Not just sex because it has been way too long since I’d had that. But real connection. Being the one he reached for. Being the one he wrote about. Being the place his ache landed.
I hated how much that mattered to me.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stood up and crossed back to his door. I told myself I was just going to check on him again. That was all. The door was still open from the last time I crept in.
He hadn’t moved. Still curled on his side. Still small in a way he never was when he was awake. Awake, he held himself tight. All sharp angles and restraint. Like if he let go, something vital might spill out.
Asleep, there was none of that. Just weight. Heat. A body allowed to rest without bracing for impact. The journal-shaped space under his arm empty now.
I stepped closer.
Too close.
Close enough that I could hear the small, uneven hitch in his breathing when he shifted. Close enough to see the faint crease between his brows even in sleep, like he never fully rested. Close enough that his sweet honey and lavender scent called to me.
My own breath tried to match it before I could stop myself. My shoulders tensed, muscles coiling like they were preparing tohold him again. I had to consciously still them, remind my body we weren’t doing that anymore.
It would be so easy to wake him. The thought arrived fully formed. Just my name on his lips. Just to hear his voice as it gave out to pleasure. Just to see him look at me as he came.
I imagined it—him slowly blinking awake, confused, then soft when he saw me. The way his mouth would part. The way he’d lean into me without thinking.
My body responded to that image before I could stop it. Heat. Want. Need pulsed through my body drawing me closer to him. So close I could almost touch him. Feel the heat of his sleep warmed skin on my fingertips.
This wasn’t right. Because if he woke up and reached for me, it wouldn’t be desire guiding him. It would be need. And I would let him give it to me anyway. My teeth sunk into my lips as I froze, hand outstretched. Horrified. Not because I wanted him. But because I wanted to be what he needed. And those are not the same thing.
My hand hovered in the air between us. I dropped it like I’d been burned.
No…
No, no, no.
This was how people crossed lines without noticing.
This was how they told themselves stories about comfort and care and closeness and woke up one day having destroyed something fragile.
I took a step back.
Then another.
My chest felt tight, like I was holding in something poisonous. “I’m sorry,” I whispered—not to him, exactly. To the part of myself that wanted this.
I turned and left his room like I was escaping a fire, dropping his journal as I ran. I didn’t go back to bed. The thought ofsleeping was impossible now, my skin itching as if it crawled with fire ants. The buzzing in my head grew louder with every second that passed.
I went outside without a second thought. Found myself heading towards the cliffs like I’d seen Elliot do so many times before. The night air hit my face, and I sucked it in like oxygen. My hands were shaking. My jaw hurt from how tightly I was holding it clenched.
I sat on one of the old swing seats and stared at the sky until my pulse slowed. Amazed that it still held my weight, I drowned in what ifs until I felt sick.
The air grew colder. Dew settled into the grass. Somewhere behind the cliffs, the sky thinned from black to deep blue. I stayed until my jaw unclenched and my hands stopped shaking, until the night gave way whether I was ready or not.
This would happen again. That was the part I couldn’t ignore. I could run tonight. I could be good tonight. But he wasn’t going to stop needing me. And I wasn’t going to stop wanting to be needed.
That was the real danger.
Not that we would kiss.
That we would mean it.
I woke before Elliot did.That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the way I lay there afterward, not moving, not breathing too loud, not letting myself touch him again.
