Chapter 13: "Butterflies"

The day felt longer than usual. The lights, the camera, the poses—everything seemed to blur together, and yet, I couldn’t stop checking my phone.

Why do I feel like something is about to shift?

Then, it buzzed.

“My flight was canceled. Maybe I can pick you up from work?”

I stared at the message, my heart skipping in that familiar, irritating way it does whenever it’s him. My fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating.

Cullen.

I should say no. I should keep it professional, distant.

But I didn’t.

“Okay, will be done in an hour maybe.”

The second I hit send, warmth bloomed in my chest—and I hated that I loved it. I caught myself smiling, cheeks tingling from the flush of emotion. Gosh, I hoped no one noticed.

He was supposed to be gone by now. I had convinced myself I was okay with that. So why did the idea of seeing him again make my heart race like this?

I tried to focus for the rest of the shoot, but my mind wandered to him—his cold stares, his rare smiles, the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. There’s something about him, something broken… and beautiful.

And maybe I’m foolish for letting myself hope.

But tonight—just for tonight—maybe it’s okay not to run.

I was fixing my things, ready to call it a day, when Keres appeared beside me.

“Ready?” he asked casually, his voice smooth. “Let’s grab some dinner before I drive you home.”

I turned to face him, surprised but calm. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry—Cullen’s picking me up tonight,” I said, not thinking twice.

He blinked. “Cullen?”

“Yeah,” I replied, keeping it light. “He owns the house I’m staying at… for now.”

His lips curled into a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something odd in his expression—like disbelief mixed with something else I couldn’t name.

“Alright then,” he said after a beat. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Same time?”

I offered a polite smile and nodded. 

“Sure. Thanks again, Keres.”

There was a strange shift in his energy—subtle but noticeable. Like something in him recoiled at Cullen’s name. I tucked that away in the back of my mind, distracted by the sudden vibration in my hand.

“I’m here.” 

Cullen.

Just reading his name made my heart flutter. I couldn’t help but smile as excitement bubbled in my chest. With a rush, I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit.

And there he was—standing beside his car, arms crossed, wearing a dark coat that made him look effortlessly striking. For a second, the world slowed down. He looked... extra handsome tonight.

I flashed him my brightest smile, the kind I didn't even realize I’d been saving just for him. There was something different in the air—less tension, more warmth. Like we were finally beginning to understand the language of each other’s silence.

As I slid into the passenger seat, I noticed the bags behind him.

“You went shopping?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded quickly, eyes on the road. 

“Yeah. I’m craving some soup tonight,” he said, almost too casually.

It caught me off guard—and made me smile wider. It was weird. Endearing. Kind of domestic.

I leaned back, heart feeling lighter than it had all day.

“You can rest for a while. It’s a two-hour drive,” he added in a quiet voice.

Those words… they wrapped around my heart like a soft blanket. 

Simple. Gentle. Thoughtful.

I gave him a soft nod and closed my eyes, knowing sleep wouldn’t come easy—not with my heart still dancing from the smallest things.

CULLEN’S POV

 “We’re here,” I whispered gently, brushing a few strands of her hair as I parked the car in front of the house. She was still asleep, her breathing soft and steady like the snow falling outside. I didn’t want to wake her, not yet. Moments like this—quiet, unguarded—don’t last long.

I opened her door and carried the bags of groceries inside, the winter wind biting at my face but unable to touch the warmth blooming in my chest.

“What do you want for dinner? I can cook,” she offered as we stepped into the living room, her voice light and sweet.

“Let me,” I replied softly.

She blinked in surprise, probably because she didn’t expect it. I didn’t either. But something in me—something buried deep beneath layers of death and duty—felt calm. Fulfilled. The cold outside melted into nothing. I didn’t need anything else at that moment.

As I unpacked the groceries and started preparing the meal, a strange thought crossed my mind—I couldn’t even remember the last time I cooked. Did I ever? As a reaper, I never knew hunger. I never paused long enough to taste anything except the silence between deaths. But now, with her nearby, watching me with soft eyes, it felt like I was… becoming. Becoming someone again.

She sat on the couch, legs curled under her, watching me quietly. Peacefully. Her presence was like a balm. I didn’t want the moment to end. Cullen, just tonight—can’t you let yourself be foolish?

It took nearly an hour to finish cooking. I plated the food and called out, “Let’s eat.”

She gave me that smile—the one that made my chest ache—and walked over to the table. We ate in silence for a while, but it wasn’t heavy. It was comfortable… until her question broke it.

“What happened?”

I looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Your flight. Why was it canceled?”

I hesitated. “Weather,” I lied shortly, not ready to explain the truth I wasn’t even sure of.

“How’s work?” I asked, changing the subject.

“It was great,” she said, her tone brightening again.

“Who picked you up this morning?” I asked without thinking.

“Keres.”

Her answer was casual, but something inside me stiffened. My grip on the spoon tightened.

“Tell him not to pick you up anymore,” I said firmly.

She looked at me, clearly surprised. Confused.

“I just… don’t like people coming near my house,” I added, hoping it sounded logical. But I knew it didn’t. I sounded possessive, territorial.

