---
He didn't speak to me for three days after Liam disappeared.
He just… watched.
In the morning, I'd feel his eyes before I saw them. Across
the kitchen. The hallway. The back of my neck in class.
I pretended not to notice.
I got better at pretending every time he looked at me like
he wanted to know what color my lungs were.
---
"Are you scared of me?" he asked one night.
I had just finished showering, wrapped in a towel, standing
at the sink brushing my hair. He stood in the doorway like a shadow peeled off
the wall.
I met his eyes in the mirror. "Should I be?"
He didn't answer right away.
"I don't know what you are," he said finally.
I smiled faintly. "Then you're not looking hard enough."
---
The air shifted after that.
He didn't just watch anymore—he hovered.
Close. Closer. Closer still.
One night I came home late—on purpose, of course—and found
him sitting in the dark on the stairs.
Waiting.
"You could've texted," I said casually, brushing past.
"I don't like being ignored."
My heartbeat sped up, but I made it sound like laughter. "I
don't owe you attention."
He stood. Tall. Still.
Close enough that I could feel the heat of him.
"I think you like it," he said lowly. "When I'm angry."
I didn't move. "Do I look stupid to you?"
"No," he said. "You look like trouble."
I looked up, just enough to meet his stare. His pupils were
blown wide, too dark, too deep. It would've been easy to flinch. To run.
Instead I said, "Then why are you still standing here?"
He didn't kiss me. He didn't touch me.
But something passed between us—sharp, electric, wrong.
Like the moment right before a fire catches.
He walked away.
And I let myself breathe again.
But my lips…
They curled into a smile I didn't mean to hide.
---