Jamie
It's too quiet.
Not the silence of the library I was just in, or the woods--those are heavy, pressing, suffocating. This silence is different. Softer. A quiet that feels like it's holding its breath. I don't know where I am, but I'm scared to open my eyes.
The second thing I notice is that I'm not in my dorm.
The sheets under me are too smooth, the mattress is way too comfortable for a dormitory bed, and the air is too clean. My dorm always smells faintly of burnt coffee and dust. This room smells like pine and something distinct, something that makes my chest loosen and tighten at the same time. The familiarity is too uncanny.
Finally, I force my eyes open. Morning light filters through half-drawn curtains, streaking across the hardwood floor. I blink against it, groggy, my head is so heavy that it feels like I drank too much, except I didn't. At least, not in the usual sense. I push myself up on my elbows, the blanket sliding off my body. My body aches, not sore from running or working out, but a deep ache, like bone deep. It's like every muscle has been stretched too far. For a moment, I just sit there, catching my breath, trying to piece together the wipe from my memory.
I was in the library. It was too loud, too fucking much. My reflection. The flash of gold in my eyes. Adrian was there. His voice. That mesmerising sound that sends me to a place where I become obsessed. The car. The heat tearing me apart. I felt my bones break. I felt the snaps.
And then... darkness.
I look around the room, and realisation hits me. I'm in his house.
No... in his room.
This makes my throat tighten.
I glance around. The space is near, almost plain, but there are details I can't stop staring at. A heavy wooden desk in a corner, stacks of paper aligned with precision. A framed photo of Adrain on a tracked podium, medal around his neck, flanked by teammates.
He's not smiling, not really, but there's something in his eyes...focus, pride.
Another photo sits on the dresser, smaller, more personal. Him and a girl. His sister, I think. She's laughing, tugging at his arm, and he's looking at her like she's the only thing in the frame. My chest twists at that one.
There are books, too. Not just athletic trophies and plaques, though there are plenty of those lined along the shelf. The books are worn, spines cracked: philosophy, history, even poetry. For some reason, that unsettles me more than the trophies.
It's too personal. Too human. Too much of him.
I sink back against the pillows, dragging a hand over my face.
What am I doing here?
The memory sharpens, the way my body was splitting in two, heat crawling under my skin, nails too sharp. Adrian's hand was steady on my arm, his voice pulling me back when everything else slipped away.
He saved me. Again.
And I hate how good it felt.
I shut my eyes, but that makes it worse. I remember the woods, his face in the moonlight, the way his voice cracked when he said not with me. I remember how close he was, how steady his heartbeat felt against my ear when I nearly collapsed last night. How he fucking tastes. I can't get it out of my head.
None of this is normal. Not the way my body is changing, not the way I feel like I'm tethered to him, not the way I can still taste his scent in the back of my throat.
And yet, lying here in his bed, surrounded by pieces of his life, I feel safer than I have in years.
That's the part that terrifies me.
I pull my knees up to my chest, trying to shrink the ache in my bones, but the memories keep crawling in. My mom's call yesterday, her voice caught between worry and guilt. My stepdad's shadow always hanging over the house like a storm cloud. The way he'd look at me, disappointed by default.
I never belonged there. Not really. Not at home, not at school. But last night, even while I was falling apart, with Adrian's hand steadying me, I almost believed I could belong somewhere.
A soft creak breaks through my spiral.
The door shifts open. I tense instantly, but it's not Adrian. It's his sister. I know that from school. They always hang around together.
She slips in quietly, a tray in her hands, and for a second she doesn't see that I'm awake. She sets the tray down on the desk: water, toast, and something that smells faintly herbal. Then she turns, her eyes catching mine.
"You're awake," she says. Not surprised. Not relieved. Just observing.
She looks at me like there's something she is trying to figure out. Like I'm an anomaly that she wants to get rid of. I don't like the way she is looking at me. I sit up straight, clutching the blanket like it will be able to shield me from her scrutiny. "Yeah."
Her gaze flicks over me. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got run over by a truck."
Somehow, that statement earns me the ghost of a smile. "That's about right."
I swallow, the nerves inside me twisting. "Where's Adrian?"
Her eyes sharpen at that, almost like she doesn't like the fact that he's the first person I want in this moment. But her voice stays even, as she tries to hide her disdain. "Downstairs. With Luca."
I don't ask what they're talking about. I'm not sure I want to know.
She crosses her arms, leaning against the dresser. For a moment, she just studies me, like she's trying to decide if I'm really worth all the trouble. "You scared him, you know."
I blink. "What?"
"Last night. He doesn't scare easily. But you… you shook him."
I don't know what to say to that. My mouth opens, then closes, useless.
