"Don't touch me!" I screamed, crossing my hands in front of me as a shield.
He chuckled darkly.
Not bothering to listen to anything I just said and ignoring my actions, he brought his hands to my face.
"And tell me, what are you gonna do?" he says a...
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••• :: ୨•୧ :: •••
"Hello?" I managed, the word a small, trembling thing that felt swallowed by the frantic thudding of my heart—the same heart that had ached with yearning just moments before.
I tried to sound casual, to project some poise, my voice a little breathy from sitting up too quickly. But the tremor was there—a tiny, betraying unsteadiness I hoped he wouldn't notice. Meanwhile, a foolish, hopeful part of my mind replayed his promise all night, secretly wishing he would.
There was a brief pause—just enough to make my stomach clench.
Then, his voice finally broke through the silence—low, steady, with a hint of roughness that suggested he hadn't spoken in hours, perhaps still deep in the focused world of his work. The sound itself was a jolt, a sudden presence that cut through the quiet of my room, a familiar anchor in the unexpected.
"You're still up," he said—not as a question, but more like an observation. It didn't rush or force its way in; instead, it settled softly into the space between us, wrapping around me like something deeply familiar, like coming home after a long journey.
That moment's relief bloomed within me—sweet and unexpected. It was as if he hadn't truly expected me to answer, perhaps assuming I'd be asleep, yet somewhere inside, that part of him—the one that had made that quiet promise this morning—had still hoped I might be awake.
It carried a rare warmth that felt lighter than usual, like something unguarded had slipped through, a glimpse of the man beneath the armor.
And now, with this call, this tangible link across the miles, I felt like I could finally believe in the possibility that the distance—so vast just before the ring—might somehow be melted away.
For a moment, I simply listened, feeling the weight of his presence in the quiet, the reality of his call sinking in. The silence seemed to anchor me, pulling my attention inward, away from the lingering shadows of the night and the quiet solitude of my room, connecting me to him across the miles.
I pressed the phone closer to my ear, the metal cool against my skin, and as I did, a blush slowly crept up my cheeks—an unbidden response that caught me off guard, spreading a warmth that felt different from the shower, a warmth tied directly to him, to the sound of his voice, to the fact that he had kept his promise.
It wasn't quite embarrassment, but more like that full-body feeling when you're near something that truly matters, something that stirs a quiet ache in my chest, a sweet ache I was starting to recognize as the feeling of him.
"Yes," I finally said softly, confirming I was still awake. My voice was gentler than before, almost as if the moment itself had asked me to whisper—matching the hushed intimacy that had settled between us.
