Bash’s need to play the hero and his tendency to always put others first made the plan feel foolproof in my mind.
Save the day.
Get the guy.
Only now he’s pulled away again. He’s wrapped himself up tight and surrounded himself with his friends, all the while refusing to be alone with me.
Once again, I’m the outsider.
After everyone crashed last night, I ended up at his bedroom door, knocking and calling for him. Even without hearing the rustle of blankets, I sensed him there.
My heart felt his presence, but he never came.
Minutes dragged on, and after an embarrassing amount of time, I slunk back to my dark, lonely bed in that tiny windowless room.
The razor sat on the bathroom sink, whispering my name. My sweating palms shook as I fought the urge to carve away some of this suffocating loneliness.
But I promised him I wouldn’t, and the thread holding us together is fraying thin as it is. One wrong move, and I’m terrified it’ll snap.
The smell of my armor turns my stomach as I secure the clasps, and as I slide my gloves over my hands, a soft knock sounds at the door.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m ready,” I mutter.
The door swings open, and I expect Ego, but Bash steps inside instead.
“Hey,” he says cautiously, eyes tracing up my frame. “It’s weird seeing you in the uniform.”
“Weirder to wear it.”
He nods, gripping the back of his neck. “Yeah, probably.”
Awkward silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable in a way it never used to be.
“Xeni—” he starts, just as I say, “Listen,” and we both fall quiet.
“You go,” I say.
He glances into the bathroom. “I should’ve checked on you last night.”
My gaze follows his to the razor on the sink’s edge, and when I look back at him, there’s a silent question in his eyes.
“I didn’t,” I say softly. “I promised you I wouldn’t, so I didn’t.”
He releases a shaky exhale. “Did you want to?”
My shoulder lifts in a helpless shrug, but I give him the honesty he asked for as I nod. “Yes.”
He nods too, but it feels forced. His arms cross high over his chest as his face tightens, lips pulling into a tense line and a muscle ticking in his cheek.
Silence lingers again until he blurts, “Don’t do this for me. Don’t put yourself in danger trying to prove something. You don’t have to, Xen. You don’t need to play martyr to remind me you’re not the enemy. I know you’re not.”
“Maybe,” I concede. “Maybe you know that, or maybe you just want to believe it. But I know you, Bash, and I know what actions mean to you.”
I take a cautious step forward, and he doesn’t back away as I rest my hand on his chest. “There’s a long way between ‘not the enemy’ and…”
“And?” he prompts when I trail off.
“And someone you used to love.”
