I change into a black dress, the silk hugging my body, and brushing the floor. It's beautiful. I'll admit that Aaron's mom has good taste in clothing.

"Come on," I whisper to myself, eventually frustrated that I can't reach the zipper. I'm too proud to ask Aaron for help⁠—we haven't talked since last night, and I don't want to start now.

And just as I think that, I see him coming out of the bathroom, wet-haired, and shirtless. We make eye contact through the mirror, a smirk forming on his face when he sees me struggling.

"Need a hand?" he asks. I don't answer, but he still comes up behind me.

"What're you..." Our eyes lock in the mirror again, his hand tracing down my lower back.

"Allow me." He slowly drags the zipper up my spine, my eyes unable to leave the mirror as I watch his concentrated expression. Furrowed brows, a stray strand of hair, pink lips...

When he looks at me again, he holds me by the sides, tracing my frame, and pulling me closer. My breath hitches at the change in proximity.

And when he brings his face to my ear, whispering, "You know me better than anyone," my resolve starts to crumble.