Chapter 8: The Silence That Burns

We avoid each other like cowards.

We avoid each other like cowards.

Not strangers.

Not enemies.

Cowards.

Because strangers don’t memorize each other’s footsteps.

Enemies don’t hold their breath when the other walks past.

But we do.

Every time.

I hear his door open.

I wait five seconds before stepping out of mine.

I hear his voice down the hall.

I walk the other way.

It’s stupid.

Childish.

Pathetic.

And it hurts more than any fight we’ve ever had.

At least when we fought, we talked.

Now?

Nothing.

Just silence.

And the silence burns worse than fire.

I keep telling myself it’s fine.

It’s better like this.

Safer.

If we don’t talk, we won’t say the wrong thing.

If we don’t touch, we won’t cross the line.

If we don’t look, we won’t want to.

Simple.

Easy.

A lie.

Because even when he’s not near me, my body still reacts like he is.

I still hear his voice in my head.

I don’t know how to stop.

Those five words have been chasing me all night.

Stop what?

Wanting me?

Thinking about me?

Or loving.

No.

I cut that thought fast.

Too dangerous.

Too much.

I step into the hallway quietly, meaning to grab water and go back before we run into each other.

That’s the plan.

Simple.

But then I hear his voice.

Low.

Tired.

Talking to someone.

I freeze.

He rarely calls people. Especially not this early.

I shouldn’t listen.

I know I shouldn’t.

But my feet refuse to move.

“…yeah,” he says quietly.

A pause.

“No. I’m fine.”

Another pause.

He laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it.

“You ever make a mistake you can’t undo?”

My chest tightens.

The person on the other end must say something because he sighs.

“Yeah. That kind.”

Silence stretches.

Then he says it.

Quiet. Raw. Honest.

“The biggest regret of my life.”

My heart drops straight to my stomach.

Regret.

The word hits hard.

Too hard.

Because I already know what he’s talking about.

He regrets the almost-kiss.

Of course he does.

Why wouldn’t he?

To him, I’m just trouble.

A complication.

A mistake.

I knew it.

I always knew it.

Still… hearing it like this feels like someone squeezing my lungs.

“I should’ve stopped it earlier,” he continues.

My fingers curl into fists.

Stopped what?

Us?

That night?

Me?

“I should’ve kept my distance from the start,” he mutters.

Something cracks inside me.

So that’s it.

He wishes we never got close.

Never talked.

Never almost.

I feel stupid.

So stupid.

All this time, I thought there was something between us.

But to him, I’m just his biggest mistake.

My throat burns.

I step back quietly, not wanting him to catch me listening.

But then “…I don’t know how to stay away from him,” he says suddenly.

I freeze.

Him.

Not it.

Not that.

Him.

My heart skips.

“What do you mean?” he mutters, answering whoever’s on the phone. “I mean exactly what I said. I will try. I really try. But every time I see him, I forget everything I promised myself.”

My breath trembles.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s why it’s my biggest regret.”

Regret… because he can’t stay away?

Because he keeps wanting me?

Because he’s losing control?

My mind spins.

Which one is it?

Does he regret me… or regret wanting me?

The difference feels small.

But it means everything.

I turn the corner fast.

And slam straight into him.

Chest to chest.

Solid.

Warm.

Too close.

My hands instinctively grab his shirt to steady myself.

His hands land on my waist.

Time stops.

For one second, we just breathe.

Together.

Same air.

Same space.

Same stupid, dangerous heartbeat.

His eyes drop to my lips.

Then back up.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

I nod, but my voice comes out shaky. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t let go.

Neither do I.

We both notice.

Neither of us moves.

This is ridiculous.

This is insane.

This is us.

“You heard me, didn’t you?” he says suddenly.

My stomach drops. “What?”

“My call.”

I look away. “No.”

“You’re lying again.”

“I wasn’t listening.”

“You always listen.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

Silence.

Then he sighs. “How much did you hear?”

I hesitate.

Too long.

He closes his eyes. “Damn it.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I said quickly. “I just”

“It’s fine.” His voice is tired. “You might as well know.”

