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𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎

Ammo had told herself it was just a festival crush, the kind that burned quick and hot. All tangled hair, borrowed lighters, and music vibrating through her ribs. But even back then, she knew better. She remembered the way his hands moved, the weight of his gaze like he was always trying to memorize her, the way her body leaned toward him without permission. She wanted those hands for more than a weekend. She wanted the feeling of his presence not just at night, not just in a tent, but in the slow, quiet hours of real life. And the wanting never went away.

After the festival, they never had a conversation about what came next, they just didn't separate. Days slipped into each other. Her mornings began with his coffee. Their lives wove together in threads that didn't pull or fray. And still, she made a game of it. Dared him like she always had, half laughing, half serious. It was easier that way, safer. Because if she framed her feelings like a dare, maybe they wouldn't scare her. Maybe they wouldn't scare him. But underneath the teasing, she meant every word. She wanted him to stay. She wanted more than almost.

And then, he gave it to her. Four days after one of those dares, he brought her to a quiet place above the city, where the lights blinked below them like stars that got lost. He didn't make a speech. He just offered her something real. A ring chosen with intention, held between fingers that had already memorized the shape of her. It wasn't about romance in the traditional sense, it was about certainty. The kind that settled deep in the chest and didn't need noise to feel loud. That was when she knew it hadn't been a crush. It had always been more. And now it had become everything.