Chapter 44: Something Left Behind
I guess he just didn’t want me. Not the way I want him. -Liana
Elias
She hadn’t planned to come back.
But she’d left her psych book at his house the last time she came over to prep for her presentation and apparently, it never made it into her bag.
Now it was sitting on his kitchen counter. Waiting.
Just like everything else she thought she’d outgrown.
He noticed it the morning after.
Spine bent. Corners folded. A sticky note with her handwriting peeking out from chapter six.
He stared at it too long. Told himself he’d drop it off. Or text her.
Or at least put it in a bag and leave it by the door so he’d stop… looking at it.
But it stayed.
Because part of him, the part that was already unraveling,
Was stupidly, quietly, desperately hoping she’d come back for it herself.
And when the knock came three days later, he already knew.
Before he even opened the door. Of course it was her.
Liana
It was supposed to be a quick stop.
She just needed the book she left behind.
A psych reference stuffed with notes, page flags, and a dog-eared tab she refused to lose.
Alex was working late. The house was on her route home.
She didn’t tell him she was coming. Didn’t expect him to be there. She was wrong.
Elias opened the door the second she knocked. They both froze.
Then she cleared her throat. “I—left something. Alex said she texted you?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” But he didn’t move. Didn’t step back. Didn’t open the door fully.
Just stood there, like his body forgot what it was supposed to do.
Her heart tripped. “I can come back if it’s a bad time—”
“No.” His voice came too fast. “Come in.”
The house looked the same.
But something about the air felt heavier. Denser.
Like memory and silence had thickened the walls.
He walked ahead of her into the kitchen, picked up the book, then paused before handing it over.
“Was this worth walking here for?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It has all my notes.”
He didn’t smile. She didn’t either.
Silence stretched.
Then she asked, too softly, “Did you get my message?”
His jaw twitched.
She didn’t push.
He handed her the book. Their fingers brushed. Just barely. But it was enough.
Static.
He pulled back. Too slow.
She noticed.
“You didn’t have to answer,” she said. “I just… wanted you to see it.”
“I saw it.”
Their eyes met. And this time, neither of them looked away.
It wasn’t anger. Wasn’t guilt. Just… everything else.
Years of quiet things finally clawing toward the surface.
She took a breath. So did he.
Then—
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
He didn’t deny it. And she didn’t wait for an excuse.
Her hand drifted toward his. Not bold. Not confident.
Just searching.
She touched his knuckles. Light. Barely there.
He tensed. But didn’t pull away.
She looked up. “Elias.”
He closed his eyes. “Don’t.”
Her hand stayed. Shaking. She pulled back a little. Just enough to breathe.
“Do I make you uncomfortable?”
His throat moved. “No.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
He opened his eyes.
And the way he looked at her, like he was barely holding himself together, like saying the truth might break her. It made her stomach drop.
Of course.
He didn’t feel the same. He just didn’t want to hurt her.
She blinked. Tried to smile. But her mouth trembled.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered. “I just needed to know.”
Then she stepped back. Carefully. Quietly. And walked to the door.
Elias didn’t follow. Didn’t breathe.
Only stared at the space she’d left behind. Chest tight. Pulse wrecked.
Every part of him screaming to go after her. To pull her back.
But he didn’t move.
Because if he touched her now, he wouldn’t be able to stop with just a touch.
And she deserved more than that.
More than a man who was supposed to protect her but secretly wanting her.
Not like this. Not in ways that would ruin everything if she ever found out.
Chapter 45: The Line Breaks
What are we now? -Liana
Elias
He didn’t remember closing the door. Didn’t remember walking back into the kitchen.
Only remembered the silence.
And the smell of her shampoo still clinging to the air.
And the way her fingers had trembled when they touched his.
She wasn’t playing a game. She didn’t even know how.
She’d looked at him like he was the only thing in the world keeping her steady.
And he let her walk out the door.
Because he thought that was the right thing to do.
Because he thought that was what she needed.
But what if he was wrong?
What if keeping her at arm’s length wasn’t protecting her?
What if it was hurting her more?
What if…What if she’d stopped knocking soon? Stopped waiting?
What if that look in her eyes, the one that said say something…
Was the last chance he’d get?
He ran a hand down his face. Then grabbed the keys.
He didn’t think. Didn’t plan.
He just moved.
Liana
She walked fast. Too fast.
Book pressed against her chest, like she was trying to hold in the ache.
She made it one block before her legs slowed.
Another before her throat tightened.
And by the third, she couldn’t keep walking.
She stopped under a flickering streetlamp. Blinking too fast. Breathing too shallow.
