“And the night I fell…” His voice lowers. “You came running out of the shrubs.”
“Yes.”
The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen sounds louder than it should.
“I was hiding there,” I admit. “But when you fell…”
His eyes lift to mine.
“I needed to make sure you were okay.”
He swallows hard.
“All of it,” he says, quieter now. “You. You were stalking me.”
“I don’t like that word,” I say. “I prefer?—”
“It doesn’t matter what you prefer,” he says quietly. “It’s still stalking.”
The word lands softer this time.
Not defensive.
Not sharp.
Just… true.
He looks like he might pass out.
“You look pale,” I say gently. “Let me get you some water.”
He doesn’t argue.
Just moves, sinking onto the couch like his legs can’t hold him anymore.
I move to the kitchen and fill a glass, giving him a moment alone to process.
When I return, he’s staring at nothing. Lost somewhere between realization and disbelief.
I hand him the glass.
He takes it.
Then pauses.
His eyes flick to mine. “You didn’t put anything in this?”
A small smirk pulls at my lips. “No, Drew. I didn’t drug your water.”
He studies me, still unsure. “Take a drink first.”
I sigh, take the glass back, and drink from it.
"See?"
He hesitates, then drinks, still watching me.
Still trying to figure me out.
