The room holds its breath.
Not the gentle kind—the one that settles over a house when everyone is asleep, when the world has tucked itself in and gone still. Not the one I used to like.
No. This is different. A waiting silence.
The kind that presses against the walls like sothing alive. Sothing listening.
Moonlight filters through the floor-to-ceiling glass, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Pale gold, slipping past the heavy curtains like fingers reaching for sothing they cannot touch.
I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
My room has always been big—too big, really. High ceilings that swallow sound. Walls that have heard every argunt, every slamd door.
I used to rattle around in it like a marble in an empty box, bouncing off walls that never pushed back.
But tonight— Tonight it feels smaller. Tighter.
Because the person I don’t want to see is only a few steps away.
Silas lies on the couch. His head rests on a decorative cushion—firm, structured, never ant for sleep. Anyone with sense would be uncomfortable there. Tossing. Turning. Complaining.
But Silas doesn’t move.
His face is calm. Almost peaceful. The soft curve of his cheek pressed against the fabric. His lips slightly parted, breath slow and even.
And his eyes—
They shine.
Even in the dim light, they catch sothing. Reflect sothing. Like there’s a quiet fire behind them that never goes out. Like he’s achieved sothing greater than this room can hold.
I don’t think he cares whether he’s comfortable or not.
I glance at him.
Just a glance. Quick. Casual—the way you look at sothing familiar, not because you want to, but because it’s there.
His eyes are on .
The mont I look—he looks away. Quick. His gaze snaps to the ceiling, fixed like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. Like he hasn’t been watching this whole ti.
Why the hell is he staring at ?
The question lands in my chest like a stone dropped into still water. The ripples spread—disturbing things I’d rather leave undisturbed.
I’m getting sick of this.
Is he even human? Doesn’t he get tired?
He stood outside my door for hours—stubborn, unmoving. Notes pushed under the door, one after another.
Dinner I didn’t ask for. Waiting I didn’t allow. And after all that— he still watches while I’m trying to sleep?
I push the thought away. Close my eyes. Command my body to sleep.
Why is he still on my mind?
My breath steadies. I force it slow, even—the way you calm sothing wild.
I stay like this. Still. Quiet. Pretending. I squeeze my eyes shut until colors flare behind my lids.
Why won’t sleep co?
What the hell is wrong with ?
I’ve never struggled like this. Not even during my rut—when my body burned, my mind scread, every nerve on fire.
Never this restless. Never this aware.
I open my eyes.
Silas’s eyes are still on .
Brown.
But not the sa as before. There’s sothing different in them now. Sharper. More present.
On .
I blink.
My voice cos out before I can stop it. Cold. Sharp. A blade wrapped in silk. "Why are you staring at ?"
The words hang between us. "If you’re not sleeping, get out of my room."
He closes his eyes quickly.
Too quickly.
Like a child caught sneaking sothing he shouldn’t, shutting the cupboard before anyone sees.
His hands clutch the blanket to his chest—tight. White-knuckled. As if I might reach across the room and take it from him.
I turn my face away. Anger rises in my chest—sharp, contained.
This beta is getting on my nerves.
Obedient. Silent. Uncomplaining.
And still— still so annoying.
I close my eyes. Force myself to sleep. Ellis. Just sleep.
***********
The sunlight wakes .
Not all at once—slowly, the way light has always arrived in this room. First, a pale glow behind the heavy curtains. Hesitant. Almost shy. Then gold, slipping past the edges of the heavy curtains, stretching across the floor like sothing waking from a long sleep.
Then brightness. Warmth. The kind of morning that promises nothing and asks for nothing in return.
I move slowly. My body stretches, rembering itself.
Sothing presses against my chest.
Soft. So soft it barely feels like anything at all.
My eyes stay closed. I don’t want to open them yet. I stay there—in that quiet space between sleeping and waking, where nothing hurts and nothing is expected of .
My hand rests on sothing soft too. A curve beneath my palm. Warm. Alive.
My fingers tighten around it. On their own. Curious.
What is it?
Soft.
Too soft.
Like a teddy bear. Like sothing I used to hold when I was small—before I learned that holding things ant losing them.
I pull it closer. Hold it against my chest. A faint smile touches my lips.
Comfortable.
Then—
Warm breath. Against my chest.
Warm.
My eyes open.
I look down.
Silas.
His head rests against my chest.
My bathrobe has fallen open in my sleep—the fabric loose, untied, exposing skin. His cheek presses against , warm. Soft. His breath rises and falls against my chest in slow, steady waves.
His hand is curled near my shoulder. Fingers loose, relaxed—like he fell asleep reaching for and never let go.
My hand rests on his waist. Holding him close.
What the hell is this?
The thought hits like ice water.
This is him.
This— is what I thought was a bear.
My body reacts before my mind catches up.
I push his face away—quick, rough—then shove him back, putting space between us.
Harder than I an to. Harder than necessary.
Silas falls.
His body hits the floor with a muted thud. Limbs tangled in the blanket. The cushion slides after him.
I sit up with a jerk. My heart slams against my ribs. My breath cos fast.
Silas sits up too. Quick. Startled.
His eyes are wide—brown and unfocused, still soft with sleep. His hair falls across his forehead in loose, tangled strands. He looks at like he doesn’t understand what’s happening.
I shout. The words tear out of . "What the hell are you doing on my bed?"
He blinks. Still in shock. Still processing.
"I told you to stay away from !"
Silas doesn’t move. No defense. No explanation. Just stillness.
His eyes lock on mine.
Then—
Blood.
Dripping from his temple. Red and bright in the morning light. Sliding down his skin, catching the sun as it falls from his jaw.
His eyes shine.
Tears slip down his cheeks.
Silently.
No sound. No sob. No whimper. Just tears—falling, steady, unstoppable.
My face stills.
The anger drains out of . Not slowly—all at once. Like water from a cracked glass.
He’s hurt.
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