The realization sits heavy and undeniable in my chest, and for a moment, I just stay there.
Curled in his bed.
Breathing him in like I’ve been starving for it.
Because maybe I have.
Maybe I’ve been running for so long, building something new, convincing myself I was fine—that I didn’t need Benji anymore—that I forgot what it felt like to just stop.
To feel.
To belong somewhere.
Here.
With him.
I bury my face in the pillow again, shameless about it now, inhaling deeply like I can store it up for later.
For when I leave.
Because I am leaving.
That’s the plan.
That’s always been the plan.
Right?
The soft creak of the door opening snaps me out of it.
I bolt upright.
My heart jumps into my throat as I spin toward the sound—and there he is.
Benji.
Standing in the doorway like something out of a dream I shouldn’t be having.
And then he freezes.
His gaze locks on me.
And I suddenly become very, very aware of what I’m wearing.
A black tank top.
And purple cotton panties.
That’s it.
But I don’t move to cover myself.
Don’t grab the sheet.
Don’t hide.
Because something in me refuses to.
