She takes a step forward, cautious. “Here,” she says, reaching for a bottle of water on the counter. “Start there.”
I take it without thinking—then shove it back onto the counter harder than I mean to. The sound echoes, sharp and final. She startles. It’s the smallest flinch, barely there, but it cuts through the noise in my head like a blade.
“I didn’t mean—” The words stick in my throat. I force them out anyway. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
Silence stretches between us, taut and fragile. Her breathing is steady; mine isn’t. I can still hear the crowd in my ears, the jeers, the commentators dissecting every inch of me like I’m a product, not a person.
Sage’s voice is quiet when it comes. “You can’t just storm in here and take it out on me.”
“I’m not,” I start, but it’s a lie, and we both know it. My chest tightens, words scraping raw as I say the only thing that feels true. “You’re the only thing keeping me together right now.”
Her eyes widen, and for the first time all night, she doesn’t have a comeback.
The admission hangs between us, too heavy to take back.
Sage’s breath catches, barely audible. Her arms drop to her sides, fingers curling slightly — like she’s not sure whether to reach for me or run. The air in the apartment feels charged, the kind of stillness right before a storm breaks.
“I didn’t ask to be that,” she says finally, her voice tight but trembling underneath. “I’m not here to hold you together, Leo.”
“I know.” I drag a hand down my face, frustration burning through me. “I know, but—” I stop, because what the hell am I even trying to say? That she’s the only quiet I have left? That I keep coming back because she’s the only place I don’t feel like I’m drowning?
She crosses her arms again, chin lifting. “Then stop acting like it.”
The words sting more than they should. I look at her — really look — and realize she’s shaking. Just slightly, but enough to make something twist in my chest.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I say quietly.
“Then stop breaking things that aren’t yours.” Her voice cracks mid-sentence, and I see the shine in her eyes before she turns away.
I take a step closer. “Sage?—”
“Don’t,” she snaps, spinning back to face me. “Don’t say my name like that. You can’t come in here, angry at the world, and expect me to absorb it for you.”
Her words hit dead center, cutting through the last thread of restraint I’ve been holding on to. I close the distance without thinking, until I can see the rise and fall of her chest, the pulse at her throat. “You think I want to be like this?” I ask, voice low, raw. “You think I don’t hate it every second it happens?”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t back down. “Then what do you want, Leo?”
The question lands hard — too honest, too close. I don’t know the answer. Not really. All I know is that every nerve in my body is stretched thin, and she’s the only thing tethering me to something real.
I reach out, my fingers brushing her jaw before I can stop myself. She freezes, eyes wide. For one suspended moment, neither of us breathes.
“I just—” The words catch, half-confession, half-plea. “I can’t shut it off.”
Her lips part like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out. The silence between us hums with everything we’ve been pretending not to feel.
Something in the air snaps.
The space between us disappears in an instant — I don’t even know who moves first. Her breath hits my chin, quick and shallow, and before I can think better of it, my mouth is on hers.
It isn’t soft. It’s too fast, too rough, all teeth and heat and frustration. She gasps against me, her fingers curling in my shirt like she’s about to push me away — but she doesn’t. She pulls me closer instead, and that’s all it takes to break the dam completely.
The kiss deepens, messy and desperate, all the words we couldn’t say burning through touch instead. The world narrows to the press of her body, the sound of her breath, the taste of salt and adrenaline still clinging to my lips.
Her back hits the counter. A pot clatters to the floor, but neither of us stops. I can’t. My hands trace the curve of her waist, sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, searching for something solid to hold on to. She arches against me, one hand tangling in my hair, the other gripping the counter like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
“Leo,” she breathes, half-warning, half-plea.
“I know,” I rasp, but I don’t pull away. “I know.”
