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Chapter 7 - Chapter 7

The kiss lingered long after Adrian left the library.

Nina sat frozen at the table, fingers curled around the edge of her chair, lips still tingling where his had been. The taste of him clung to her — rain, coffee, something metallic beneath it all. The room around her hummed with whispers and shuffling pages, but it felt like another world entirely, one she could no longer belong to.

She tried to work. She really did. The presentation glared up from her laptop, deadlines hissed at her from the margins of her planner, but her thoughts were a storm with only one centre.

Adrian.

His name had become a pulse beneath her skin. It terrified her how much space he occupied now, how his voice echoed in the spaces where her own used to be.

By the time the library closed, dusk had fallen. She left with her bag slung over one shoulder, the cold biting through her sweater. Rain slicked the streets again, neon lights smearing into puddles. Her reflection stared back at her from shop windows — pale, restless, someone she barely recognised.

And then she felt it.

That invisible thread. That pull.

She didn't turn immediately. Let him think she hadn't noticed. Her footsteps carried her down the narrow side street that led home, past the bakery that always smelled of warm yeast, past the shuttered bookstore.

When she finally stopped, his shadow was already at the corner.

"Following me again?" she called, the words sharp, too loud in the empty street.

Adrian stepped out of the gloom, hands tucked in his coat pockets. His hair was damp, clinging to his forehead, and his gaze — pale and unflinching — pinned her in place.

"You don't sound angry," he said softly.

Nina swallowed hard. "Maybe I'm just tired of pretending."

Something flickered in his eyes then. Approval? Hunger? It was hard to tell.

He closed the distance between them slowly, like a predator unwilling to startle the prey. When he stopped, they were close enough for his breath to brush her cheek, for the rain dripping from his hair to dampen her collar.

"You kissed me back," he murmured.

Her heart lurched. "That wasn't—"

"An accident?" His voice was a dark thread. "No. You felt it."

She hated how her silence betrayed her.

Adrian reached up, knuckles grazing her jaw, tracing a line that made her breath stutter. "You can lie with words, Nina. But your body—your body doesn't know how."

The street was empty, the world suspended. Just rain and heartbeat.

She should push him away.

She didn't.

---

He followed her home.

Not because she invited him — but because when he fell into step beside her, she didn't tell him to leave.

Her apartment felt too small when they stepped inside. The lights were harsh, the air too warm. Adrian scanned the space like a map, gaze flicking to the discarded notes on her desk, the coffee mug with lipstick smudged at the rim.

"You live like someone waiting to leave," he said.

Nina turned sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged off his jacket, drops of rain scattering onto the floor. "Half-packed. Unfinished. Always one foot out the door."

She opened her mouth to snap back — then stopped. Because he wasn't entirely wrong.

Adrian moved closer, each step unhurried, deliberate. "You build routines like walls, but you don't believe in them. Not really."

"Stop." Her voice was thin.

He didn't.

His fingers brushed her wrist — a ghost of a touch, but enough to make her skin shiver. "Tell me to go, Nina. Mean it, and I will."

Her lips parted. The word trembled on the edge of her tongue.

Go.

But it didn't come.

Instead, she whispered, "What do you want from me?"

Adrian's smile was slow, dark. "Honesty. For a start."

They ended up in the living room, the rain a steady percussion against the window. Adrian sat on the couch, fingers steepled, while Nina hovered near the bookshelf like a cornered animal.

"Why me?" she asked finally.

His gaze found hers. "Because you're not like them."

"Them?"

"The ones who sleepwalk through their lives. Who never sees the shadows even when they're choking them." His voice softened. "You feel everything. You hide it well, but I see the cracks."

Nina's throat tightened. "That's not a reason to… to do this."

"No?" He leaned forward slightly. "You want a reason? Fine. Because the world will eat you alive if no one watches. Because I already know the monsters that circle you — I've chased some away."

Her pulse jumped. "What does that even mean?"

"It means," Adrian said quietly, "that you don't have to be afraid when you're with me."

She laughed then — sharp, hollow. "You are the reason I'm afraid."

His smile didn't falter. "And yet you let me in."

The tension coiled tighter with every passing minute. She made tea just to have something to do with her hands, but when she handed him the mug, his fingers brushed hers — a deliberate, lingering touch.

It was unbearable.

And when he reached for her again — cupping her cheek this time, thumb tracing the curve of her mouth — she didn't flinch.

"You're trembling," he whispered.

"I don't want this," she said.

"You do."

Her breath hitched.

Then his mouth was on hers again.

This kiss was different. Slower. Darker. A claiming more than a question. His hands slid into her hair, tugging her closer until her knees pressed the edge of the couch. She felt the heat of him, the hard line of his body, the storm curling beneath his stillness.

Nina gasped when his teeth grazed her lower lip — not enough to hurt, but enough to make her heart lurch.

"Say stop," Adrian murmured against her mouth.

She didn't.

His hands skimmed her waist, fingers splaying over her ribs, not pushing further — not yet — just mapping the edges of her resistance.

It terrified her how much she wanted him to go on.

---

Time blurred. The rain stopped. The city outside slept while they hovered in that dangerous in-between — not lovers, not strangers, something far more volatile.

At some point, Adrian pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. His breathing was steady, controlled, as if he'd leashed something feral inside him.

"This isn't a game," he said softly.

"I know."

"You don't," he corrected. "But you will."

And then, without asking, he picked up her pen from the desk — the same one he had returned — and tucked it into his pocket.

"Why—"

"Because you still think it's yours," he said, standing. "It isn't."

Before she could answer, he was at the door, jacket over his shoulder.

"You'll see me again," he murmured.

And then he was gone.

---

Nina didn't sleep that night.

She lay in bed, lips swollen, skin tingling where his hands had traced, mind spinning in the void between terror and want.

She knew this was wrong.

But she also knew something else.

She was already his — or becoming his — piece by piece.

And the worst part?

She wasn't sure she wanted to stop it.

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