Blurred Lines
618 Words
**2 years ago**
Hunter noticed the quiet the second Gabe left.
The door shut. The engine faded. And suddenly the house felt too big for just the two of them.
He’d already had too much to drink—enough that his thoughts wandered where they shouldn’t, enough that the careful walls he’d built around himself all night had started to soften. He told himself he was just bored. That checking on Violet was harmless.
She was supposed to be asleep anyway.
Her door was half open, light spilling into the hallway. He slowed as he reached it, knocking once before leaning against the frame like he’d done a hundred times before.
“Violet?”
She turned.
And something in his chest went tight and sharp.
She wore a nightgown—simple, soft, nothing she hadn’t worn before. But tonight it clung to her in a way that made his gaze stall before he could stop it. Follow the curve of her waist. The slope of her shoulder. The bare line of her legs.
Too long.
She noticed.
Her eyes flicked up to his, then back again—tracking the way his attention lingered, unmistakable. Her breath hitched, subtle but real.
“…Are you drunk?” she asked.
Hunter huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. Little.”
The word sat between them, heavy with meaning.
He should’ve apologized. Should’ve left.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Not into her space—just enough that she had to look up at him. He was all height and shadow, six-foot-two and broad where she was small in comparison, five-foot-five and suddenly very aware of how close he was.
She didn’t move away.
That was the mistake.
They held each other’s gaze, the silence stretching until it felt like something fragile, something about to snap. Hunter’s eyes softened, then darkened—flicking, just once, to her mouth.
Violet saw it.
“Do you… have a reason to still be here?” she asked quietly.
Hunter opened his mouth.
Closed it.
His thoughts tangled—Gabe’s face, the years of being family-adjacent, the rule he’d lived by without question. And right under it all, the brutal, undeniable want to just kiss her. Once. Just to know.
“I—” He exhaled sharply, frustrated. “I shouldn’t—”
Her voice cut in, barely above a whisper.
“Hunter.”
He looked at her again, really looked—and the restraint cracked.
She tilted her head, eyes steady. “If you’re going to… just do it already.”
His breath stuttered.
Slowly, like he was afraid of himself, he leaned down.
So close.
Close enough that Violet felt the warmth of him, the promise of his mouth hovering just a breath from hers. Her heart thundered, her hands curling into the fabric of her nightgown as she waited.
And then—
He stopped.
Hunter pulled back like the moment burned.
“I can’t,” he said, rough and raw. “I want to. God, I want to—but I can’t. I shouldn’t.”
Violet swallowed, nodding once. She understood. Gabe would be furious. Devastated. He’d always been so careful with her, so protective.
“I know,” she said softly.
But her eyes didn’t look away.
She’d noticed Hunter’s lingering looks for over a year now. The way his attention lingered, the way his jaw tightened when other guys were around her. She’d given him more than enough of her own.
Maybe someday.
Hunter turned before she could say anything else, walking back toward the living room with heavy steps, not bothering to look back.
Violet watched him go.
Not today, she thought.
But someday.
- Writer
