the fire between us

chapter 4

Martinus studied me, his expression shifting from frustration to something more vulnerable, though he tried to hide it. "I don't want anything from you, Y/N. Not really. I just... I just want you to stop assuming the worst about me all the time." His words hung in the air, and I could feel the tension between us, thick and almost suffocating. 

My instinct was to push him away, to protect myself from whatever he was trying to pull me into. But at the same time, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered that maybe I was being unfair. I looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm not assuming the worst. I'm just... I've learned not to expect anything else." Martinus let out a heavy breath, running a hand over his face as if he was trying to find the right words.

 "I get it. I know I've messed up, okay? I'm not perfect, and I never claimed to be. But I'm trying, Y/N. I'm really trying." I wanted to believe him, but the scars of past disappointments ran deep. "And what if I can't do this, Martinus? What if I can't just pretend like everything's fine?" He took a step closer, his voice steady but tinged with something like desperation.

Martinus stood close, the space between us shrinking until it felt like there was barely any air left to breathe. His eyes were intense, searching mine with a vulnerability I hadn't seen before. I could feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it stirred something within me—a mix of confusion and a desperate need for connection.

Without fully realizing what I was doing, I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. The kiss was tentative at first, a fleeting contact that was quickly followed by the realization of what I'd done. The warmth of his lips, the softness of the moment, only made me more aware of the gravity of my actions.

As soon as the kiss ended, I pulled away abruptly, my breath catching in my throat. The realization hit me like a tidal wave, and I felt a surge of regret and embarrassment. My cheeks burned with a mix of shame and something else—something that I wasn't ready to face.

Martinus looked stunned, his expression a mixture of surprise and something more—hope, maybe? He stared at me, his eyes searching for an explanation or perhaps a hint of how to process what had just happened. The silence between us was charged, every second stretching out, amplifying the awkwardness and tension.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, my gaze dropping to the floor. "I didn't mean-" 

"Y/N, wait," Martinus interrupted, taking a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to touch mine. "It's okay. You don't have to apologize. It's just..." I shook my head, cutting him off. "No, it's not okay. I... I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry for giving false hope" I look at him one last time before going down to my room.

 As I turned to leave, the weight of what had just happened felt almost unbearable. The kiss had been impulsive, driven by a moment of vulnerability and confusion. Now, as I walked down the hall toward my room, I could feel every step echo with regret. Behind me, I could hear Martinus's footsteps faltering, as if he was unsure whether to follow or stay. 

I tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, desperate to escape the lingering tension and the turmoil roiling inside me. When I reached my room, I opened the door and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind me. I leaned against it, taking a deep breath to steady myself. My mind raced, replaying the moment over and over. 

I could still feel the warmth of his lips on mine, and it only intensified my feelings of confusion and regret. I moved to the bed and sank down onto it, burying my face in my hands. What had I been thinking? I wasn't ready for this—whatever this was between us.

 I needed time to sort through my emotions, to figure out what I really wanted. The silence of the room was almost as suffocating as the emotions swirling inside me. I glanced at my phone, but I didn't have the energy to check for messages or call anyone. Instead, I pulled out the small notebook I had taken with me earlier and began to write. It wasn't about the trip or the city anymore—it was about processing this moment.