He made me promise that things wouldn’t become awkward between us after last night, but everything seems different now. There’s a strange tension hanging between us, a reminder of the uncharted territory we crossed. I can’t tell if it’s the weight ofwhat we did or just the gravitational pull of Jace himself, but this suddenly feels more tangled than a conspiracy theory board.
I want to bridge the gap and break the awkwardness with a joke or a sharp remark, but the words are stuck in my throat.
He shifts, creating a careful inch of space between us, but it seems louder than it should, leaving an echo that reverberates through the silence. I pull the blanket up a little higher around my chest—a flimsy barrier against the cold reality seeping in.
The trailer appears different in daylight, with every corner now sharp and unforgiving.
He rubs a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away whatever is going on in that head of his. He clears his throat, the sound awkwardly loud in the stillness.
“We should probably…” he trails off, the unfinished sentence heavy with implications.
Probably what?
Get dressed.
Pretend.
Reset.
I push myself up onto one elbow, clutching the blankets tightly around me like armor. His eyes purposefully avoid mine, fixed on some distant point, as if lost in thoughts he won’t share. Without looking, he reaches for his jeans on the floor, a lifeline to the normalcy he’s searching for.
The distance between us isn’t just physical anymore. It’s an invisible chasm, widening with each second, filled with unspoken words and unvoiced truths. It forms like a storm on the horizon, threatening to break and wash everything away.
Last night, he made me promise it wouldn’t become awkward, his words smooth and convincing. But now, the morning light reveals the truth. He’s distant, avoiding my eyes, and the silence only grows heavier. It’s as if he’s already packed up and left, leaving only the weight of what’s unsaid.
“What’s wrong?” I finally ask, because I can’t stand the silence any longer, pulling tighter with every passing second.
He doesn’t look at me.
“Nothing.”
It’s flat. Automatic. The same dead tone he uses when someone pisses him off and he acts like they don’t fucking exist.
“Don’t do that,” I say softly, my voice barely staying steady.
“Do what?”
“That.” I gesture at the way he’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his back half turned to me, jeans clutched in his hand like they’re some kind of shield. “Whatever the fuck this is.”
The air is thick and suffocating. Last night still clings to my skin—the heat, the way he’d pulled me close, whispered shit that made me believe him. And now he won’t even meet my eyes. Like I’m something he needs to shake off. Some mistake he’s already regretting. The silence screams louder than anything he could say, and I hate that I can feel him slipping away, already halfway out the door before he’s even put his pants on.
He lets out a slow breath through his nose, as if I’m testing his patience.
“It’s morning, Bells. That’s all.”
“Yeah... That’s all?” I repeat, my voice sharper than I intended.
He shrugs, finally pulling on his jeans and standing to slide them over his hips. He doesn’t rush, but he avoids eye contact. Every move is deliberate, as if he’s already practiced this exit a hundred times.
“Last night was...” He runs a hand through his hair, and I watch the muscles in his back shift under his skin. “It was what it was.”
Something sharp lodges in my chest, twisting deeper with each word.
He glances at me then, and there’s something flickering behind his eyes. Not indifference. Not exactly. Somethingtighter. Controlled. He’s holding back whatever the fuck he’s actually feeling and serving me this watered-down bullshit instead.
“I just don’t want you to think this means something when it clearly doesn’t.”
There it is. The familiar script, delivered with that practiced ease. The resident fuckboy reclaiming his territory, drawing lines in the sand. And now here we are—him buttoning up his armor while I’m left sitting here, blankets tangled around me, feeling like I’m the punchline to a joke I should’ve seen coming.