My chest tightens. “Know what?”

He studies my face like he’s deciding whether I can handle the truth.

“That I screw everything up,” he mutters.

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“You said… you said it was your biggest regret.”

His hands loosen on my waist.

Like the words hurt him too.

“That’s what you heard?” he asks quietly.

“Yes.”

“And you stopped listening after that.”

I swallow.

He laughs softly. Sad. “Of course you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you always assume the worst about me.”

“Because you never explain anything!”

“I try”

“No, you don’t!” My voice rises. “You hide. You deflect. You walk away. You make me guess!”

His jaw tightens. “You think this is easy for me?”

“I think you regret me!”

The words explode out before I can stop them.

Silence.

Heavy.

Sharp.

Dangerous.

His eyes widened.

“Is that what you think?” he whispers.

“What else am I supposed to think?”

He stares at me like I just stabbed him.

“I wasn’t talking about regretting you,” he says slowly.

“Then what?”

“I regret not stopping myself from falling for you.”

Everything inside me goes still.

“What?” I breathe.

He swallows. Hard. “I regret not protecting myself. Because now… now you’re all I think about.”

My heart slams so loud I swear he can hear it.

“That’s not” I start.

“It is,” he cuts in. “I tried to hate you. I tried to push you away. I tried to pretend you didn’t matter.”

His voice breaks.

“And it didn’t work.”

I stare at him, stunned.

“You think you’re my regret?” he whispers. “You’re not. You’re my weakness.”

My chest aches.

“That’s worse,” I say softly.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It is.”

We stood there too close again.

Too honest.

Too open.

“Then why keep fighting it?” I ask.

“Because if I don’t fight it,” he says, “I’ll lose control.”

“Lose control how?”

He steps closer.

My back hits the wall.

His hand brushes my wrist.

Electric.

“I’ll touch you,” he murmurs.

My breath shakes.

“I’ll kiss you.”

My pulse races.

“I won’t stop.”

My knees almost give out.

“And if I start,” he whispers, “I don’t think I’ll ever want to stop.”

God.

That shouldn’t sound so good.

It shouldn’t make my heart race like this.

It shouldn’t make me want to close the distance myself.

But it does.

It does.

It does.

“Then maybe,” I whisper, “stop trying to run.”

His eyes search mine. “You’re not scared?”

“I am.”

“Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”

Because I don’t want to.

Because I never wanted to.

Because every time you leave, it feels like something tears inside me.

But I can’t say all that.

So I just whisper, “Because I’m tired of pretending.”

His hand tightens around my wrist.

Slow.

Gentle.

Possessive.

Dangerous.

“Nico…”

My name sounds different in his mouth.

Lower.

Heavier.

Like it belongs there.

My lips part.

We’re close again.

Too close.

Closer than breathing.

Closer than safe.

And right when the world narrows to just him

A phone buzzes.

Loud.

Sharp.

Breaking everything.

He curses softly and pulls back.

The moment shatters.

He checks the screen.

His expression changes.

Hard.

Cold.

Guarded.

“What is it?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer.

Just stares.

Then he mutters, “They’re coming home early.”

My stomach drops. “Who?”

“Our parents.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

Too soon.

Too fast.

Everything changes tomorrow.

We won’t have this hallway.

These late-night talks.

These almost-kisses.

We’ll have to pretend again.

Brother. Family. Distance.

Normal.

Fake.

My chest tightens painfully.

“So… what now?” I whisper.

He looks at me like he’s already losing something.

Like we’re already over.

Like this was just a dream.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly.

The silence between us burns again.

Worse than before.

Because now we both know what we almost did.

What we almost said.

What we almost became.

And tomorrow might erase it all.

I step closer before I can stop myself.

My voice breaks.

“Liam…”

He looks at me.

Soft. Fragile. Honest.

And the question tears out of me before I can swallow it back.

“Do you regret me?”

He opens his mouth to answer… but footsteps echo down the hallway. Someone else is there. And we are still standing too close.