Amelia stormed up the steps of Elias's apartment, rain still dripping from her coat, her pulse hammering with frustration. For days, she'd replayed his outburst at the café—his jealousy, his denial, his walls snapping shut again.
She'd had enough.
When he opened the door, his expression was the same careful mask as always. Cold, distant, untouchable. But Amelia saw the flicker in his eyes—the one he couldn't hide.
"We need to talk," she said, pushing past him into the apartment.
He closed the door slowly, his jaw tight. "Amelia—"
"No. You don't get to run this time." She dropped her violin case on the floor, turning to face him. "You don't get to lash out and then pretend it meant nothing."
His chest rose sharply. "It did mean nothing."
"Liar."
The word cut through the air like a blade. Elias froze, his fists clenching.
"You're terrified of feelings, Elias," she pressed, her voice trembling with anger and something deeper. "But you can't keep pretending. Not when I see it in your eyes. Not when I feel it in the way you look at me."
He shook his head, backing away as though her words were fire. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, I do." She stepped closer, her heart in her throat. "You think you hide it, but you don't. You care. About me."
His breathing quickened, the mask cracking. "If I do… it will destroy everything."
Amelia stopped in front of him, barely an arm's length away. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Then let it."
The silence between them burned. Elias's grey eyes searched hers desperately, as if looking for an escape he couldn't find. His hand lifted, hesitated, then finally brushed against her cheek—gentle, trembling, as though he wasn't sure if he was allowed.
Amelia leaned into his touch, her chest aching. "Stop running," she whispered.
And then, like breaking glass, his restraint shattered.
Elias pulled her to him, his lips crashing against hers with a force that stole her breath. It wasn't neat or careful—it was raw, desperate, years of silence spilling out all at once.
Amelia gasped softly against him, her hands gripping his coat as the kiss deepened. His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her like she was the only anchor he had.
For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. No rain, no city, no fear—just them.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath uneven.
"I don't know how to do this," Elias confessed, his voice rough. "I don't know how to love… without breaking it."
Amelia's lips curved into a trembling smile, her thumb brushing his jaw. "Then let me teach you."
And before he could argue, she kissed him again—softer this time, patient, like music written in the quiet between heartbeats.