That kind of warmth, it felt so familiar. Like those rare moments before everything broke. For a second, I almost wanted to believe it again. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I already decided. I was leaving. And this time, I wouldn’t look back.
A week passed, and the marks on my back finally started to fade. Not gone, but lighter.
When he was applying the medicine that day, his fingers brushed too close and I let out a small sound before I could stop it. He froze. I turned, confused, and saw his eyes on me, dark and heavy, his throat moving slowly like he was holding something back.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, but his voice sounded rough, not like before.
“No… I just—” I tried to speak but he moved closer. Too close. His hand settled on my waist, firm, like he wasn’t even thinking anymore.
“Hudson…” I whispered, my heart starting to race.
He didn’t answer. His breathing got heavier, his gaze dropping to my lips. His face leaned closer, slow, like he was about to cross a line—
“Smack!”
We both turned.