RUN FROM ME

CHAPTER EIGHT_SOMETHING SOFTER THAN CONTROL

CHAPTER EIGHT — SOMETHING SOFTER THAN CONTROL

ALESSANDRO

She doesn’t flinch as much anymore.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Not fully relaxed.

Not safe.

But… less sharp around me.

Less like she was waiting for something to happen.

I told myself it was good.

It was supposed to be.

Marco noticed it before I said anything.

“You’ve stopped letting her breathe properly,” he said one evening.

I looked at him briefly.

“She’s safer here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I didn’t respond.

Because I already knew what he meant.

But I wasn’t ready to think about it properly.

Not yet.

Later that night, I found Sera in the library again.

Same place.

Same habit.

She was reading, but not deeply. Her eyes kept drifting away from the pages like her mind was somewhere else entirely.

“You’re not reading,” I said.

She didn’t look surprised anymore when I entered rooms.

That alone was… new.

“I’m trying,” she said softly.

I stepped closer.

“Trying what?”

“To pretend I’m not thinking too much.”

That made something tighten quietly inside me.

She always spoke like that.

Honest without meaning to be dangerous.

I sat opposite her again.

She watched me for a second.

Then quietly—

“Do you ever get tired?”

The question caught me off guard.

I didn’t answer immediately.

“Tired of what?” I asked instead.

“Everything you carry.”

Silence.

I should have said no.

That would have been easier.

But for some reason, I didn’t.

“…Sometimes,” I admitted.

Her eyes softened slightly.

Not pity.

Understanding.

And that was worse.

Because I didn’t know what to do with understanding from her.

The rain started sometime after midnight.

Soft at first.

Then heavier against the library windows.

Sera looked toward the sound instinctively.

“I like rain,” she murmured absentmindedly.

I watched her quietly.

“Why?”

“It makes everything feel slower.”

That answer stayed in my head longer than it should have.

Slower.

Softer.

Quieter.

None of those things existed naturally in my world.

Yet somehow they existed around her.

She shifted slightly on the couch, pulling her legs closer beneath her.

“You stare a lot,” she said softly without looking at me.

“I know.”

“Most people would deny that.”

“I’m not most people.”

That made the corner of her mouth lift faintly before she could stop it.

Small.

Barely there.

But real.

Something unfamiliar settled in my chest at the sight of it.

Because I realized then—

I liked making her smile.

Far more than I should have.