David's POV: No More Games

Downstairs, fully clothed. The house felt normal again.

Too normal.

Like nothing had happened.

I followed faint noises into the kitchen. Nele stood by the counter, leaning against it, a half-full glass in her hand. Juice, maybe. Or something stronger—I couldn’t tell.

She took a sip, eyes fixed somewhere out the window, not really looking at anything.

I just stayed in the doorway, lost in my own thoughts. She looked… different? Or maybe I was just seeing her in a different light.

She noticed me eventually. Her eyes flicked over, paused on me for a second, then she took another sip like it didn’t matter.

“Bathroom’s free?”

Casual. Almost bored.

“Yeah,” I replied. I tried to make my voice sound just as bored and innocent. But we both knew that was a lie.

Silence stretched out between us. It didn’t feel awkward. More like the intermission between two acts of a play, when the audience waits to see where the story is going.

I leaned against the opposite counter, mirroring her without really thinking about it.

“What are you drinking?” I asked.

She glanced at the glass. “Apple juice.”

“Sounds good. I'll have some too.”

She turned toward the fridge and poured me a glass. Our fingers brushed lightly as she handed it to me. Our eyes met.

Then we both looked aside.

She rolled her glass slightly between her fingers, watching the liquid move.

“So,” she said after a moment, “she got you, huh?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because, yeah. She had. But saying it out loud felt like giving the incident more importance than it deserved.

“Nele, I…”

I stopped.

She looked up. Closer this time. Not physically. Just… attention.

“What?”

I shook my head slightly. “Nothing. Forget it.”

Her eyes narrowed a little. Her gaze lingered.

“You’re bad at that,” she said.

I raised my eyebrows. “At what?”

“Pretending something’s not there.”

That hit me harder than it should have. Because she was right. I was trying to pretend. Less to her than to myself.

I pushed off the counter and took a few steps toward the sink. Toward her. The space between us shifted. Smaller now.

“I just don’t feel like turning this into…” I gestured vaguely, “…whatever.”

Nele let out a quiet breath.

I glanced back at her.

She was still leaning there, but her grip on the glass had loosened. Shoulders less tense. Like something in her had decided not to fight. What was her choice? I couldn’t tell if she was about to pull away—or stay.

“You okay?” I asked.

She tilted her head slightly, considering it. Then shrugged.

“I will be.”

Not convincing. But honest.

I had to resist the urge to reach for her.

I became aware of my own breathing. Too rough. My pulse quickening.

“This is weird,” she muttered.

“Yeah.”

She pushed herself off the counter, stepping past me to set her glass in the sink. Close enough that I caught the faint scent of her shampoo. Something light. Just like her.

She didn’t step away after. Looked at me again.

We were standing close now.

The clock on the wall ticked.

“No games,” she said quietly.

“No games.”

A breath.

We didn’t pull back.

I tilted my head slightly. My eyes closed. Her breath brushed against my cheek.

I hesitated.

Then—

footsteps in the corridor.