𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒔

forty five

"your words play like a stereo in my head"

Cato's POV

The night felt colder than usual, the kind of chill that settles deep in your bones. I hadn't planned on doing anything special—same as every night, really.

But before I knew it, my phone was in my hand, and I was calling her number.

Part of me thought she wouldn't pick up.

I half-expected her to tell me off, to hang up, to make an excuse, but she didn't.

"Come outside," I said, not bothering to explain, figuring she'd either come or she wouldn't.

A minute later, she appeared outside, the porch light casting a glow over her. She slid into the passenger seat, quiet but not tense. She didn't ask where we were going, just sat there, pulling her hoodie tighter around herself as I pulled out onto the road.

I liked that about her—she didn't pry, didn't push.

The streets got darker as we left the city behind, the silence between us as easy as breathing.

After a while, I turned off the main road, driving up a narrow gravel path that wound through the hills until we reached my favorite spot.

The edge of the cliff loomed ahead, the sky stretching wide and endless above it. I killed the engine, and we stepped out, the night air sharp and cold.

Up here, away from everything, you could see the stars as they were meant to be seen, spread across the sky in a way that made you feel small and insignificant but at peace.

I watched her as she looked up, her face soft in the starlight, her eyes widening as she took it all in.

There was something almost vulnerable about her in that moment, a quiet awe that reminded me why I'd brought her here in the first place.

I led her over to the cliff's edge, settling down beside her, and for a long time, we just sat there, saying nothing. The quiet felt heavier than usual tonight, filled with all the things we weren't saying. I broke the silence, pointing out Orion, and her eyes followed my finger as I traced the constellation.

"It's weird being here," she murmured after a while, her voice barely above a whisper. "Like nothing else matters."

I nodded, not trusting myself to say much. There was a pull between us, something unspoken, and I felt it now stronger than ever.

I kept my eyes on the stars, letting the silence grow thicker. She started talking then, her words soft, almost hesitant. She told me bits and pieces about her mom, about feeling lost, never belonging. Her voice was so quiet, like she was talking to the night instead of me, and I just listened, letting her words settle.

She fell silent, and I looked over at her, noticing the way her eyes shone with something I couldn't quite place.

We were close, closer than I'd realized, and when she turned to meet my gaze, I felt something shift between us. I wasn't sure who leaned in first, but it didn't matter.

Our lips met, soft and slow, her hand slipping to the side of my face.

It wasn't just a kiss; it was something raw, something real.

When we pulled back, she looked at me, her eyes searching, like she was seeing me in a way no one else ever had. I took her hand, felt the warmth of her fingers against mine, grounding me. We sat there, side by side, looking up at the stars, letting the night stretch on.

Eventually, the cold started to creep in, and I could feel her shivering a little beside me.

"Ready to head back?" I asked, my voice low.

She nodded, and we made our way back to the truck. The drive home was quiet, but it wasn't empty. There was something heavy between us, something that hadn't been there before, and I knew we'd both felt it. When we got back to her place, she thanked me, her voice soft, almost like she didn't want to break the spell. I watched her head inside, my hand lingering on the gear shift.

As I pulled away, the night felt different somehow, like I was leaving a part of myself behind.