Our different worlds

A proof with hat and glasses

The treehouse was thick with a silence that made every word heavier than it should be. Inside, the warm lights cast shadows, but none of it was comforting, especially with Alex leaning against the counter across from me, looking irritated and detached as he took a drink from his beer can.

"How do you always end up in some kind of mess, Evelyn?" he muttered, more to himself than to me.

I crossed my arms, feeling defensive. "Excuse me? I didn't ask for that creep to corner me," I shot back. "Maybe you could show a little bit of understanding instead of standing there like I'm the problem."

He looked at me, his expression unreadable but his voice tense. "Look, I'm just saying, if Max gets dragged into something because of this, it's on you."

I blinked, completely taken aback. "On me?" I scoffed, anger flaring. "You don't actually believe that. Max punched him because he chose to, not because of me. And why are you suddenly so invested in telling me what's my fault?"

He shook his head, his voice low but biting. "Max wouldn't have jumped in if it weren't for you. It's obvious he likes you, and you... you lead him on just enough to keep him there. Then you pull away like it's nothing."

I felt a sting at his words, my cheeks burning as I struggled to stay calm. "You think I'm leading him on? Max is my friend, Alex. I'm not responsible for how he feels about me, and I'm not the one who started a fight."

Alex's jaw tightened, and he set his drink down, finally looking directly at me, his eyes intense. "Yeah? Because you don't think twice about how he might feel. You just want to look good, to keep everyone close without thinking about what that means to them." He exhaled sharply, frustration clear on his face. "It's like you're only in it for the attention."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Why are you even saying this?" I shot back. "For weeks, we've actually been getting along, and now you're accusing me of caring only about appearances? You're the one who's been avoiding me, treating me like I'm some stranger."

He shrugged, his expression still distant. "Maybe I am. Maybe it's just hard to tell what's real with you."

His words hurt more than I wanted to admit, but I refused to let him see that. "Fine," I said tightly, trying to keep my voice steady. "Think whatever you want. It's not like you've cared much about figuring me out anyway."

I turned away, crossing the room toward the bed in the corner, wrapping myself up in the blankets to try and shut him out. The dress I'd worn, so carefully chosen for tonight, suddenly felt flimsy and uncomfortable. But before I could settle in, I heard him moving, felt the warmth of an extra blanket he draped over me without a word. I glanced up at him, our eyes meeting for a fleeting second.

He didn't say anything, just turned back toward the door. I watched him walk out, my mind reeling from everything he'd said.

Alex grabbed the edge of the blanket I'd wrapped myself in, pulling me closer until we were both huddled together, covered by the same piece of fabric. The nearness made it hard to breathe, but I kept my composure, though my voice almost gave me away when I said, "You know there are more blankets inside, right? You don't have to hog this one."

He gave a soft, lopsided smirk. "This one's perfect. Besides, sharing makes it warmer." His voice was casual, but the way he looked at me - like I was the only person in the world right then - felt anything but casual.

I shifted, feeling the tension in the air, and finally asked, "So... why the disguise? Why not just be yourself?"

Alex leaned against the balcony railing, his gaze drifting over the darkened landscape. "It's easier, I guess. Sometimes it's nice to just be... someone else," he said quietly, as if admitting it to himself. "No one expects anything from you if they don't know who you are."