“Ah, I’m sorry about that. I just… I don’t have any transportation,” she explained, eyes searching mine for answers.

“I’ll take you. My office isn’t far,” I said quickly.

She choked a little on her soup, startled. I reached across the table instinctively, but she waved me off with a nervous laugh.

“I think I’m disturbing you a lot,” she murmured.

“From the moment I took you from that bar… I took responsibility,” I replied, steady, trying not to let emotion crack through my voice. “Unless, of course, you’d rather disturb someone else.”

Her smile faded. Her eyes dropped to her bowl.

I immediately regretted it.

“I’m done eating. Dinner was delicious,” she said with a small, forced smile.

I nodded.

“I’ll do the dishes,” she added quietly.

She stood up, moving slowly toward the sink, but I could feel the distance growing between us. Not in steps—but in silence. Did I push too far? Was it too much?

I left the table and headed to my room, the echo of her fading warmth trailing behind me like a ghost. The peace I’d felt while cooking was gone now—replaced by that same gnawing unrest. Being human... it hurt more than I ever remembered.

PAIGE’S POV

I watched him the entire time he moved around the kitchen. There was something oddly soothing about the way he chopped, stirred, moved with quiet focus. He didn’t speak much, but he didn’t have to. The silence between us wasn’t awkward—it felt like something sacred, like a space neither of us wanted to ruin.

When he told me to sit and eat, I smiled without hesitation. The food smelled amazing, and honestly, my heart was full just watching him cook like that—like he was letting me into a softer part of himself.

But then I asked about the flight, and everything shifted. His eyes hardened, and his tone turned cold.

“Weather,” he said, short and clipped. It felt like a wall had gone up between us, and I didn’t know why.

Still, I tried to keep the mood light. Told him about work. Kept my voice bright.

Then came the question—casual but loaded.

“Who picked you up this morning?”

“Keres,” I answered truthfully, not thinking it would matter. But it did.

His expression barely changed, but I saw it—the flicker in his eyes, the way his shoulders stiffened.

Then he told me not to let Keres pick me up anymore. Just like that. No explanation.

I blinked, unsure if I heard him right. “What?”

“I just… don’t like other people coming near my house,” he said.

What was that supposed to mean? Was I intruding now? Was this his way of pulling away?

“I’m sorry about that… I just don’t have any mode of transportation,” I said quietly, feeling like I had to defend myself for something I didn’t even do wrong.

He cut in, fast. “I’ll drop you off. My office is nearby.”

I almost choked on my soup. Did I hear that right? Was he trying to protect me—or control the situation?

“I think I’m disturbing you a lot,” I whispered, suddenly uncertain where I stood.

He looked at me, eyes unreadable. “From the moment I took you from that bar… I acknowledged the responsibility,” he said flatly. “Unless you wanted to disturb a lot of people.”

That… stung. His words sounded like an accusation, and it made something inside me sink. I didn’t understand where this bitterness was coming from. Did I cross a line?

I lowered my spoon and forced a smile. “I’m done eating. Dinner was delicious.”

He didn’t respond.

“I’ll do the dishes,” I offered, hoping to fill the space with something, anything.

But he stood up and walked away. No glance back. No word.

I stared at the dishes for a long moment, hands resting on the edge of the sink, heart sinking deeper with every breath.

What just happened?

Everything felt warm a while ago. Now it was cold again.

Like winter, creeping back in.

CULLEN’S POV:

  Here I was again, staring blankly out the frosted window, watching snowflakes drift silently down like forgotten moments. My thoughts spiraled—what had I done? How did a few simple words shift everything? Why is it so damn hard to be human?

A soft knock broke through the quiet. My heart skipped.

I opened the door. It was her.

“Hi… I’m sorry for interrupting your rest, but…” she fidgeted, eyes dropping to the floor, voice uncertain.

She didn’t finish. I saw it—the red stain on her hand.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. I grabbed her hand instinctively, panic rising.

“I broke a glass,” she said, flustered. “I panicked and—tried looking for a first aid kit but I couldn’t find any.”

Of course. I didn’t have one.

My chest tightened. My head throbbed. Blood. Her blood. Why did it shake me this much?

“I’ll go out now. I’ll get everything we need,” I said, already reaching for my coat.

“No, it’s okay. I can just rinse it—let it stop on its own,” she insisted gently.

But the guilt hit harder than the cold outside. I couldn’t even offer her something as basic as a bandage.

“Let’s stop the bleeding first, then I’ll go,” I said, guiding her inside. My room. I didn’t even think twice.

She sat quietly while I wrapped her hand with what little I could find. My heart pounded—not just from guilt, but from something else, something unnamed.

Once the bleeding slowed, I left—into the thick, merciless snow. I didn’t care how far I had to drive. I just had to do something right for her.

When I returned, she was fast asleep on the couch, her breathing soft, her form curled like something fragile.

I knelt beside her, gently unwrapped her hand, and dabbed ointment on the wound as carefully as I could. She didn’t stir.

And then I just sat there. Watching her.

My hand moved before I could stop it, brushing her cheek. Her skin was warm against the cold that clung to me.

“What am I supposed to do now?” I whispered into the stillness.