She tilts her head. "Whatever's happening to you. It isn't normal. You shouldn't even be here. But Adrian brought you. He never brings anyone."
The weight of her words presses down on me, heavier than my own confusion.
"Why?" I whisper, more to myself than to her.
But she hears. Her eyes soften, just slightly. "That's something you'll have to ask him."
Before I can respond, the sound of footsteps echoes up the stairs. Heavy, sure.
Adrian.
She straightens, her expression snapping back into something neutral. She moves toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at me. "Eat something. You're going to need it."
Then she's gone, leaving the room heavy with everything she didn't say.
I stare at the tray on the desk, the photos on the dresser, the bed I'm lying in. My body still aches, my mind is a mess, but one thing is painfully clear.
I'm not just caught in Adrian's world. I'm already tangled in it.
And I don't know if I want out.
Once she leaves, Adrian walks in. He fills the doorway when he steps inside, tall in a way that should be threatening, but all I feel is safety, comfort, excitement?
Fuck, I don't know.
His eyes flick over to me, quick and assessing, before locking onto mine. "You're awake." His voice is low and rougher than usual.
"Yeah." My throat feels dry. "Surprise."
He doesn't smile. He just moves further into the room, shutting the door behind him. The click echoes louder than it should.
I shift on the bed, suddenly hyper-aware that I'm in his space, his sheets, his air, his things all around me. His trophies. His books. His photos. It feels like trespassing.
"Why am I here?" I blurt, because silence feels dangerous.
His jaw tightens, but his eyes don't leave mine. "Because you would've lost it anywhere else."
"Lost it," I repeat, the words tasting like rust. "That's what you call..." I gesture to myself, to my still-trembling hands, the ache in my bones. "Whatever the hell that was?"
His gaze sharpens, but there's something else flickering under it, worry, maybe. Or something darker. "You were close to losing it. Too close. I couldn't risk leaving you."
I swallow, my chest tight. "So you just… brought me here. To your room."
His mouth twitches like he's fighting a reaction. "Safer here."
For who? I want to ask, but the words catch in my throat.
Instead, I glance at the photo on his dresser, him and his sister, younger, freer, smiling. "You don't seem like the type to let anyone this close."
"I'm not," he says simply.
Something in my chest twists. "Then why me?"
The silence after feels like it could break the walls. He takes a step closer, and suddenly the air feels heavier, thicker. He's not touching me, but I can feel him anyway, the same pull from the woods, the same gravity that keeps yanking me back to him no matter how hard I try to resist.
"Because you're not like anyone else," he says finally, voice low, steady. His eyes dip, just for a second, like he's admitting something he shouldn't. Then he straightens, pulling back into control. "Don't read into it."
Too late. My heart is already hammering, my skin burning.
I shake my head, trying to laugh, but it comes out hollow. "You're terrible at this, you know. The whole… reassuring thing."
His mouth actually curves at that, just a fraction, but enough to knock the breath out of me. "I'm not here to reassure you, Jamie. I'm here to keep you alive."
The words should scare me. They should slam a wall between us. But the way he says them, fierce, certain, like a vow, makes something deep inside me flare.
"You keep saying things," I say, my voice harsher than I mean. "Hints, warnings, like you know exactly what's happening to me. But then you shut down. You leave me in the dark. Do you have any idea how insane that is? How terrified I am?"
His eyes harden, but he doesn't move.
"You think I don't deserve answers?" My voice cracks, heat rising in my chest. "You drag me here, into your house, into your room, you tell me I almost lost control, whatever that means, and then what? You just expect me to sit here and smile? Pretend none of this is happening?"
For the first time since I've met him, Adrian's mask slips. His shoulders stiffen, his jaw clenches, and something raw flashes across his face. Not calm, not controlled. Something dangerous.
"Do you think I want this?" His voice snaps out like a whip, sharp enough to make me flinch. "Do you think I asked for some reckless kid to stumble into my world and tear everything apart? I've spent years holding everything together, keeping everyone safe, keeping control, and then you show up. You, with your sass, your pull, your goddamn stubbornness. You think it's easy for me to watch you unravel and know there's nothing I can do to stop it?"
The words hit harder than any shove. I stare at him, chest heaving, throat burning.
"You could try," I whisper. "You could at least try to explain instead of pushing me away."
He exhales harshly, dragging a hand through his hair. For a moment, he looks less like the untouchable track star, the one who commands a room, and more like someone barely holding on.
"Jamie," he says finally, softer now, but no less intense. "If I tell you the truth, there's no going back. And I don't know if you're ready for that."
I should back down. I should shut up. But instead, I meet his gaze head-on, my whole body trembling, not from fear, but from need.
"Try me."