Still no comment.
Still no questions.
Which is… strange.
Good strange.
My brain doesn’t trust it.
I swallow.
“I…” My words tangle. “This was probably a bad idea.”
His brows lift slightly. “The shower?”
I blink, then a laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. It’s sharp and surprised, and it makes my chest ache.
“The everything,” I say.
He holds my gaze, expression unreadable, but his voice stays steady. “You’re safe here.”
The words hit me like a hand on my back, firm and warm.
Safe.
I hate how badly I want to believe him.
I shift my weight, suddenly too aware of the towel, the damp hair, the fact that I’m standing in his bedroom like I belong here.
I do not belong here.
I have never belonged anywhere.
That thought is a blade.
My eyes flick to the bed, the dark blankets, the neat corners.
“You made the bed,” I say stupidly, because my brain is trying to grab onto anything that isn’t how my pulse is sprinting.
He glances at the bed like it personally offended him. “I did.”
I bite my lip.
His gaze drops to my mouth again. Quick. Gone.
My skin warms.
I tell myself it’s just leftover shower heat.
Then there’s a blur of movement.
A soft thud.
A snort.
And Nugget barrels into the room like he owns it, tail wagging so hard his whole back end wiggles.
“Oh,” I say, startled.
