They stood in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner, her still barefoot, his hoodie swallowing her frame.
She was humming something soft. A tune she didn't realize until he stopped what he was doing and just… looked at her.
"What?" she asked.
Beckett shook his head slowly. "You're dangerous like that."
"Like what?"
"Like someone I could fall for without even trying."
Her smile faded.
"You already have," she said, barely above a whisper.
The air changed.
He stepped toward her.
"I shouldn't," he murmured.
"You already have," she said again.
He reached for her face - thumb brushing her jaw, fingers tangling in her hair like he'd dreamed of this and hated himself for it.
Their eyes locked.
And then it happened.
The kiss wasn't sweet.
It was starving.
His mouth crushed hers, all heat and hunger, his hands gripping her hips as she pressed against him like she'd been waiting years.
He tasted like fire and regret and promises they couldn't keep.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and wrecked, he whispered against her lips:
"This changes everything."
And she whispered back:
"I know."
But neither of them pulled away.
Because it was already too late.