“Just do it,” I mutter under my breath. “It’s not a big deal. You’re just… talking.”
Talking. In the middle of the night. To the man currently asleep next door. Perfectly normal behaviour.
My pulse is hammering by the time I reach his door. I hesitate, hand hovering over the handle. My mind has split into two voices: one yellingturn around nowand the other whisperingyou’ve come this far.
I take a deep breath and ease the door open. It gives a tiny creak that sounds like a gunshot in the quiet.
The room is dark, lit only by a sliver of moonlight sneaking past the curtains. I step inside, barely breathing, unsure whether I’m hoping he’s awake or praying he isn’t.
I’m about to retreat, already berating myself, when he suddenly sits up.
The sound that leaves me isn’t elegant. It’s a full, startled scream.
Aaron flinches, half tangled in the duvet. “Bloody hell, Eve!”
My heart nearly launches itself out of my chest. “You scared me!”
He is rubbing at his eyes. “You scaredme!What are you doing in here?”
I’m frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed, trying to find oxygen or dignity—ideally both. “I… I don’t know,” I manage.
Which, unfortunately, is the absolute truth.
Aaron reaches for the bedside lamp, and the room fills with soft, golden light. My breath hitches before my brain even catches up.
He’s standing now, and he’s… oh God, he’s only wearing tight boxers. Nothing is left to the imagination.
Heat rushes to my face so fast it’s a miracle I don’t burst into flames on the spot. Every sensible thought I’ve ever had is gone. My mind is just static and panic and a very firm awareness that I should absolutely not be here.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer, already taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have—”
Before I can finish fleeing, he reaches out and gently catches my wrist. The touch is light, careful. “Wait,” he says quietly. “If you go stomping off, you’ll wake Mr Pamir.”
He closes the door, turning the handle softly so it doesn’t click too loudly. The small movement feels far too intimate in the quiet.
When he turns back, his eyes find mine. There’s no irritation there, just curiosity and something else I can’t quite name.
“So,” he says, his voice low, steady. “Can I ask again? What are you doing in here?”
My mouth opens, but no words come out. My thoughts are a mess of excuses, apologies, and the sudden realisation that I’m standing in his room, in my pyjamas, talking to a half-naked man I very much like.
“I… couldn’t sleep,” I manage at last.
His mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “And that led you here?”
I nod, mortified. “Apparently.”
He studies me for a moment longer, and the silence stretches between us, heavy and fragile all at once.
My pulse is everywhere at once. The room feels too small, the air too warm. He’s still watching me, waiting,and I don’t know where to put my hands or my eyes or my thoughts.
I take a shaky breath. “Do you remember at the spa? When you asked me during truth or dare if I ever felt lonely?”
His expression softens immediately. “Yeah. I remember.”
“Well,” I whisper, staring at the floor, “I think I finally understand what lonely actually means.”
He doesn’t speak, just waits, and somehow that makes it easier to keep going.
