𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑

[🎲] [𝟐𝟗] 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡

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With a slight tremor, Jean's hands navigate the keys, searching for the right one to fit into the door's lock.

As you linger behind him, your gaze is fixed on him, observing the subtle movements of his back as he struggles with the door.

The stillness envelops you both, transforming the atmosphere into something dense yet soothing. As he finally opens the door, a familiar scent wafts through the air, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

After entering, he switches on the lights, casting a glow over the chilling and eerie apartment.

When walking past his living room, a wave of nostalgia washes over you, bringing back vivid memories from your last visit to his apartment.

Uncertainty encompasses you, leaving you at a loss for words or actions, until Jean strides confidently into view and makes his way down the hallway.

Silently, you trail behind him, reminiscent of a lost puppy seeking guidance.

As you trail behind him, a steady vibration emanates from the phone nestled within your bra, yet you resist the urge to glance at your notifications.

The events of the night slowly seep into your mind, casting shadows that linger and whisper of mistakes made, leaving you with a sense of unease and regret.

As Jean swings open the door to his bedroom, you're greeted by a sight that confirms his expectations: the room is immaculate, every surface polished and arranged with meticulous care.

He strides directly to one of his drawers, while you find yourself lingering awkwardly beside his bed.

"Are you annoyed with me?" Your question slices through the stillness, breaking the quiet like a sharp blade.

In an instant, he halts his actions, pivoting to direct his gaze toward you. The striking crimson hue on his nose draws your attention, sending a ripple of tension through your body.

"Of course not," he replies, his words spilling forth effortlessly. He diverts his gaze from you, resuming his quest for his desired object.

You stand in silence, observing him intently as the warmth of the alcohol gradually fades away.

"Do you have a first aid kit?" You ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper, as though the apartment is filled with unseen company.

He takes two tablets and places them in his mouth, then stretches out his hand to grab the water bottle resting nearby. Your gaze is drawn to the rhythmic motion of his Adam's apple as he swallows.

In an unexpected moment, he inclines his head in agreement.

"It's in the bathroom, top shelf," he mutters, and with that subtle indication, you identify it's time to exit the room. You step out of his room and make your way to the bathroom, positioned directly across the hallway.

As you stretch over the sink to retrieve the first aid kit, a sudden awareness washes over you—he has quietly trailed behind, his presence lingering just out of sight.

As you catch a glimpse of him entering the room through the mirror, a silent tension fills the air.

He moves with purpose, taking a seat on the toilet, his gaze locked onto you, creating an unspoken connection that hangs between you both.

"You shouldn't have hit him," you murmur, your voice barely rising above the tension in the air, uncertain of the storm your words might unleash.

As you slowly lift the lid of the first aid kit, his voice cuts through the air, laced with tension. "And I should have let him hit you instead?"