The fluorescent light hummed above the small bathroom, cold and bluish-white, clinical. But Rose wasn't.
She gripped the edges of the washbasin as if the porcelain was the only thing keeping her anchored.
Her breathing came short, fast—too fast. Her chest rose and fell, her collarbones glistening slightly under the flickering light, skin flushed, pupils blown wide.
Her reflection stared back, lips slightly parted, strands of hair stuck to her temples. She looked… undone.
What was that?
Was that real?
"I'm not gay," she said out loud. But her voice cracked on the last word.
"Right?" she whispered, eyes searching her reflection as though it would answer.
As heat throbbed low in her stomach. Her thighs clenched without her consent. And then, her breath hitched again—not from now, but from then.
Carl's fingers trailed lightly over Rose's thigh—slow, tentative, then surer when Rose didn't flinch.
The bed creaked gently beneath them. A shared warmth had bloomed the moment Carl whispered:
"Want to try the kiss?"
Rose's mouth didn't move, but her silence was answer enough. Carl leaned in, breath warm against her cheek, her lips just ghosting over Rose's before stopping.
"Tell me to stop if you want me to," Carl murmured.
Rose didn't.
Her hands had somehow found Carl's waist, trembling fingers clinging to her shirt like a lifeline.
And when their lips finally met—soft, cautious—it wasn't innocent. It was exploration. Permission. Fire.
The kiss deepened quickly, mouths parting, tongues brushing with hesitant hunger.
Carl moaned softly into Rose, hands gliding up under her shirt, fingertips dancing along bare skin, until—
Rose gasped when Carl's hand cupped her breast.
The warmth, the pressure, the careful squeeze that turned gentle to greedy.
Rose arched slightly into her touch, her body betraying everything her mouth couldn't say.
Then Carl leaned down, pushing her shirt up, exposing one taut nipple—and kissed it.
No, sucked.
Rose's head fell back.
Her lips parted in a silent cry as Carl's tongue swirled, lips tugged, teeth lightly grazing. Her fingers tangled in Carl's hair, unsure whether to pull her closer or push her away.
"You taste like warmth," Carl whispered against her chest, voice hoarse.
Rose whimpered, her hips shifting against Carl's thigh, desperate for contact.
The air between them felt electric, thick with need and confusion and something darker—desire untethered from logic.
Carl moved lower, fingers sliding under Rose's waistband, exploring slowly, deliberately. Rose squirmed beneath her, breath ragged, and when Carl kissed down her stomach, she whispered—
"Carl…"
Carl looked up. "Do you want this?"
Rose couldn't speak. She nodded instead.
Their bodies tangled, thighs pressing, heat pulsing. Rose found herself grinding gently against Carl's bare skin, the friction maddening.
Her body sang, every nerve awake and screaming. She could feel Carl's wetness against her own, that slick rhythm they moved into, that almost-scissoring friction of flesh on flesh—
Rose cried out, softly, her back arching, eyes squeezing shut.
And then—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Reality kicked in.
"Why am I a little disappointed it didn't happen, disappointed why she didn't squeeze me more or grind me harder... fuck."
"What if those things really happened? Would I have loved to do that to a girl? How would she taste?" she questioned.
Carl opened the door. "Hello?"
Nobody.
Just the hallway.
She turned back slowly. "Rose... have you kissed a girl before?"
Rose's pulse roared in her ears. "Have you?" she whispered, staring.
Carl moved to sit beside her again, eyes never leaving hers. "Have you thought about it? Being gay?"
Rose stared at her lips.
Her voice barely came out. "I... I don't know."
"Wanna try?" Carl asked, a hint of a smile on her face.
Rose didn't answer. She didn't need to.
Then—the second knock. Louder. Real. This time a voice followed.
"Hey!" a voice barked—female. Stern. Military.
Carl tossed on her clothes in a rush, breath still heavy.
"Just a second!"
Rose sat frozen, shirt half-off, heart pounding in her ears.
Carl opened the door.
A female soldier stood there. "I knocked since. You girls deaf?"
"No ma, I—" Carl began.
"Forget that," the soldier cut in. "There's a girl that just arrived. She's staying the night. Accommodate her."
The soldier turned without waiting for more excuses, and behind her came a girl—maybe younger than them, quiet, hugging a small bag.
"Hi. Sorry for the stress. I'll be out tomorrow," she said softly.
Rose muttered a barely audible "hi," too dazed to meet her eyes.
Carl recovered first. "No stress. Be comfortable, okay?"
The girl climbed into her bunk without another word. Carl walked past Rose, not meeting her gaze.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," she whispered. "Just be comfortable, okay?"
Then she turned, laid in the other bed, and faced the wall.
Rose stayed awake. Her skin still buzzed with the phantom of Carl's touch.
Now, back in the bathroom, Rose trembled.
"What was that?" she whispered. "Why… why do I wish it didn't stop? Why am I disappointed she didn't—"
She clutched the basin tighter. "Why didn't she press harder? Why didn't she…"
"Grind me…"
"Fuck…"
Tears stung her eyes—not of sadness, not even of shame, but something tangled and raw and buried deep. Her knees gave slightly and she stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the sink.
Her reflection stared back again, skin flushed, lips still trembling.
"What if those things reallyhappened?" she whispered.
"What if I wanted them to?"
"What if I wanted to do more?"
"Maybe that was for the best"
As Rose reached for the bathroom door, a strange sensation suddenly gripped her chest.
It was like a pull, subtle yet strong, something deep inside her, as if her heart was being tugged in an unexpected direction.
She stopped, her hand still on the doorknob, and closed her eyes for a moment.
The feeling grew, a strange weight pressing on her, making her breath catch. It wasn't painful, but it was unsettling—like the calm before a storm, but in her chest.
Her legs felt suddenly unsteady. She stepped back, but the pull kept her there, as if something inside her was urging her to stay, to listen, to feel.
The floor beneath her seemed to waver, and her knees buckled slightly. She stumbled, barely catching herself against the sink.
Her heart pounded in her ears, her fingers gripping the edge of the basin to steady herself.
"Why…" she whispered to the emptiness of the room, a question she didn't have the answer to.
She blinked, trying to clear her head, but the feeling persisted—soft, but persistent.
She didn't know how to explain it, but in that moment, it felt like something inside her was shifting, maybe for the first time. Something unspoken, something she wasn't ready to face.
Taking a deep breath, she turned toward the mirror, her reflection staring back at her. She looked like herself, but… not quite.
The pull remained, gentle but there, as if inviting her to acknowledge something she didn't fully understand yet.
"What's this?"