“Aurora…?” his voice came out rough, like gravel.
I froze. My fingers were still clutching the blanket near his neck.
He blinked up at me, and when he realised what I was doing, trying to cover him, he sat up quickly, catching the edge of the blanket before it could fall again.
“Hey,” he whispered, almost panicked, “stop—”
“S-stop,” I choked out before he could.
My voice cracked on the word, the stutter clawing its way out of my throat.
“S-stop—please.”
The last word barely made it out.
My vision blurred, breath coming out shaky and small.
He just stared at me, eyes wide, like I’d hit him harder than any of the punches from last night.
I hated the way he looked at me. Like he was sorry. Like he cared. Because that’s the problem, isn’t it?
He does care.
Sometimes.
And then he doesn’t.
And it’s breaking me in ways I can’t explain.
I could feel him move closer, just barely, but he didn’t touch me.
His eyes softened immediately. There was no coldness there, no sharp edge, no control. Just… guilt.
He ran a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. “I didn’t mean it,” he said quietly, voice almost hoarse. “I swear to God, Aurora, I didn’t.”
I froze, my breath catching.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed as if the weight of the words hurt to hold. “That day on the field—I wasn’t aiming for you. I wasn’t trying to hit you. I just…” He stopped, jaw tightening, trying to find the words. “I wanted your attention.”
My heart twisted.
He let out a humourless laugh, one that cracked halfway through. “You were right there, but you weren’t looking at me. You were looking at them. Jennie, Alex… anyone but me. And I—” he broke off again, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. “I just wanted to be in your line of sight. To have you see me the way I’ve been seeing you since day one.”
I didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
His voice was low now, shaking as if he were forcing every word through his teeth.
“I didn’t mean to hit you, Aurora. I swear I didn’t. When it hit your arm, when you—” he stopped again, shaking his head. “I froze. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to run to you, but I couldn’t move. Because I knew what you’d think of me. I knew I’d just given you the perfect reason to hate me.”
He looked up finally. Eyes red, rimmed with exhaustion. “And you should. You should hate me. I keep trying to stop myself, to not want to be near you, but I don’t know how. Every time I try, I end up doing something worse. I didn’t know how to ask for it without ruining it. Without losing you.”
He laughed again, quiet and broken. “Didn’t even know how not to get attached.”
The room was too quiet.
My throat hurt.
