Slipping Away

That night was the beginning of something raw and animalistic.

And for the next several days, that’s all we were, skin on skin, heat, breathless moans echoing through the walls. We did it everywhere, the kitchen counter, the stairs. We couldn’t stop, I didn’t want us to. It felt safer to give in to the physical than risk what was bubbling underneath.

“You're trying to kill me,” I muttered one afternoon, sprawled out on the cold marble floor, catching my breath.

Xander smirked, leaning over me, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. “Then I’m doing something right.”

“It’s not healthy,” I said, but even as I said it, I was reaching for him again.

“Hm,” he murmured into my hair.

I froze, it wasn’t the version of him I was used to. But the moment passed, and he was pulling me back under, lips on mine, hands everywhere.

Today, I walked into the kitchen and found him shirtless, with his hair damp, standing over the stove like he belonged there.

His toothbrush poked out of his mouth, and a pan was definitely seconds away from bursting into flames. “Is this an attempt at murder?” I asked, grabbing the spatula from his hand.

He pulled the toothbrush out with a grin. “No faith in me whatsoever.”

“None. You tried to season the eggs with powdered sugar yesterday.”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “They still tasted better than that cereal you like.”

I rolled my eyes, flipping the eggs. “This isn’t cereal, it’s survival food. You wouldn’t last a week without me.”

He moved behind me then, sliding his arms around my waist, lips brushing my ear. “I'm not going anywhere again Kai.”

My hands faltered on the spatula. “I mean it,” he said, voice low but serious.

I turned to look at him, heart suddenly racing for an entirely different reason. “Xander…”

“You think I don’t see it? The way you look at me like I’m gonna disappear again?”

“I don’t think that,” I lied.

He raised a brow. “Try again.”

We spent the rest of that day doing ordinary things, burning toast, arguing over grocery lists, and laughing at how bad we were at domestic life. It felt normal.

Later, we cooked dinner—well, I cooked, and he mostly pretended to help.

“You’re oddly quiet,” I said.

He shrugged. “Just watching you.”

“That night, he pulled me onto his lap by the window, the food forgotten again. His lips were on my neck, soft and warm. “Still think I can’t cook?” he teased.

“You burned the garlic.”

“It was artistic.”

I laughed and leaned into him, feeling safe in a way I hadn’t let myself feel in months. He didn’t just kiss me. He held me.

The next morning, we slipped into the pool together. The sun was barely up, but the glass roof glowed with soft orange light. I floated beside him, eyes closed, letting the quiet wrap around us.

“I used to dream about this,” I said suddenly.

Xander turned to me. “The pool?”

“No, You, home.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak. He just reached for me, guiding me to him.

And then, underwater, he kissed me like he needed me to breathe.

That’s when it clicked.

This wasn’t about just sex anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

It was him, It was me, It was everything we didn’t know how to say.

That night, as we lay tangled in bed again, I traced the scars on his chest, one by one.

“I don’t want to lose you,” I whispered.

“You won’t,” he said automatically.

“No, I mean it. I don’t want this to be just about the sex anymore.”

The room went quiet.

Xander’s fingers, which had been playing with a strand of my hair, froze. He stared at the ceiling, seconds passed, then without a word, he climbed out of bed.

“Xander?” I pushed up on one elbow. “Did you hear me?” He grabbed his shirt off the chair. Didn’t look at me, Pulled it on slowly.

“Xander, what are you doing?” he still said nothing.

Xander didn’t move, the city lights painting shadows on his bare chest. Seconds passed, then he exhaled and rubbed a hand over his face.

"Kaia…" His voice was lower than usual, strained. "You don’t know what you’re asking."

"Then tell me," I said softly. "Help me understand."

His eyes flicked to mine, brief, intense, sharp like he was deciding whether to cut me open or walk away.

"It’s not that simple," he muttered. "It is for me." I didn’t flinch. "I want you. Not just like this. I want all of you."

He looked away, I reached out, fingers brushing his forearm. "Xander…"

He stepped back from my touch, "I can’t," he said. "Not yet."

"Why?"

His mouth opened, then shut, his hands curled into fists, like he was fighting himself more than me.

“You wouldn't look at me the same way if you knew.”

And then he turned. "I need air."

He grabbed a hoodie from the chair and walked out without looking back at me.

The door clicked shut behind him, and I was left alone in that high-rise silence, my heart thudding louder than the city traffic below.

What didn’t he want me to know?

And what if the truth ruined everything? I didn't cry, but part of me already felt him slipping away.