I can hear her soft breath as she lays beside me. We're both silent, staring at the ceiling with the lamp giving way to some light. There's so much to say, to ask, to explain, and I can't seem to find the right words.

"Wanna play a game?" She breaks the silence.

"What kinda game?"

"One where I get to ask you anything, and you have to answer." I let out a hollow laugh.

"Three questions each," I reason. I hear her turn toward me, half her face in view over the pillow barrier. The dull light somehow illuminates her features, and I can feel her staring at me. "What?" I grin, my head turning toward her.

"Do you still listen to 90's music every morning?" she asks.

"Mhm."

"Every morning?" I hum a nod. She looks so at peace right now, and it makes me feel oddly warm inside. Her eyes peer into mine, her lips sort of puckered from her face being squished into the pillow. God, I haven't tasted those jubilant lips in ages...

"And is your favourite colour still blue? The kind like the sky?" she continues.

"You wanna waste your questions on this?" I laugh. "Yes, my favourite colour is still blue. The kind like the sky." She smiles to herself, satisfied with my answers. Her eyes light up, her nose crinkling in happiness. I feel a soft smile form on my own face.

"You haven't changed..." she says while studying my features. I freeze from her statement, my face falling, and my entire body going tense. The reality is that I have changed. I've changed a lot. And I'm afraid that Ava see's me for who I was—the kind, and heartfelt boy. But I'm not that anymore, and maybe she can never accept it. Maybe it'll never be the same as before.

Her hand starts to trace down my face, her thumb stroking the underneath of my eye slowly. She then takes her finger, inching down from my forehead to my nose, stopping at my lips.

"Ava..." She puts her finger over my mouth, pulling down my bottom lip in temptation. "Ava..." I warn with more conviction. She continues to guide her finger along the outlines of my face, and I can feel my pulse start to race.

I want to tell her she shouldn't want this, that she shouldn't get herself into my mess, but I don't. I watch as she follows the finger moving along my face, and starting to trail down my neck. Before she can go further, I stop her.

"Hey," I say, grabbing her wrist. "You don't know what you're doing."

We lock eyes, and she finally asks her third, and final question. "Did you keep your promise?"