It didn't happen all at once.

Jessica didn't kiss her under the rain. There was no fireworks moment. No music swelling.

Just... her fingers on Molly's. And a quiet, aching silence that felt like maybe, maybe, they were standing at the edge of something real.

They started walking home together again.

Sometimes Jessica would pretend she had something to do at the store, and Molly would pretend she wasn't waiting outside with an extra coffee.

Sometimes Jessica would slip a sarcastic comment into conversation - "Still think you're better than me?" - and Molly would smile, finally understanding the tone behind it.

Sometimes they'd just walk in silence, the kind that didn't need to be filled.

It wasn't like before.

It was gentler now. Slower.

Like holding a bird with a broken wing and not wanting to make it fly too soon.

Jessica was sitting cross-legged on Molly's bed, a textbook open on her lap, reading aloud with her usual clipped intensity.

Molly sat across from her, knees drawn up, nodding - but not really listening.

She was watching Jessica's lips.

"...and that's why Dostoevsky's portrayal of guilt isn't just internal - it becomes social, political, even spiritual," Jessica finished, glancing up. "You're not even listening."

"I'm listening," Molly lied.

Jessica smirked. "Then what did I just say?"

"That you're sexy when you analyse Russian literature?"

Jessica's eyes widened.

Molly immediately looked horrified. "Oh my God, I didn't mean to say that out loud - "

But Jessica just laughed. Full-on, head-thrown-back laughing. "Jesus Christ, are you trying to seduce me with existentialism?"

Molly grinned, heart racing. "Is it working?"

Jessica tilted her head. "Maybe."

Pause.

"Come here," she said softly.

They kissed.

Not the charged, angry kisses from months ago. Not the guilty, breathless ones stolen in dark corners.

This was warm. Sweet.

Their lips moved like they remembered. Like muscle memory. Like home.

Molly's fingers tangled in Jessica's curls. Jessica pulled her closer by the waist.

Their breaths were heavy. Their bodies warm.

They fell back against the mattress.

And when it happened -

It was slow. Careful. Tender in a way neither of them expected.

Jessica undressed first, guiding Molly's hand over her stomach, her ribs, her heart.

"You sure?" she whispered; eyes unreadable.

Molly nodded. "Yes."

Molly was trembling. Not from fear - just the weight of it all. How much she'd wanted this. How scared she was to ruin it.

Jessica kissed her like she could feel that.

There was laughter between kisses. Molly's necklace getting tangled in Jessica's hair. A whispered "ow" when someone's elbow hit the nightstand. Nervous giggles. Breathless gasps.

And then silence.

Nothing but skin on skin. Trust rebuilt one touch at a time.

When it was over, they lay tangled in sheets and each other.

Jessica stroked Molly's hair. "Still scared?"

Molly nodded. "Always."

Jessica kissed her forehead. "Me too."

But neither of them pulled away.

They lay side by side, staring at the ceiling.

Molly whispered, "You're not a secret anymore."

Jessica turned to her. "What?"

"I'm not hiding this. Us. Not again."

Jessica's throat tightened.

Molly rolled to face her, hand resting over Jessica's chest. "I'm going to ask you something. And I'm going to do it right."

Jessica smirked. "Like... right now?"

Molly shook her head, a glint in her eyes. "No. I need backup. Just wait."

Jessica raised an eyebrow. "Backup?"

"You'll see."