting Rowan's apartment in the city. It was big enough, and smelled like instant noodles and stress. But there, sitting on the floor with legs crossed, notebooks spread around him like flower petals, was Ash.
Long hair tied loosely behind his neck. Glasses sliding down his nose. Oversized hoodie.
His voice was soft, and he smiled with the kind of gentleness she'd only seen in girls. He was beautiful. Pretty, even.
Celeste blinked a few times, heart pausing in her chest.
Later, when Rowan handed her a soda in the kitchen, she leaned close and whispered:
"Your friend is kinda pretty. Is he gay?"
Rowan snorted. "No. Everyone thinks that, but he's not."
Celeste shrugged, sipping from the can. "Shame. He'd make a cute girlfriend."
But at fifteen, she didn't think too much of it. Just a hot guy moment.
⸻
—end of flashback—
Now, five years later, that hot guy was staying in their apartment, and and of course he ended up in the guest room—aka the one directly next to hers.
Celeste rolled onto her back and sighed dramatically.
What was her next move?
The seduction had been slow… too slow.
She'd started small. Casual touches. Innocent comments. Sitting a little too close on the couch.
But Ash was frustratingly polite. Reserved. He never flirted back—but his ears always turned red.
Rowan had left just yesterday for a week-long work trip.
An out-of-town seminar. Boring company stuff.
Which meant one thing:
They were alone now. Just the two of them.
Her phone buzzed.
Rowan: Don't break anything. Be nice to Ash.
Celeste: Nice? Oh, I'll be very nice.
She bit her lip.
Maybe too nice.
⸻
It was morning. And as Celeste lay in bed, her thoughts turned… unholy.
What would Ash look like under that sweater?
Does he even know how attractive he is?
He's got the softest voice. Those hands. That waist. That—
Her stomach growled, snapping her out of her fantasy.
Then, the smell hit her—savory, buttery, a hint of garlic.
Ash was cooking.
Of course he was. He always cooked when Rowan wasn't around. A habit, he'd said, from growing up with sisters.
Celeste sat up, stretching with a sly smile.
"Let's see how flustered I can make him today."
She slid out of bed and padded to her closet. Something light… something sinful.
She grabbed an oversized white shirt—thin and soft, barely covering her hips.
No bra. Definitely not.
She tugged on a pair of shorts—tight, small, low—and let her mid-length hair tumble loose around her face. No makeup. Just lips bitten pink from mischief.
Barefoot, she walked out into the hallway.
⸻
The sight in the kitchen made her pause.
Ash stood at the stove, apron tied neatly around his waist.
His silver hair was tucked behind his ears, face glowing from the morning light.
He hummed softly under his breath—something classical, maybe. His movements were graceful, practiced. He flipped the egg like a ballet dancer.
From behind, he looked like someone out of a cooking show.
Celeste leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, biting her smile.
"Woww… smells nice."
Ash turned around—and froze.
She watched his eyes drop—just for a second—then snap back to her face.
"It's done," he said, clearing his throat. "You should eat."
He turned away quickly, placing the plate on the table. His hand lingered on the spoon a second too long. She stepped forward, just close enough to feel the heat of the stove between them.
"What is it today? Garlic fried rice?"
"With eggs. And sausage."
"Mmm." She leaned in slightly, her voice lower. "I love sausage in the morning."
Ash froze, very briefly.
Then exhaled. Slowly.
"Celeste."
Her name sounded like a warning.
She giggled and pulled out the chair, sitting with legs crossed, letting the oversized shirt ride a little higher on her thighs.
Ash turned away, pretending to wipe the counter.
He was always like this—composed, gentle, polite to a fault. Behaving more like a shy older sister than a man.
Too bad Rowan wasn't here to protect him now.
⸻
After they ate, Celeste insisted on doing the dishes—partly to be helpful, mostly to watch Ash storm off without looking at her once.
Not even a glance.
"Is he used to this? Are all men this boring? Or is it just because his sisters walked around half-naked and he's immune now?"
She sighed, scrubbing a spoon.
"How the hell am I supposed to touch him if he won't even flinch?"
Frustrated, she flicked water toward the faucet and dried her hands.
⸻
Back in the living room, she turned on the TV—but her thoughts kept spinning.
She tapped her foot against the couch, chewing her thumbnail.
Then it hit her.
What if… we had a movie night?
And I picked something… not safe?
Her eyes lit up.
She bolted up, grabbed her laptop, and started searching. Within seconds—moaning, sweat, and skin flooded her screen.
She squeaked, slammed the laptop shut, and laughed to herself.
Too much.
…Or just enough.
⸻
A few hours later…
Lunch came and went.
Same story. They ate. He avoided. She teased. He didn't budge.
But she had a plan.
⸻
At 3:27 PM, Celeste stood outside the guest room door, wine bottle in hand.
She knocked.
"Ash?"
There was a faint pause before he answered.
"Come in."
She peeked inside. Ash was sitting cross-legged on the bed, tablet on his lap, glasses sliding down his nose. His hair was in a low bun, sleeves rolled up.
He looked soft. Tired. Beautiful.
She hated that she wanted him so badly.
"Working?"
"Just finishing some revisions."
"Perfect. Because I came to ask if you're free tonight."
He blinked at her.
"For what?"
"Movie night." She raised the bottle of wine. "In your room. Just us."
Ash stared. "We've never had movie nights alone."
"Exactly." She stepped inside. "Time for something new."
He eyed the wine. Then her. Then the door.
"Celeste."
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
"Inviting you to a wholesome, relaxing, completely platonic night in."
He didn't look convinced. "I-If it's porn, I'm kicking you out."
She giggled. "Don't worry. It's educational."
"T-That's worse."
Celeste walked up to him and plucked his glasses off his face gently, setting them beside the bed.
"Then behave yourself," she said softly, "or I'll stop pretending this is just about movies."
Ash looked up at her.
His hands were clenched on the comforter.
"You're trouble."
"And yet… you keep letting me in."
⸻