She woke to silence.
Not the kind that meant emptiness, but the kind that pressed gently against her ears like the world was holding its breath.
Kai was already up. He always was. She found him near the window, shirtless, barefoot, reading something he'd probably finished years ago. His stillness should've unsettled her, but instead, it calmed her.
He glanced up when she moved.
"Did you sleep?"
"I watched you sleep," he said simply.
Of course he did.
She didn't ask what he saw. Maybe the same things she was pretending not to feel, softness creeping in. The kind of softness that comes with danger.
They didn't rush the morning.
They didn't speak about the deal.
There were six days left.
He didn't try to kiss her right away. He just made her tea, handed it over without a word, and sat beside her on the edge of the bed like he might break the moment if he moved too fast.
The quiet between them wasn't awkward. It was thick, as if neither of them wanted to name whatever this was becoming.
Alexis finished her tea slowly, aware of his eyes tracking every small shift of her mouth, the rise and fall of her breath, the stretch of her thighs beneath the oversized shirt.
She didn't say, "Stop looking."
Because she didn't want him to.
They spent most of the day touching without making it about sex.
He ran a bath for her. She pulled him in. Water rippled around their bodies while his mouth brushed her shoulders, her collarbone, the side of her throat. She straddled him in silence, rode him in silence, the kind that meant everything was felt, not said.
Her fingers tangled in his hair.
His hands stayed on her waist like he was memorizing her frame.
She didn't moan his name. She whispered it. Over and over, like it was something she was trying not to forget.
When it was over, she rested her forehead against his and whispered, "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"
He didn't answer.
But his hand slipped behind her neck, and he kissed her like she was the first warmth he'd ever known.
That night, they didn't go anywhere.
No grand gestures. No city lights.
Just her curled into his lap, both of them half-dressed, his fingers tracing the line of her spine while she read out loud from one of the novels stacked on his shelf.
He interrupted her halfway through a paragraph with a quiet,
"You'll really leave, won't you?"
She didn't look up. Just nodded.
"I have to."
And he didn't argue.
Because Kai wasn't the type to beg. But he was the type to take what he wanted while he still could.
So when she turned to kiss him, he kissed her harder.
When she touched him, he gripped her tighter.
When she whispered, "Don't be gentle tonight,"
he wasn't.
Day Two passed like fog, slow, soft, and everywhere.
It didn't burn. It ached.