That morning stretched longer than it should have. Since Evelyn's distant call, the air between Alaric and me didn't ease or dissipate—it simmered beneath a thin veil, calm on the surface but ready to ignite at the slightest touch.
We returned inside without much conversation. Evelyn greeted us with her usual bright morning smile, oblivious to the space we kept, unaware of what nearly transpired—or at least, what I almost said.
"I've prepared breakfast," she said, pulling out bowls and ingredients from the fridge. "Anna, just sit down. You must still be tired."
I obeyed—not because I was exhausted, but because I needed to sit before my heart pounded through my ribs.
Alaric stood by the counter, pouring water into a glass, his movements steady as always. But I felt his presence—a subtle gravity pulling me to notice every detail: his broad shoulders, his fingers, the way he breathes.
I stared at the table. Don't look at him. Don't look. But I did. And I caught him looking back. A fleeting gaze, yet enough to force me to turn away quickly.
Evelyn broke the silence. "Ah! Right. Anna, we have to go buy some things for your room this afternoon, okay?"
I nodded. "Okay."
She glanced at her husband. "Alaric, will you join us?"
"I have a meeting," he answered.
An ordinary statement in an ordinary tone.
But when Evelyn turned to grab a spatula, Alaric's eyes flicked back to me—brief but sharp. As if to make sure I knew that answer wasn't just for his wife… but for me.
I lowered my gaze, biting my lower lip unconsciously.
~~~
The rain fell again that afternoon. Evelyn and I returned from the home goods store, bags in hand, including a new blanket she had picked out. She said the color suited my skin.
As we entered, the sound of the study door opening was clear. Alaric emerged, still in his shirt, tie loosened, top two buttons undone. His hair was slightly tousled—a sign of a long, tense day.
"How did the meeting go?" Evelyn asked.
"Smoo—"
He cut off when his eyes met mine. Just for a moment, but enough to make me hold my breath. His look was different from the morning. Darker. Heavier. As if he had spent the entire day trying to forget something—and failed.
A chill ran down my spine.
"Smooth," he finally finished.
"Good." Evelyn smiled. "I'm heading to the kitchen to make tea."
She left us. A mistake. A grave mistake. Suddenly the living room felt too empty. I tried to pass by him to go upstairs, but as I did, he moved.
His hand didn't touch me—not at all. But he leaned in just slightly, closing the distance between us to a step. Close enough for his cologne to pierce my senses.
"Anna."
Just that. Yet his tone was different. Low. Serious. Almost beyond control.
I stopped and slowly turned. "Yes?"
He stared too long—too long. His eyes scanned from mine... to my cheek... to the shopping bags in my hand… then back to my face.
"Are you avoiding me?" he asked at last.
The question cut like a truth he never voiced aloud.I quickly shook my head. "No. I just—"
"You're pulling away," he interrupted, his voice low but without anger. More like he was analyzing my reaction.
"I didn't mean to," I said softly, eyes lowered.
Alaric stepped half a pace closer, the already small distance nearly disappearing.
"No?" His voice deepened. "Then why don't you ever look at me when I speak?"
I closed my eyes briefly. "Because… I'm uncomfortable."
He studied me a long time. Very long. Then whispered, barely audible, "So you feel it."
I looked up. My heart skipped a beat. "Feel what?"
His gaze pierced. "Whatever it is… between us."
I was startled. "Nothing is happening."
"Anna." His tone shifted. Serious. Not demanding, but leaving no room for lies. "Don't say nothing's wrong. You know that's not true."
I swallowed hard, my body stiffening. "Alaric, this shouldn't—"
"But it is."
He said it so calmly, so surely, that my body reacted before my mind could catch up. My chest tightened. My shoulders tensed. And somehow, I couldn't move.
"This is wrong," I whispered.
"True," he said quickly. "But it doesn't stop anything."
I wanted to step back. I had to. I should. But when I took one step back, he matched it with one step forward—no touch, no hold… just following.
And that alone left me breathless.
"I won't do anything you don't want," he said softly, very softly. "But don't pretend you don't feel it."
I bit my lip. A mistake. Because his eyes dropped to the movement, his iris tightening, jaw clenching.
The tension wrapped around us like an invisible scorching mist.
Until… Evelyn's footsteps sounded from the kitchen.
Alaric exhaled slowly, as if forcing himself back into the confines of humanity.
"We'll continue another time," he said gently. Calm. But not peaceful—calm that held back something far deeper below.
Then he walked past me without looking back. I stood frozen, trembling, trying to calm myself. But one thought kept spinning in my mind.
If Alaric keeps acting like this… If I keep responding like this… There will be no turning back.
