The closet door closed behind them with a whisper-soft click, sealing out the noise of the school hallway. In the dim, dusty dark, the air felt tight—thick with chemical fumes and the heat of too-near bodies.
Aiden shifted his weight, his back against the cold wall, the edge of a mop handle jabbing into his ribs. "Seriously?" he muttered. "A broom closet?
Rosalie stepped in closer. Much closer. Her hand landed on the wall beside his head, caging him in without touching him.
"Quiet," she said.
The scent of her—faintly floral, unnaturally crisp—cut through the musty air. She didn't smell like cleaning fluid or dust. She smelled like frost and something expensive. Something dangerous.
"He's going to tell her," she whispered.
Aiden blinked, heartbeat picking up. "Edward?"
She nodded, her face inches from his. He could just make out the gleam of her golden eyes in the gloom. "He's going to tell Bella what he is."
Aiden let that sink in. "Thought you all weren't supposed to do that."
"We're not," Rosalie said. "But Edward thinks he's above rules when it comes to her."
He swallowed. "And you're pissed."
"Yes, and scared." The words came quick, brittle. Like glass cracking under pressure.
Aiden looked at her, really looked. She was still the same perfect Rosalie Hale—flawless skin, sculpted lips, golden curls grazing his shoulder—but something in her posture was tighter than usual. Not poised. Tense.
"You?" he asked. "Scared?"
Dust motes hung suspended in the shaft of light that bled under the door, and the faint smell of bleach lingered beneath the tension between them. Rosalie hadn't moved since she stepped back from him. But she hadn't left either.
Aiden rubbed his thumb along the edge of the shelf. "You didn't just drag me in here because of Bella."
Silence.
"No," Rosalie said softly.
He looked up. Her eyes met his in the dark, a shade softer than they'd ever been.
"You're not like them," she said. "Edward, Emmett, even Alice... they all treat you like a guest. Temporary. But I know better."
"That supposed to be a compliment?"
She smirked faintly. "Don't get cocky."
Then her expression shifted—like she was wrestling something down inside herself.
"I shouldn't care," she said. "You're human. You're not part of this world. You could leave tomorrow and none of this would matter."
"Except it does matter."
She stepped in again, not quite touching him—but close enough he could feel the chill rolling off her skin.
"I don't want you to get hurt, Aiden."
The words fell out of her like they surprised her, too.
He froze. "What?"
Rosalie bit the inside of her cheek, then looked away, ashamed of her own vulnerability. "You're smart. You pay attention. You don't try to be one of the people around here and maybe that's why I..."
She shook her head, frustrated. "I don't know. Maybe I just don't want to see you torn apart because of their choices."
Aiden's heart was pounding. Not just because she was close, not just because her lips looked like temptation sculpted in marble—but because Rosalie Hale, the ice queen of Forks High, was afraid.
And underneath that fear… was something that felt like care.
Like affection.
He reached out, barely brushing his fingers against her wrist. She didn't pull away.
"I don't plan on dying, if that's what you're worried about."
Her eyes snapped back to his. "Good. Because if you do, I'll kill you myself."
They both laughed quietly—just a breath of sound—but it broke the tension like a match to paper.
And for a moment, in the dark, it felt like something unspoken had settled between them. Fragile. Dangerous. Real.
Then she stepped back, and the moment passed.
Rosalie placed a hand on the doorknob but didn't turn it just yet.
"You still smell like trouble," she said, glancing over her shoulder with something close to a smile.
"And you still smell like frostbite," Aiden replied.
She opened the door and walked out into the light.
The rest of the day passed like a ghost. Classrooms, hallway chatter, the hum of normal life — all drowned beneath the steady beat of Rosalie's words echoing in Aiden's mind. "I kinda like you… but I don't want you to get hurt." The weight of it clung to him, twisting like a thread tangled in the shadows of his thoughts.
Time lost meaning. Minutes blurred into hours. The world moved around him, but he barely moved with it.
When night finally wrapped its cold arms around the town, Aiden found himself alone in his room, the low glow of his laptop screen the only light piercing the darkness.
It pinged.
A pause.
Then a flicker.
"Still breathing?" a message appeared.
Aiden's fingers hovered. Then he typed back, cautious:
"Always."
Seconds stretched. Then came the reply:
"Curious if you're still sharp. If you'll bite."
His pulse quickened. Connie's signature was unmistakable — lurking, taunting, testing the waters.
Aiden's breath hitched. This wasn't just a check-in. It was a challenge.
He stared at the blinking cursor, heart pounding.
He wasn't sure what the next move was — but he knew one thing:
He wasn't backing down.