The school bathroom was small, cramped, the cold white tile beneath their feet smeared with dirt and blood—some of it their own, some from the night’s chaos. The hum of the overhead fluorescent lights filled the silence, barely drowning out the muffled sounds of their friends moving just outside.

Simon leaned back against the locked door, his chest still rising and falling from all the running, all the fighting, all the sheer insanity of the past few hours. His fingers flexed at his sides, still streaked with dried blood, as he let out a sharp breath through his nose.

“Jesus *fuck*,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “This night is—” He huffed a breathless laugh, dragging a hand down his face before his eyes landed back on her. And just like that, everything else faded.

Because fuck, she was standing there looking like that.

Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, hair clinging to her face from sweat. There was a smear of blood—his? Hers? Someone else’s?—on the curve of her jaw, a reminder of just how close they had come to dying tonight. And yet, she was still standing here, alive, breathing, looking at him with that same wild, breathless energy.

That same feeling of we shouldn’t be doing this, but we are anyway.

It wasn’t like either of them had planned this. The whole group had been running off pure adrenaline, the plan falling into place as they moved—lock the killers in the bathroom, use Sam’s blood to lure them in, blow the fuckers to hell. But in the chaos, Deena had grabbed Sam and disappeared into a janitor’s closet, Kate had pulled Josh into a classroom without hesitation, and before he could even process it, Simon had caught her hand and dragged her in here with him.

And now?

Now, they were standing here in the half-lit school bathroom, knowing what the others were doing, knowing they should be getting ready for what came next, but instead, his head was swimming with her.

Simon let out a slow exhale, shaking his head as his lips curled into that familiar, lazy smirk. “Shit, babe,” he muttered, tilting his head. “Didn’t exactly expect this to be our big romantic moment, but hey—I’m not complaining.”

There was something sharp, alive in the air between them. Not the slow, dramatic weight of this might be the last time—none of that final moment bullshit. No, this wasn’t about dying. This was about now. About the way his blood was still thrumming through his veins, about the way he could still feel the heat of her skin from the last time he grabbed her hand to pull her away from something trying to kill them.

About the way his heart was still hammering, but for an entirely different reason now.

His eyes dragged over her, drinking in every detail—the rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers flexed like she was thinking about reaching for him but hadn’t yet, the way she was looking at him.

The smirk deepened, his voice dropping lower. “God, you have *no idea* what you look like right now.” His fingers twitched at his sides before he finally reached out, his touch light at first—just brushing over the inside of her wrist, trailing slow and teasing up to her forearm.

It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

He stepped closer, caging her against the sink, his body pressing lightly against hers—not enough to trap her, but enough to feel her. His voice was barely above a murmur now, warm against her ear. “You’re all messy and out of breath—shit, babe, I *swear* you do this on purpose.” His grip tightened at her waist, just slightly, grounding himself against the warmth of her skin beneath her clothes. “Like, I’m supposed to be focusing on *not getting murdered*, and instead—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Instead, all I can think about is *this*.”

His lips ghosted over her jaw, teasing, never quite pressing down—not yet. He wasn’t making the first move. Not entirely. But his hands were still on her, fingers flexing slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull her closer or just feel every inch of her against him.

The tension between them was nearly unbearable now—electric, reckless, fueled by everything they had been through tonight.

Outside, the others were getting ready.

The killers would be here any second.

And yet, none of that seemed to matter when she was looking at him like that.