Rain hammered the cabin harder, like it was pissed at the roof for just existing. The fire he'd bullied into life wasn't doing much—just a flicker here, a shadow there, not exactly cozy. More like, "Hey, at least I'm trying."
She sat up on that rickety bed, knees hugged tight, watching him play statue by the hearth. Dude had shoulders like a linebacker, and every muscle looked wound up, strung tight as piano wire. He wouldn't even glance her way, but seriously? The stress was practically fogging up the room.
"You'll freeze out there," she said. Quiet, almost like she was trying not to jinx anything.
He shot back, "I'll manage." Not exactly warm and fuzzy. His voice sounded like gravel though—guy was running on fumes.
Her heart gave that stupid squeeze. Classic him, always playing hero, always acting like the world would explode if he let her take care of herself for half a second. "This is dumb," she muttered, eyeing the bed. "It's big enough for two, you know."
He finally turned. If looks could kill, right? Or maybe just wound a little. "You don't know what you're asking."
She sucked in a breath. Oh, she knew. That was exactly the issue.
Still, she peeled back the blanket, pulse thumping like crazy. "You're no good to me half-dead. It's just practical, okay? Survival mode."
He just stood there, looking like he was about to argue with a wall. Then he let out this sound—somewhere between a sigh and a growl—and trudged over, each step like he was dragging a hundred-pound weight.
The bed was so narrow, they basically had to play human Tetris. He radiated heat, all tense and overwhelming, and she tried to pretend the storm was the only thing worth noticing.
Yeah, right. Every time his arm brushed hers or the blanket shifted, it was like tiny fireworks straight to her nerves.
He lay there stiff as a board, staring daggers at the ceiling. "Sleep," he said, except it sounded like he didn't believe himself for a second.
"I'm trying," she whispered, not really trying at all.
Silence stretched out, thick and awkward, full of everything they weren't saying. She turned her head a little, only to catch him already looking at her. His eyes practically glowed in the firelight, intense as hell.
For a second, neither of them moved. Nothing outside mattered. Just this—this too-close, too-loud tension, that thing between them nobody wanted to give a name.
She swallowed hard. "Goodnight," she croaked, rolling onto her side like she could hide from it.
Behind her, he shifted too—careful, like maybe if he moved too fast, the whole bed would blow up. Not touching, but so close she could feel every breath.
Sleep? Yeah, not happening.