It was fine. She said what she needed to say.
He didn’t push her away. But his silence said everything.
And maybe that was enough. Maybe that was her answer.
But still…
Her fingers kept brushing the edge of the necklace.
Still there. Still his.
She heard the truck before she saw it. Big. Loud. Familiar.
It turned the corner fast. Too fast.
Headlights caught her. Brakes hissed.
And then Elias was out of the truck before the door even fully opened.
He didn’t say anything. Just stood there. Breathing hard.
Looking like he’d been running for years and had finally stopped.
She stared. So did he.
“Why did you come?” she asked, voice barely a whisper.
He walked toward her. Slow. Careful.
But his hands, they were fists.
Like he was fighting something that wanted to break loose.
He stopped in front of her.
Then said, “I can’t keep doing this.”
Her chest tightened. “Doing what?”
He stared at her. Eyes raw. Voice low.
“Pretending I don’t want you here.”
His voice cracked slightly. “Pretending I’m okay without you.”
Liana didn’t move.
“I’ve been trying to be the good guy. To give you space. But I’m going out of my mind.”
She looked up, eyes wide. “Elias…”
He didn’t kiss her. Didn’t even raise a hand to her face.
He just reached forward. And pulled her into his chest.
His arms wrapped around her tight. Too tight.
Like if he let go, the whole world might shatter.
Her cheek pressed against his chest. She heard his heartbeat. Fast. Hard. Terrified.
“Just give me a second,” he whispered. “Just let me hold you like this. Just once.”
She nodded. Didn’t speak.
Her arms circled his back slowly, carefully.
And for that one minute, neither of them said anything.
They just stood there. Holding on like it was all they had.
Like it was all they needed.
Chapter 46: Something Between
I can’t stop thinking about him. -Liana
Liana
The next morning, Alex made eggs and toast.
I was supposed to be helping, but I just stood there, spatula in hand, brain in a fog.
“Okay,” she said finally, “what’s going on?”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’ve been stirring the same air for five minutes.”
I looked down. The pan was empty.
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not subtle, babe.”
I set the spatula down. “It’s nothing.”
Alex folded her arms. “You know I’ll get it out of you eventually.”
I hesitated. Then: “I stopped by Elias’s place yesterday.”
Her expression didn’t change. “To get your book?”
I nodded.
“And…?”
My fingers curled around the edge of the counter.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what happened, or you don’t know how you feel about what happened?”
I looked at her.
She waited.
Then I said it, barely above a whisper. “He hugged me.”
Alex’s eyebrow twitched. “Hugged you, like…?”
“Like… not just a hug.” I swallowed. “Like he didn’t want to let go.”
“Did you want him to?”
I didn’t answer.
“That’s a yes,” she said.
I hated how easily she could read me.
“I don’t know what it means,” I said. “He didn’t say anything. I didn’t either. We just… stood there.”
“And now?”
“Now I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Alex poured us both coffee.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re scared it meant something to you, but nothing to him.”
I looked away.
“You think maybe it was just a comfort thing. Or maybe he felt bad. Or maybe it was the rain, or hormones, or habit—”
“Okay, I get it.”
She leaned against the counter. “Liana. You’ve lived with him for five years. You know the way he moves, breathes, thinks. Did that hug feel like ‘habit’ to you?”
My chest tightened. “…No.”
“Then stop pretending you don’t know what it was.”
I stared at the steam rising from the coffee mug.
“But it doesn’t matter,” I said. “We’re not… anything.”
Alex scoffed. “No. You’re just the girl who makes a tactical team leader forget how to speak every time you walk into the room.”
I blushed. “Alex—”
“I’m serious. I’ve seen Elias in hostage standoffs with less tension than when you two are in the same kitchen.”
My hands trembled. “So what do I do?”
Alex sipped her coffee. “That depends.”
“On what?”
She met my eyes.
“On whether you’re ready to stop pretending you don’t want more.”
Chapter 47：Alex’s Rules
I can’t believe I’m doing this. -Liana
Liana
Alex tossed a bag of chips onto the coffee table and flopped onto the couch with the kind of authority that made the whole apartment feel like hers.
I was sitting cross-legged on the rug, still holding the same textbook I hadn’t touched in twenty minutes.
She took one look at my face and said, “You need a plan.”
I blinked. “A what?”
“A plan,” she repeated, like it was obvious. “You and Elias have been orbiting each other for, what, five years? Now you’ve officially entered the danger zone.”
I frowned. “What danger zone?”
“The zone where people either kiss or combust.”
