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Very close.

There have been shirts on floors.

His.

Mine.

There has been one bra hanging from his desk lamp that Noah saw before I could retrieve it.

He did not let that go for nine days.

There have been hands.

Mouths.

Breathing that makes conversation impossible.

Moments where I have discovered exactly how much self-control Kane possesses.

And moments where I have discovered mine is considerably weaker.

Still, whenever I say stop, slow down, not yet⁠—

he does.

No frustration.

No bargaining.

No wounded male performance.

He stops.

Every time.

That matters.

Enough that two weeks ago, I made an appointment at student health.

Not because Kane asked.

He didn’t.

I didn’t even tell him.

I sat through an appointment, answered questions that made me wish the floor would open, discussed contraception, side effects, effectiveness, and whether I felt safe in my relationship.

That last question caught me.

Do you feel safe with your partner?

I thought about Kane asking before touching me in the film room.

Waiting under the archway.

Stopping when I froze.

Putting on pajama pants because I was nervous.