Playing With Fire (R-18)

Chapter 6

The morning light, stark and unforgiving, crept through a gap in the curtains, cutting a pale, luminous path across the rumpled sheets. It illuminated dust motes dancing in the air, but more profoundly, it illuminated the new, raw landscape of us. Vios lay beside me, his arm still a warm, heavy weight across my waist, his breath soft against my hair. His presence was utterly comforting, a steady anchor in a world that felt suddenly unmoored. Yet, beneath that comfort, a fragile thread of unease began to unravel within me.

I shouldn't have been surprised. This wasn't a fairy tale, and we weren't characters in a simple romance. We were two people forged in separate fires, carrying burdens that couldn't simply be kissed away. The intensity of the night before, the almost desperate unraveling, had left me feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way I hadn't anticipated. It was a beautiful vulnerability, yes, but also terrifying.

Carefully, I shifted, easing out of his embrace. He stirred, a soft groan escaping him, and his arm tightened momentarily before relaxing. I held my breath, afraid to break the fragile peace. Part of me wanted to melt back into him, to pretend the world outside this room didn't exist, but another part, the more pragmatic, self-preserving part, insisted on distance. On space to process.

I slipped out of bed, the cool air raising goosebumps on my skin. My clothes were scattered like fallen leaves, a testament to the storm that had passed. As I gathered my shirt and jeans, the scent of him clung to the fabric, a heady mix of his cologne and something uniquely him, something primal and intoxicating. I pulled them on quickly, as if armoring myself against the lingering intimacy of the room.

He still hadn’t woken. Or at least, he was pretending not to. I watched him for a moment, the strong line of his jaw, the dark hair mussed against the pillow, the faint shadow of stubble. He looked peaceful, almost boyish in sleep, a stark contrast to the dominant, passionate man of hours before. A strange ache settled in my chest—a blend of yearning and a sharp, almost painful protectiveness.

I moved to the window, pulling the curtains fully open. The city outside was already alive, a cacophony of distant traffic and the first whispers of a bustling day. It felt alien, detached from the bubble we had created. I needed coffee. Strong, black, and hot enough to scald away the lingering dreaminess.

As if on cue, a soft rustle came from the bed. “Running already?” His voice was low, raspy with sleep, and edged with something I couldn’t quite decipher—humor? Resignation?

I turned, a polite, almost practiced smile on my face, a shield against the rush of conflicting emotions. “Just getting dressed. And I need coffee.”

He pushed himself up, leaning against the headboard, the sheet pooling around his waist, revealing the sculpted expanse of his chest. The sight of him, still radiating the warmth of sleep and our shared night, was a punch to the gut. All the doubts, the uncertainties, felt trivial in the face of his raw, undeniable appeal.

“I can make some,” he offered, his eyes still heavy-lidded but focused on me. “Unless you prefer to flee.”

A laugh escaped me, tight and brittle. “I’m not fleeing, Vios. Just… processing.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “Fair enough. It was… a lot.”

A lot. An understatement. It had been everything. It had been a tectonic shift, altering the very landscape of my soul. But I couldn't say that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“I should probably go,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. My heart screamed at the idea, but my head insisted. I needed to escape the charged atmosphere, to think without the intoxicating pull of his presence.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Tori, wait.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, moving with a fluid grace that was almost predatory, despite his sleepy state. He stood before me, naked, unashamed, and suddenly the room felt impossibly small.

“What?” I managed, my voice thin. His proximity was dizzying.

He reached out, his hand gently cupping my cheek. His thumb stroked my skin, sending shivers down my spine. “Don’t regret it,” he murmured, his voice laced with an intensity that cut through my defenses. “Don’t regret us.”

His words, instead of being reassuring, felt like a fresh wave of panic. Regret? Was that what he thought? Or was it what he feared? The complicated dance of assumptions and projections, already beginning.

“I don’t regret it,” I insisted, perhaps too quickly. “It was… amazing.” I couldn’t meet his gaze, afraid of what I would see there, or what he would see in mine.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “But?”

That one word, simple and direct, hung in the air, thick with unspoken questions. He knew me too well, saw right through my carefully constructed facade.

“But…” I trailed off, searching for the right words, for words that wouldn't hurt, wouldn't complicate things further. “This… this changes things, Vios. Everything.”

“Isn’t that the point?” he countered, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

I finally met his eyes, and there it was—the raw, hopeful plea beneath the confident exterior. It twisted something inside me. He was offering me more than just a night; he was offering a future, a possibility that terrified me more than anything. My past was a tangled mess, and I wasn't sure I could drag him into it. I wasn't sure I should.

“I don’t know,” I confessed, the words a fractured whisper. “I don’t know what ‘this’ even is.”

His hand dropped from my cheek, falling to his side. The loss of his touch was immediate and palpable, like a cold draft. The air between us, which moments ago had been thick with unspoken promises, now felt thin, stretched taut with unspoken fears.

“We can figure that out,” he said, but the conviction in his voice seemed to have dimmed. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration. “Unless you’re saying you don’t want to figure it out.”

The accusation, however gentle, stung. “No!” I protested, stepping back, needing more space. “That’s not it. It’s just… it’s too much. Too fast. I need… time.”

He watched me, his expression unreadable. “Time for what, Tori? To convince yourself it was a mistake?”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Was that what I was doing? Was I already sabotaging us, him, this incredible, terrifying thing we had created?

“No,” I repeated, my voice stronger now, more certain. “Time to understand what just happened. What we just did.” I gestured vaguely between us. “It wasn’t just a hookup, Vios. Not for me. And I don’t think it was for you either.”

A flicker of something—agreement? Relief?—crossed his face before he masked it. He took a step towards me, and I instinctively took one back. The slight movement was enough to make him pause, his gaze falling to my hands, which were clenched tightly at my sides.

“No, it wasn’t,” he admitted, his voice quiet, almost resigned. He closed the distance, not with a rush, but with slow, deliberate steps until he stood before me once more. This time, he didn't touch me, but his presence was an embrace. “But running won’t make it any less real. Any less… important.”

I wanted to argue, to deny the importance, to trivialize it into something I could easily walk away from. But the words died in my throat. He was right. It was important. It was monumental. It had shifted the axis of my world.

“I just… I need to think,” I finally managed, my eyes pleading with him for understanding. “Alone.”

He studied my face for a long moment, and I braced myself for an argument, for him to push, to demand. But instead, a slow sigh escaped him, and he nodded, a subtle tilt of his head.

“Okay,” he said, the single word heavy with acceptance and a touch of something akin to hurt. “I understand.” He paused, his gaze softening slightly. “But don’t stay away too long, Tori. Or I’ll come looking.”

The threat was there, wrapped in a layer of playful warning, but I heard the underlying sincerity. He wouldn’t let me simply disappear. He wouldn’t let us disappear. And as I turned and walked out of his room, the cool morning air of the hallway hitting my face, I wasn't sure if that thought brought me more comfort or more dread. The tension between us was a palpable thing, a taut wire that had been stretched, and I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that the real complications were just beginning.