She pointed at me. “And judging by that face, you’re combusting.”
I opened my mouth to protest. Then closed it. She wasn’t wrong.
Alex leaned forward like we were discussing classified intel.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re going to see him again.”
“I just saw him.”
She gave me a look. “Not like that. You need a reason to go over. Something casual. Low pressure. But enough to remind him you exist.”
“I think he knows I exist.”
“You think,” she said dramatically, “but the man has the emotional awareness of a shovel.”
She pointed at my psych book. “Can you pretend you left something else at his house?”
“I… maybe?”
“There you go. Perfect.”
She grinned. “Now we just have to decide what item you forgot.”
I stared at her. “Isn’t that lying?”
“It’s strategic,” she said. “There’s a difference.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “What if he thinks I’m being clingy?”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” She tossed a chip in her mouth, chewed, then added,
“He’s a man, Liana. Not a robot. You show up at his door, you smile that confused little smile you do when you’re nervous, and I swear to God, he’ll forget his own name.”
I groaned. “This is a terrible idea.”
She raised her brows. “Is it?”
I paused. Then: “Okay… What do I pretend I forgot?”
She smirked. “That ugly sweatshirt you always wear here. Leave it on purpose next time. Then go back for it. Boom. Natural reunion.”
I picked at a thread on my sleeve. The idea made me nervous. But also… Warm.
“I don’t know how to act around him anymore,” I whispered. “It used to be easy.”
Alex’s expression softened. “Of course it was. You didn’t realize you liked him.”
I looked at her.
She didn’t smile. But she didn’t look surprised either.
“And now?”
She leaned back on the couch, arms folded, like this was the final step of the plan.
“Sweetie,” she said, “he already wants you.”
“The only thing left is to make him realize… you want him too.”
Chapter 48: The Sweatshirt
He wants me. Like the way I want him. -Liana
Liana
It was almost 8 p.m.
I stood at the front gate for a full minute before pressing the bell.
The sky was dark, but the porch light was on.
I could’ve texted. Could’ve made an excuse.
But instead, I just stood there.
In jeans and the soft cardigan Alex made me borrow. Not dressed up. Not like last time.
Just… me.
The door opened. Elias froze in the frame.
He wasn’t in uniform.
Just a plain black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Hair damp, like he’d just showered.
He looked—
God.
He looked tired. And unfairly good.
His brows drew together. “Liana?”
“Hey.” I forced a breath. “I think I left something.”
His eyes scanned me. “What?”
“My sweatshirt,” I said, trying to sound casual. “The gray one. Might be in the laundry?”
A pause. Then, “Right.”
He stepped back to let me in.
I walked into the house. Same smell. Same quiet. Same low hum of the fan.
But it felt different. Or maybe I did.
Elias disappeared into the laundry room.
I waited in the kitchen, hands clenched into fists.
What am I doing?
Before I could spiral further, he came back.
Held up the sweatshirt. “This one?”
I nodded.
He handed it over.
Our fingers brushed.
Again.
Same static. Same silence.
I almost backed out. Almost mumbled thanks and bolted.
But then he said, too softly, “You okay?”
I looked up.
Something cracked.
I should’ve said yes. Instead, I asked, “Are you?”
His jaw clenched. He didn’t answer. He just stepped forward. Half a step.
I didn’t move. Neither did he.
The sweatshirt was still in my arms.
His fingers barely touching the hem.
The tension between us, sharp and breathless.
He whispered, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
I blinked. “What?”
He stepped closer.
His voice low. Dangerous. “You left it here.”
I swallowed. “I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
My heart pounded.
“You wanted to come back.”
His hand brushed my elbow. Barely.
“You wanted me to see you.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“And now you’re standing in my kitchen, wearing that look you wear when you’re trying not to run—”
I whispered, “I’m not running.”
Silence.
A charged, unbearable beat of silence.
He looked at me like he was drowning.
“I’m trying so damn hard,” he said. “Not to touch you.”
My hands shook. “Why?”
He closed the distance. Our foreheads almost touched.
“Because if I do…” His breath hitched. “I don’t know if I can stop.”
I dropped the sweatshirt. Lifted my hand.
Let it rest against his chest. His heart was a war drum.
“I’m not asking you to stop.”
He looked wrecked. “Liana…”
“I’m here.”
That broke him.
His arms wrapped around me, fierce and desperate, like the dam had finally cracked.
He didn’t kiss me. But he held me.
Held me like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
And I held him back.
Not because I was broken. But because I wasn’t afraid anymore.
Not of him. Not of this.
Just of what might happen if we let go.
