Itâd been a month and six days since she last saw him. Not that she was counting, or avoiding him. Okay, that was a lie. It wasnât like there was any harm lying to herself; she had gotten good at it. Her palms were sweaty and heart racing as she walked up to the building heâd told her he lived in. Roxy hated being scared, for any reason. It made her feel weak, like she was a child. She thrived when she had control of a situation, and could predict what would happen next. She couldnât do that here.
I love you. I need you.
Kaiâs voice had kept her up most nights since she last saw him. That momentary burn heâd left on her skin, when they touched for the first time in so long. She craved it again, to feel his hands all over her, and hers all over him. The quiet ding of the elevator brought her back to reality. When an elderly woman got off, she returned her kind smile with a small one of her own. With a press of the button, she was rising up to his floor. Her hands burrowed in her pockets, leaning back and forth on her the balls of her feet. The light above her flickered slightly. Soon enough, she had arrived.
The walk to his door wasnât long, which she should be happy about. Instead, she wished for more time to calm herself down. But that probably wouldnât have happened, no matter how much time she had. Her body froze at the door, staring at the glossy numbers hung on it. This was her last chance to back out, run away, pretend sheâd never come here.
Roxy pulled her hand out of its pocket, knocking lightly on the wood. âKai? Itâs me,â she called out to him, just in case he didnât want to answer a random knock at his door. Â
closed starter for @defectivehearts
He couldnât pretend he wasnât trying to avoid everything now. Because he was, trying to escape his own feelings and his fear of fucking up everything with her. So he was avoiding her, hiding in his apartment and not getting out, except for school and work. It was what seemed to be easier, to pretend nothing happened, that she still was dead, that there was no coming back from it, and that he certainly hadnât told her he loved her, that they hadnât kissed, that he hadnât said it all.
Youâre my home.
Then come back home. Come back to me.
It kept ringing in his head, how right it had felt, how scared he was however, how he prayed for everything to feel so right again, but how he didnât want to start over, because he knew it couldnât be right. Because he knew he had hurt her before, and that he would again. He had no control over anything, and while he had heard her when she said she wanted him to keep touching her with his bare hands, he knew he wouldnât be able to control all the time. And he refused to take anything from her again, he had already taken her life, and it was enough, and he didnât want to risk it again.
Sitting on his couch, reviewing his lessons that were scattered all over the table and the couch itself, he got a little bit surprised when he heard a knock at the door. He wasnât expecting anyone, but when he heard her voice, everything made more sense. Maybe she had realized he was avoiding her, maybe she wanted explanations. Taking his glasses off, he put it down on his book before he got up. He couldnât keep ignoring her.
So he opened the door, leaning against the frame as he gave her a smile. âHey Roxy.â He said softly, pushing the door a bit more open. âYou wanna get in?â