INT – EVAH'S ROOM – NIGHT
Evah's room was dim, like most of the mansion. Only the soft orange glow of dynamic lights lit the space—an amusing contrast to the old-world architecture of the estate. At night, she kept the brightness low. She liked it that way—quiet, private. Besides, the moon in Ar'sia was always bright enough, and she had grown to love that. She'd miss it one day.
"Don't you think it's rude to investigate the person who sheltered you, Bunny?"
The whisper brushed against her left ear—so close, she could feel the warmth of his breath.
Panicked, Evah slammed her laptop shut. A pinch of regret hit her chest—not because she'd been caught, but because she couldn't afford to break another one. Still, there was no time to think about that now.
She could feel him behind her, clear as day, close—but not quite touching.
Normally, she would've scolded him for sneaking up on her again.
But tonight, she couldn't.
Not when she was guilty of something worse.
I need to do something.
Her hand still clutched the laptop. With a sudden move, she hugged it to her chest and scrambled to the opposite side of the bed, pressing her back against the headboard.
Now she was facing Erion—he hadn't moved an inch.
His face…
She didn't want to see it. She turned away.
"I told you to stop sneaking up on me!" she snapped—but it came out weak, laced with guilt.
Erion wasn't wearing his usual jacket. Tonight, it was a dark turtleneck paired with tailored pants—formally dressed, yet oddly relaxed.
He shifted and sat cross-legged on the bed, resting his elbows on his thigh, chin propped on one hand.
He stared at her, melting her from the inside out with just his gaze.
"Your room's too hot," he said casually. "Why don't you turn on the air-conditioning?"
"No need. Saving electricity," she replied too quickly, her voice stumbling over itself. It didn't even make sense.
Truthfully, she'd just been too distracted to care about the heat.
Erion chuckled. "You're not even the one paying the bills here."
With that, he began rolling up his sleeves.
Evah's heart skipped. His scars—
But he never let anyone see them.
He continued anyway, pushing both sleeves up to his forearms.
Under the moonlight, the lines of old wounds shimmered pale against his skin.
Erion didn't speak. He just watched her.
Evah averted her gaze, clutching the laptop tighter against her chest as if the device could shield her from what she was feeling.
Shame.
Pity.
Fear.
None of them sat right.
She didn't know what she was supposed to feel.
She wanted to fear him—because he was dangerous.
But another part of her… pitied him.
And she knew Erion would hate that more than anything.
What am I supposed to do?
His movements were usually quiet, unnoticed. That's how he always startled her.
But this time, she felt it—every shift of the mattress as he crawled toward her.
Slow. Deliberate.
Her mind couldn't keep up.
Just as she prepared to leap away, his hand caught hers.
Firm—but not forceful.
Close—too close.
Her pulse quickened.
"You said you trust me, right?"
His voice was stripped of its usual sarcasm.
It was raw. Honest.
His eyes… she couldn't face them. She wouldn't.
She couldn't answer. Not with words. She simply nodded.
"Then don't try."
There was a crack in his voice—like a plea.
"You don't need to know."
Gently, he released her hand.
Evah nodded again, still unsure if she could keep that promise.
But in this situation, how could she possibly refuse?
Erion sat back slightly. Still facing her. Watching.
"Sorry you had to see them," Erion muttered, pulling at his sleeves with practiced ease. "They're not exactly something worth looking at."
His tone was light, but something sharp was buried beneath it.
Before he could cover them again, Evah reached out—her hand resting lightly on his wrist.
She didn't have the strength to stop him.
She didn't even realize she'd done it.
But the look in her eyes made him freeze.
Erion's eyes widened for a moment, caught off guard. Then, as always, he composed himself.
And he didn't pull away.
"They're okay," Evah whispered, her gaze fixed on the scars under the moonlight.
Some were fading.
Some were fresh.
Some would never go away.
"Aren't they… awful to look at?" he asked quietly.
He was staring at them too now. His expression unreadable—but it felt heavy, unbearably so.
For someone with a weak heart, maybe they are, Evah thought. But not when you know the reason behind them.
How could she call them displeasing?
"No," she said softly, mesmerized.
"They're okay." she repeated.