She looked at him, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
“That depends…” she said softly. “On why you did it.”
He leaned closer until their foreheads touched. His breathing was heavy, restrained.
“To protect,” he said. “To not lose you. So you wouldn’t look at me like I’m a monster.”
“Then that,” she whispered, “that’s fear.”
Her voice trembled.
He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her. As if she were the only truth left in his world. There was determination in his gaze—but not the kind that destroys. The kind that waits. That offers a choice, yet refuses to leave.
“And you?” he asked quietly. “Are you afraid of me? Tell me if you are. Just don’t lie—to yourself or to me.”
His voice was low, rough, hungry.
“I’ll leave. But only if you say it now.”
