“It’s that one,” I hissed back, my patience thinning. I gestured for her to move. She was standing frozen in the hallway like her feet were glued to the expensive flooring.
“You go first,” she shot back instantly.
“Fine,” I said, louder than I meant to. The next voice that cut through the house confirmed it.
“Wow.” Austin’s voice was paired with the sound of his footsteps. A second later, he rounded the corner, a grin stretched across his face. “You give two girls a place to sleep and they thank you by sneaking out in the morning. I didn’t think you had it in you, Yellow.”
“Yellow?” Cherry echoed, looking at me for answers. I didn’t have any, so I lifted my hands in a helpless shrug.
“How are you feeling?” Levi asked as he stepped into the room, his attention fixed solely on Cherry.
“Um,” Cherry glanced at me with an expression I knew well. She was into him. “Like I need a shower and my own bed for the next eight hours.”
“Fair,” Levi smiled, clearly relieved that she was okay.
“Before you escape, Yellow,” Austin cut in, pulling my attention away from my mental commentary on Levi and Cherry. “Come talk to me.”
He nodded toward the end of the hall and walked off like it was already settled. I hesitated, but ultimately followed, not rushing, not hesitating. The morning light at the window softened the sharp angles of the house, turning everything pale and quiet. He stopped there, half-turned toward me, close enough that I could feel his presence without it pressing in.
“What?” I asked.
“Give me your number.” Direct. No buildup. No charm layered over it. I respected that.
I crossed my arms loosely. “You’re not subtle.”
“I don’t pretend to be.”
“People usually warm up first,” I said. “Small talk. Context.”
“I already have context,” he replied.
I studied him for a second. He looked different in the daylight. Less dangerous, maybe. Or just more honest about what he was. The hoodie was pulled up, hiding the tattoo that had drawn my eye the first night, but the intensity was still there. Unfiltered.
“Why do you keep calling me Yellow?” I asked.
His mouth curved like he’d been waiting for me to ask again. “Because it fits.” He stepped closer. Not enough to crowd me. Enough to be deliberate. “The dress,” he said, and this time he didn’t just gesture. His fingers brushed the fabric at my hip, slow and unapologetic. The contact sent a quiet awareness through me, not shock, not nerves. Awareness. “The color. The way you carry yourself. You don’t shrink when things get ugly.”
I didn’t step back. “You’re confident for someone who met me under questionable circumstances,” I said.
“I’m confident because I watched you,” he replied. “You didn’t panic. You didn’t freeze.” His fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary against the pocket of my dress before he dropped his hand. “Yellow’s my favorite color,” he added.
“It’s not mine,” I said easily.
That made his attention sharpen. “What is?”
“I thought you said you were good at reading people,” I said, reminding him of his words from last night. “Shouldn’t you already know?”
He smiled at that, but it wasn’t smug. It was curious.“I need more than one night,” he said. “People edit themselves too early.”
“I wasn’t editing,” I said.
“I know,” he said immediately. The certainty in it landed heavier than anything else he’d said.
“So,” I continued, “why do you care what color I like?”
“Because last night mattered,” he said. “It made me curious.”
“That doesn’t mean you know me,” I replied. “It was one night.”
