Kill My Mind || DOLLHOUSE Spin-off

62. Grayson

The party's still going when I slip out through the side doors of Enzo and Bella's new house.

Warm French night air spills over me in calm waves. Laughter trails behind me, muffled by the thick walls, dulled by the alcohol and the weight of the evening. I lean against the stone banister, head tipped back, eyes on the stars.

I just needed a minute. A minute away from the clink of champagne flutes and Bella's comforting yet loud laugh. Away from the way Ale smiled across the table, eyes lighting up like it didn't still hurt.

I exhale through my nose, hands curled loosely around the edge of the banister. I shouldn't miss it—him—like this.

But God, I do.

It hits in the quiet moments. Like this. When I'm not trying to be "fine." When I'm not wearing the sharp-edged grin that keeps everything buried.

I hear footsteps, but I don't turn. Just say, "Need something?"

"Should've known I'd find you hiding," Enzo's voice replies, dry but not unkind.

I huff a laugh and finally turn. Enzo's holding a glass of whiskey like a man who's seen too much and pretends it doesn't bother him.

"I'm not hiding," I say. "I'm—observing. Quietly. From very far away."

Enzo snorts. "You do that a lot when he's around."

I still.

The silence stretches long between us before I break it with a soft, almost reluctant:
"He went to say goodbye to Bella. Wish her a happy birthday again."

Enzo nods. "I know."

Another beat. Then—

"You still love him."

I don't answer. Don't have to. I don't need to answer because it's not a question.

Enzo sets his glass down on the ledge beside us. "It's obvious, Gray. To all of us. Even him."

That makes me bristle a little. "If he knew, he wouldn't be so patient."

Enzo raises a brow. "You think love looks like impatience?"

I look away, toward the garden where lanterns swing in the breeze. I'm quiet for a long time, before I murmur:

"I forget what it was like before I met him."

I don't mean to say it. Don't mean to feel it so deeply. But it sits there, raw and true.

Enzo claps a hand to my shoulder once. It's rough, a little awkward—Enzo-style affection. "You've got a room down the hall from his, right?" We decided to stay at a hotel so some of Bella's friends could take up the guest rooms. 

I smirk faintly. "I'm not going to climb into his bed like some lost teenager."

"No," Enzo says. "But maybe just stop pretending you're not already halfway there."

...

Back at the hotel, I'm sauntering.

The party's haze still clings to my skin, but it all fades under the quiet of the hallway.

My hand hesitates over my keycard. My room is to the left.

Ale's is to the right.

I glance down the hall. Light leaks from the crack beneath Ale's door. I could go inside. Or I could sleep. Pretend I'm not wondering if Ale's awake. If he's waiting.

I end up standing outside the door like a coward. Matteo comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder "Hey creep" he says with a cocky smile and a chuckle. 

In his hands are piles of candy, I'm assuming he got from the convenience store next door. "Hey," I said, not wanting to be loud enough that Ale could hear me

"You comin' in?" I shrug 

"Didn't get an invite." 

"So you really are a creep...just standing and waiting." I roll my eyes and decide in that moment this isn't worth it, but Matteo stops me.

"Give me your keycard." My eyebrows furrow. "We'll switch. I'll hang out in your room till you're done talking to him."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm a good brother." I raise my eyebrows as if suggesting that's not true, it is, but still. "Look, honestly, Ale...he's ready to fight for you. I guess whether that ends up as a screaming match or sex, I don't really want to be in there." 

I smile, there's the truth.  "And if it turns out to be nothing?"

"Then you're an idiot." He swipes the key card from my hands and places his up to the door, opening it. "Ale!" he shouts to make sure it's heard from any point in the three-bedroom suite they're in. Before I know it, he pushes me inside. 

Ale walks over from the balcony, whiskey in hand. Not shirt on, just a pair of sweatpants hanging low on him. He chuckles, "You always show up when it's late at night, huh?" 

I smirk, making the remark dirtier than intended, "I could say the same for you." He rolls his eyes but chuckles again and walks deeper into the suite. I follow.

We don't talk much.

Ale offers me water. I take it. I crack a joke about the hotel art being pretentious. Ale laughs, calls me dramatic.

I flirt. Hard. It's instinctive now—dry wit, crooked smiles, leaning too close when I don't have to. It's safer than silence.

But underneath it, something's shifting. It's in the way I look at Ale for too long when Ale isn't looking back. In the way my chest tightens at the sound of that quiet laugh. In that way, it doesn't feel like enough—just this. Just pretending.

There's a moment—brief and stupid and important—when our hands brush as Ale hands me my glass back.

I don't move away.

Ale doesn't either.

In that moment, it hits me hard. I don't just miss Ale...I miss his mouth on mine, his laugh in my kitchen. I miss the way he used to reach for my hand without thinking. I miss my boyfriend.

I miss the best and worst parts of us. 

I miss being his. 

My mouth opens. I shut it. It opens again. I shut it again. 

"Something on your mind?" Ale asks. 

I breathe. What if he's over waiting for me? What if everyone's wrong about him wanting to be with me? What if he hurts me again? What if he wakes up one day and decides to leave? 

How could I survive that? 

I shrug.

"Want to talk about it?"

I shake my head 

"I-I should go." 

He looks at the clock, and my eyes follow. It's just after midnight, and our flight home leaves at 7 am. He nods and stands up. 

Ale walks me to the door.

I pause with my hand on the handle, glancing back like I'm about to say something real.

Instead, I say, "Try not to miss me too much."

Ale smirks. "I'll do my best."

I don't look back again.

But when I get to my room, I stand just inside the door for a long time, staring at nothing, heart full of something I'm pretending not to name