"So you're pushing me away to protect yourself."
"I'm pushing you away to protect both of us."
"I don't need protection."
"Everyone needs protection. You just don't know it yet."
He was quiet for a long moment. The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything we weren't saying. I could hear my own heartbeat, too fast, too loud. Could still feel the phantom warmth of his arms.
"I don't care what Twilson thinks," James said finally. "I don't care what anyone thinks. If being around you makes me a target, then fine. I'll be a target. That's my choice to make, not yours."
"You don't know what you're choosing."
"Then tell me."
I shook my head. Felt the burn behind my eyes intensify, the pressure building in my throat. "I can't."
"Lumi—"
"You don't get to follow me every time something breaks." The words came out sharp, edged with panic. "You don't get to show up and hold me and make me feel—" I stopped, choking on the words. Safe. Right. Home. "I didn't ask for this. I don't want it."
Lie. Such a lie. My whole body was a lie right now, tense and aching and reaching for him even as I pushed him away. I could still smell him on my clothes, could still feel the imprint of his hands.
James didn't flinch this time. He just watched me, calm and steady, like he could see through every wall I was trying to build.
"You're scared," he said.
"I'm not—"
"You are. And that's okay. I'm scared too."
That stopped me. "Of what?"
"Of how much I want to be here." He smiled, but it was small, almost rueful. "I've known you for a week. And I can't stop thinking about you. Can't stop looking for you in every room I walk into. Can't stop wondering what you're doing, if you're okay, if you're eating enough, if you're sleeping." He shook his head. "That's not normal. I know it's not normal. But I don't know how to make it stop, and I'm not sure I want to."
The hum gentled. Softened. Became something almost tender, curling around my ribs like it belonged there.
"James." My voice cracked. "Please don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't make this harder than it already is."
He looked at me for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly and stood up.
I felt the loss immediately—the cold rushing in where his warmth had been, the hum keening at the sudden distance. My hands twitched toward him before I caught myself. My body remembered being held, and it wanted that back. It wantedhimback.
"Okay," he said quietly. "I'll go."
He wasn't angry. That was the worst part. He wasn't hurt or resentful or any of the things that would've made this easier. He was just... accepting. Honoring what I'd asked for, even though we both knew it wasn't what I wanted.
"James—"
"You know where to find me." He took a step back. Then another. "When you're ready. If you're ever ready. I'll be there."
He turned and walked away.
I watched him go. Watched him disappear around the corner of the shed, footsteps crunching on frozen grass until the sound faded into silence.
