My body was shouting for him. I just didn't know.
Liana couldn't sleep.
Not really.
She lay on the couch, bundled in the blanket Elias brought from her old room.
The soft one. Lavender-scented. Familiar.
He was sitting across from her, silent. Reading something. Or pretending to.
The room was dim, lit only by the lamp on the far side of the wall.
She shifted.
He looked up.
"Too warm?" he asked.
She shook her head.
Then, a beat later, said, "Can you… sit closer?"
He hesitated.
Then stood. Walked over. Sat on the floor beside the couch.
Close. But not touching.
"Better?" he asked.
She nodded.
And the silence settled again.
Until her hand slid down from the blanket.
And rested—lightly, gently—on his arm.
He froze.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Her fingers were cool against his skin.
Just a touch.
Just enough.
He told himself to pull back.
Now. Just move. She's not yours. She never was.
But he didn't.
Couldn't.
Because she was here. Inches away.
And everything in him screamed to stay.
She trusts me. She thinks I'm safe.
And if I touch her now—if I hold her—
That all disappears.
She leaned her head down slightly, cheek brushing against his shoulder.
His eyes closed.
Just for a second.
His muscles locked.
He could feel every breath she took.
Every soft inhale. Every slow exhale.
Her hair tickled the edge of his jaw.
He gritted his teeth.
Don't.
Don't move.
Don't let it mean something.
But it already did.
Her head stayed there.
Resting.
Trusting.
And that shattered him more than anything else ever could.
Minutes passed.
Or maybe hours.
Eventually, she pulled back, just slightly.
Her eyes were tired.
But clear.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He met her gaze.
And smiled.
Barely.
But it was real.
Alex arrived just after lunch.
She knocked once, then stepped inside.
"Hey," she said. "Ready to head back?"
Liana nodded.
She stood slowly, pulled on her sweater, grabbed her bag.
Elias walked her to the door.
No one said much.
But when she turned back to him, her voice was quiet.
"Thank you… for everything."
He didn't trust himself to answer.
Just nodded.
Then watched as she got into the car.
Alex drove off.
And through the passenger-side window, she didn't look back.
But in the seat, with the seatbelt tight across her chest and her fingers clenched in her lap—
Her eyes stung.
No tears.
Not yet.
But the ache was there.
Sharp.
Heavy.
And for the first time, she admitted it to herself:
I want him.
Not just his help. Not just his comfort.
I want him.
And the thought scared her more than anything else ever had.
Because wanting meant needing.
And needing meant breaking.
Again.