And maybe, the deepest part of me—the part I should ignore—doesn't really want to go back.
~~~
The rain poured that night. Evelyn slept early with a migraine. I knocked on her door to check she was okay—and hearing her steady breathing, relief mixed with guilt pressed on my chest.
I had to stay away. Avoid Alaric. Stop thinking thoughts that were forbidden. Yet when I came downstairs for water—he was there.
Alaric stood in the dimly lit living room, his shadow stretching long across the wooden floor. His shirt was off, hung over a chair, leaving only a black T-shirt clinging to his form, accentuating every contour.
I blinked.
He didn't turn. "You're not asleep." Not a question. A statement.
"I… wanted some water," I answered quickly.The rain outside amplified the silence between us. I moved into the kitchen, forcing steady steps—yet my body stiffened, sensing his gaze tracking my every move, even without looking.
When I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle, closing the door, he was closer.
Not too close. Not touching. But close enough to catch my breath off guard.
"You always come down at night," he said.
"I'm always thirsty."
He nodded slowly, as if studying my answer, not fully convinced.
"Are you restless?" he asked.
I gripped the bottle tighter. "No."
His eyes dropped to my tightening fingers, then back to my face. "You're lying."
I bit my lower lip—aware of my mistake when his gaze hardened again, reflexively catching small details he shouldn't see.
I turned away. "I should go back upstairs. It's late."
I barely took two steps when his voice stopped me.
"Anna," he called softly, like a gentle tug backward. "Stop."
My body froze before my mind could decide. Slowly, I turned.
He stepped forward — not fast, not aggressive — but with a certainty that belonged to someone who knew exactly what he wanted… and wasn't used to refusal.
When he stopped, we were just an arm's length apart.
"Why do you always look like you want to leave whenever I get close?" he asked quietly.
Damn.
"Because… I'm uncomfortable," I whispered.
He tilted his head slightly. "Uncomfortable… or too aware?"
My heart hammered, desperate to escape. I swallowed hard. "Alaric, please… don't talk like that."
"Why?" he breathed. "Because you know it's true?"
I stepped back half a pace. He followed half a pace. Reflexive. Subtle. Dangerous.
"Alaric…" my breath broke.
"Tell me the truth." His voice dropped several octaves—calm, controlled, yet somehow nearly… fragile? No, not fragile—more like barely restrained.
"Whenever you enter the room," his tone softened, "I… feel it."
I froze. That wasn't a confession. It was a sweet threat. "And I'm sure," he continued, "you feel it too."
I opened my mouth to deny—but no words came. Only the sound of rain, our close breaths, and a distance too fragile to hold.
"You have to stop," I finally whispered.
Trying to sound firm, but my voice trembled.
"Stop what?" he asked slowly. "Looking at you? Talking to you? Being in the same room as you?"
"All of it."
He shook his head once. "I can't."
"Why?" I asked, more a plea than a question.
He stared as if trying to read what hid beneath my skin.
"Because I've gone too far to pretend I don't see you."
I froze.
"You know it's not true…" I whispered weakly.
"But you don't say I'm wrong."
I lowered my eyes, gripping the bottle tighter. Then suddenly he did something that stole my breath. Slowly, very slowly, he raised his hand.
Almost touching me, but not quite. Just lifted it until it hovered a few centimeters from my face—only air between us.
"If I wanted to touch you…" his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, "I wouldn't have to come any closer than this."
That distance sent shivers down my skin. Not because he touched me. But because he didn't. Because it was more tempting than any touch.
"I won't touch you," he said softly. "Unless you let me."
I lifted my face. A grave mistake. Because Alaric's eyes burned with a fire he masked with brutal discipline.
"And I won't force you." He lowered his hand slowly. "But don't ask me to pretend I don't see you."
I gasped sharply.
"Because I've failed since the moment you stepped into this house," he said, voice almost cracking at the edges. "And you know it."
I wanted to retreat. I had to. I must. But my foot moved forward just a fraction—small, unconscious, yet enough to darken Alaric's eyes.
And suddenly, I lost my breath."A-Alaric…" my voice trembled. "Evelyn is home."
He closed his eyes briefly, containing something bigger than words. "Yes. She's home." He opened them, and that gaze made my knees weak. "And that's the only reason I stopped here."
Neither of us moved. The tension was too intense to simply let go.
"Good night, Anna." His voice was low. Hurt. Contained. "Don't come downstairs again at midnight."
He turned—slowly, with great effort, as if pulling himself away from a magnetic force too strong. I stood frozen, trembling.
Because for the first time... I was afraid. Not of Alaric.
But of myself.