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Three days had stretched into what felt like an eternity since Chris's last encounter with Lovette. He could grasp the rationale behind her absence – reuniting with her friends was important, after all – but his longing for her presence had only intensified. In the labyrinth of emotions he found himself navigating, he was certain of one thing: this was all new to him, this intense feeling that seemed to stretch his heartstrings.
Now, they stood in his kitchen, a space he had seen her occupy before, yet it felt different today. She looked beautiful, draped in his 'FRESH LOVE' sweatshirt, and the sight of her brought a faint smile to his lips. A small offering was extended – a brownie crafted by his mother's hands.
She accepted it with gratitude, her attention momentarily diverted by her phone. The first bite landed, and then another, before everything unravelled in an instant. The taste seemed to betray her, a moment of savoured delight contorted into instant rejection as the brownie was expelled from her mouth.
"There's no way they're that bad." Chris said, confusion mixed with his jest lacing his voice. His hand reached instinctively for a brownie, his own chuckle underscored with playful disbelief.
But then her reaction hit him like a freight train. Her eyes were saucers of alarm, mouth agape in sheer shock. "Are there peanuts in there?" she uttered, an undertone of urgency in her voice.
His heart dropped like a stone in his chest, realization dawning. "They're peanut butter brownies," he responded, a pang of dread crawling up his spine.
And then her body convulsed, her hands clutching at her throat as though grappling with an invisible assailant. It was a terrifying dance with something he couldn't see, a nightmare unfurling before his very eyes. Panic rippled through him, a torrent of helplessness and fear.
Lovette's face contorted in agony, and her eyes, wide with terror, darted around the room as though searching for an escape from her torment. She struggled to breathe, her gasps for air coming in frantic, wheezing bursts. Her body shivered violently as the allergy's venom coursed through her veins, and her limbs went limp as if all strength had been drained from her.
"You're allergic?" The words fell from his lips, laced with terror. Time seemed to freeze, the reality of the situation smashing into him like a tidal wave. He was on his feet, his chair scraping backward as he lunged toward her.
"Where's your EpiPen?" he demanded, a desperate urgency in his voice as he scanned their surroundings for a lifeline.
She shakes her head, her voice strained and wavering, "Didn't bring it." The admission hung between them, a heavy confession that bordered on recklessness.
