10: Closer Than Before
1483 Words
Roman didn’t show up to school the next day.
I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That maybe he just needed space. But I kept checking the hallway. The cafeteria. Our lab table in Chemistry.
Each time, my stomach dropped.
By the time I made it home, I was restless. The silence in my room felt louder than any party, heavier than Margo’s insults or Jake’s texts.
I stared at my phone.
Should I check on him? Or would that make this too real?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I typed.
[You okay?]
No response.
I flopped onto my bed and let the ceiling blur. Just as I closed my eyes, my phone buzzed.
Roman: Come over. Back door’s open.
My heart kicked.
Five minutes later, I was outside his house, slipping in through the quiet back door like I’d done it a hundred times. The place was dim, just the soft flicker of TV light coming from the living room.
He was there—hoodie on, hair messy, stretched across the couch like he hadn’t moved in hours.
“You ghosted school,” I said gently.
“I didn’t feel like watching people pretend they don’t believe Margo,” he muttered.
I sat on the armrest. “I don’t believe her.”
He didn’t respond, just stared at the ceiling.
“Why did you invite me?” I asked.
Roman shifted, finally looking at me. “Because I wanted to see the one person who doesn’t make me feel worse.”
I swallowed hard. “That’s a low bar.”
“Maybe. But it’s real.”
Silence stretched between us, but not the kind that begged to be filled.
“Do you regret the fight?” I asked finally.
He exhaled. “I regret giving Jake what he wanted. But I don’t regret defending you.”
I moved down to sit beside him. Close, but not touching.
“Last night scared me,” I admitted. “Not because of what happened, but because… I don’t know what this is anymore.”
Roman turned his head toward me. “Neither do I.”
“But it feels like it’s becoming something,” I said.
He looked at me then — not like a joke, not like a friend — but like someone seeing me for the first time. All the cracked parts. All the walls. And wanting them anyway.
“I think about you all the time,” he said quietly. “Even before this.”
My breath hitched.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not saying it because I have to,” he murmured. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
I didn’t know what to do with the way my heart clenched. The way his voice made my skin burn.
He reached for my hand, slow and unsure, like I could still pull away.
I didn’t.
“I’m scared too,” I whispered.
Roman leaned closer. “Maybe we just… stop pretending. For tonight.”
Our fingers laced.
And for the first time since this all started, the silence felt safe.
The air between us shifted — not loud, not fast, but slow and electric. Like the world around us had taken a breath and was waiting to see what we’d do next.
Roman’s thumb brushed over the back of my hand. He still hadn’t let go.
“I can’t tell if this is the weirdest or realest thing I’ve ever felt,” I said softly.
He gave me a crooked smile. “Hopefully both.”
I rolled my eyes, but my heart was fluttering. “You always have to say something like that, don’t you?”
He leaned in a little, eyes locked on mine. “Only when it makes you blush.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“You’re definitely blushing.”
I shoved him lightly, and he caught my wrist in that effortless way he always moved, pulling me a little closer, not enough to touch — but enough to feel his breath on my skin.
“I thought you said we could stop pretending tonight,” I said, voice shakier than I meant.
He tilted his head. “So let’s stop.”
Then silence.
Just our faces. Just inches.
Just this tension that felt like it had been building since the first time he sat beside me in Chemistry and smirked like he saw something in me no one else did.
His hand came up to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, lingering just a moment too long.
My chest rose and fell, too fast.
And then, finally — finally — he kissed me.
Soft at first. Barely there.
But then again, deeper this time, like he couldn’t stop himself.
Like he didn’t want to.
I kissed him back. Because I didn’t want to stop either.
His hand slid to my jaw, holding me gently but like he meant it, like he wanted me to remember every second of this. My fingers curled in the front of his hoodie, grounding myself, trying to breathe.
When we pulled apart, we didn’t go far.
Our foreheads touched.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” I said.
“Liar,” he whispered, smiling against my lips.
I smacked his shoulder, but I was grinning.
“So what does this mean?” I asked.
He looked down at our still-intertwined hands. “That maybe we’re not so fake anymore.”
And for once, I didn’t feel like running from the truth.
We stayed like that for a while.
His arm around my waist. My head against his shoulder. The kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward—just warm. Like we’d finally let something heavy fall away.
I didn’t want to leave.
But I also didn’t want to say anything that might make it all disappear.
Roman’s fingers traced lazy lines along my arm. “You ever think maybe we’re just… better together?”
I tilted my head to look at him. “Better at pretending?”
“No,” he said, eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. “Better at feeling.”
Something fluttered in my chest.
I was about to answer—something real, something terrifying—when the front door slammed.
I sat up straight. Roman’s whole body tensed under me.
Footsteps. Heavy. Quick. Not his mom.
“Roman?” a voice called. Male. Familiar.
Roman muttered something under his breath and stood. “Stay here.”
But I didn’t listen. I followed him to the hallway.
And froze.
It was Jake.
Standing in the entryway, his face bruised from the fight, lip split, eyes wild.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Roman growled.
Jake’s eyes slid past him—to me. “So it’s true.”
I took a step back. “How did you—?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jake snapped. “You ditched school, Kira. And now I find you hiding out with him?”
Roman stepped forward, fists clenched. “Leave. Now.”
Jake scoffed. “Or what? You gonna hit me again in front of her? Show her how you fix things with your fists?”
“Jake, stop,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
But he wasn’t done.
“You know what’s funny?” Jake sneered. “You used to hate guys like him. You said it yourself—fake-deep, angry, broken.”
I flinched.
Roman looked at me then. Not hurt. Just… blank.
“Is that what you said?” he asked quietly.
My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Jake smiled like he’d won something.
“I said a lot of things I didn’t mean,” I managed. “That was before I knew him.”
Roman didn’t look convinced.
Jake took a final step in. “You really think this is real? That he wants you? Please. You’re just another distraction.”
Roman moved so fast I barely saw it. He shoved Jake backward, not hitting him, but making it clear: one more word and it’s done.
Jake’s expression darkened.
“This isn’t over,” he spat, turning on his heel and slamming the door behind him.
Silence crashed into the house.
I looked at Roman.
“I didn’t mean it. What I said before—”
“It’s fine,” he said, his voice tight. “You didn’t know me then.”
“I know you now.”
He nodded slowly, but I could feel the wall going back up between us. Like the kiss we shared had already been buried under old doubts and new wounds.
I hated that Jake could still reach me like this. Still twist something good until it bled.
“Roman…” I started.
He didn’t answer. Just turned and walked back toward the living room.
And for the first time, I didn’t follow him right away.
- Writer
