Eternal [HS]

Chapter Thirty-One

HANGING FROM WHERE ONE OF HIS hands sits at his side is a backpack, the contents of which she has no clue, and all he does is drop it to the floor at his feet.

His eyes burn into her, flooded with the millions of things he's never said, things he thought she wouldn't reciprocate, as he realizes what it is he just listened in on. Maybe this is the universe's way of getting back at her for eavesdropping on his conversation with Liam. She is going to have some words with whatever cruel asshole that's in charge of fate and pulls the strings of their universe.

As if what she said wasn't enough, there she goes chewing on her lip again how she always does when she's nervous. It's so cute, he could walk over there and kiss her, and he almost does until he remembers why he's frozen in place.

Before either of them can acknowledge each other, Niall's voice breaks through the tension.

"Uh, I'm gonna head out now," he says as he stands up with an awkward smile, then murmurs to her under his breath, "Good luck."

He leaves them speechless, grasping for what comes next in a moment filled with such uncertainty that they can hardly breathe. But she notices instantly that the ache in her chest is gone, replaced by a different kind that she knows as anxiety. As soon as he came home, the feeling began to dispel, yet she was so wrapped up in her conversation with Niall, she didn't notice until now.

She hasn't felt so clueless since the early days of their relationship. Back when it was her and him, constantly at each other's throats, she had no idea what she was going to do about having to live with someone who drove her so mad. And now that madness has shifted into something different. It's something that she can no longer deny, especially not after he heard what she said.

There's no going back.

The sound of her walking over to the kitchen echoes in the confined space, and she could swear she sees him tense in her peripheral as she soaks a clean washcloth in warm water and soap. Drops of water patter against the freshly cleaned sink when she rings it out between her hands, squeezing it until it won't drip onto the floor when she hands it to him.

But much to her surprise, he's standing beside her when she finally turns to hand it over. He must have understood what she was doing because he takes it and wipes the blood from his face until he looks just as he had before he left. The rest of the evidence of what he did tonight remains solely on the clothes he wears, so it isn't nearly as much of a clean-up. All they'll have to do is wash it, or simply throw it away if it isn't a beloved pair of pants or shirt.

He hands it back to her with a soft, "Thank you," and they are left with nothing but each other to look at.

After a moment of painfully awkward silence, she breaks, "How much did you hear of that?"

The look on his face is still the same as it was when he walked in, the one that she cannot for the life of her begin to decipher. Despite spending so much time alone with him, she has never seen him this way before, and it scares her. It scares her because she fears that he heard her and will no longer want to be with her—if they're even together at this point. It scares her because she knows how much it has taken for him to be open with her, and she'd hate to do anything to make him feel overwhelmed or pressured into something he isn't ready for.

One of his hands reaches for hers.

"Do y'want to talk about it upstairs? I have some things to say..." He remains virtually impossible to read, and it has never frustrated her more than it does right now. She could burst from the anticipation. "And from what I heard, I think you do too."

So he heard her. Even though she already knew he did based on his and Niall's reactions alone, the confirmation hits her hard enough to knock the air from her chest.