Months had passed since that night. On the surface, everything was the same—laughter echoing through their shared apartment, inside jokes exchanged over late-night coffee, the easy rhythm of a friendship built on years of unwavering loyalty.

But beneath the surface, something was broken.

Jack carried the weight of an unspoken guilt, a relentless ache that gnawed at him in quiet moments. He had told himself he was doing the right thing—protecting Alex, keeping her safe from the instability that love could bring. But in doing so, he had sentenced himself to a silent agony, one where he had to watch her try and fail to move on.

And Alex had tried.

She went on dates, dressed up in outfits she didn’t feel beautiful in, smiled at men who didn’t make her chest tighten the way Jack did. She kissed lips that felt wrong, held hands that didn’t fit. Every touch, every moment, felt hollow, as if her body itself rejected the idea of anyone who wasn’t him.

The realization hit her like a crashing wave on her most recent date. The guy was attractive—kind, even. They had laughed, flirted, played the game of pretending something could be there. When he drove back to her apartment. He parked outside Alex climbed over to his seat and kissed him deep on his lips. She climbed him, intertwined her tongue with his, moved her lips down to his chin, then his neck, then to the tattoo on the left of his neck. Her hands traced his jaw, his throat—searching.

She sat back And let her fingers land on his neck. As here eyes hawked to where the tatoo should be but.

Nothing.

Her heart stopped. There was no tattoo. No inked mark just below his ear. No silent reminder of the only person who she had truly wanted.

A violent sickness twisted inside her.

She wrenched away, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “I—I have to go,” she barged the car door open and leaped out with all the crushing weight of disappointment pressing down on her.

“Wait, did I do something—”

But she was already gone.

By the time she reached their apartment, she was shaking.

She burst through the door, slamming it behind her, collapsing against it as sobs tore from her throat.

Jack was there in an instant. “Alex—shit, what happened?”

His voice was raw with concern. He crouched beside her, hands hovering, unsure if she wanted to be touched.

Alex looked up at him, her vision blurred with tears. Why is it always you?

Jacks face was filled with worry, his blue eyes searched hers, pleading for an answer.

Suddenly as Alex eyes connected with Jack's she knew.

Jack wasn’t just the person she wanted.

He was the only person she had ever wanted.

Something inside her shifted. If he wouldn’t come to her, she would bring him to her. Jack would be hers.

A movie night—something they’d done a thousand times. But this time, she let herself get comfortable. She curled up next to him, body pressing lightly against his side. As the night stretched on, she let her head slide down the couch until it rested on his lap.

Jack tensed beneath her. “Alex?” He nudged her shoulder lightly. No response.

He let out a breath. “Guess I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” he muttered, reaching for the remote to turn off the TV.

Then he heard it.

A soft mumble. Barely a whisper.

At first, it was incoherent. Just the lazy sounds of sleep.

Then—

“I love you.”

Jack froze.

He stared down at her, his body rigid as ice filled his veins.

And then, barely above a breath—

“You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted. The only person I ever will.”

Jack’s heart slammed against his ribs.

She’s asleep. He told himself. She doesn’t mean it.

But the words were already burrowing deep, sinking into places he had tried to keep locked away.

_________________________________________

Jack barely slept.

Alex’s whispered confession from the night before still echoed in his mind, haunting him like a ghost. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted. The only person I ever will.”

She had been asleep—he told himself that over and over. She didn’t mean it. She wasn’t aware. But the words were inside him now, burrowing deep, rotting everything he had tried so hard to preserve.

And Alex?

She was escalating.

That morning, she handed him his usual cup of coffee, but this time, her fingers brushed his when he took it. The touch was barely there, but it was enough to send an uncomfortable heat up his spine.

At dinner, she sat close. Too close. Her bare knee pressed lightly against his under the table, but she didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

And when she laughed at his jokes, she leaned in, her lips almost touching his ear, her breath warm on his skin.

It was killing him.

Jack was drowning in it—the tension, the guilt, the want.

Every touch, every stolen glance, every lingering moment—it felt like a noose tightening around his throat.

He told himself to ignore it. Convinced himself it was just Alex being Alex.

But deep down, he knew better.

This wasn’t a game anymore.

Alex wasn’t playing.

She was hunting.

And Jack was starting to slip.

Then, Alex did something reckless. Something primal.

Jack had gone out for university but he was about to return home any time around now.

Alex jolted as she heard the front door slam.

He’s home.

Steam curled around her in the bathroom, the remnants of her hot shower clinging to the air. She stood before the mirror, droplets of water glistening on her skin, her damp hair cascading over her shoulders. Her pulse thrummed with anticipation.

The bathroom door was unlocked. On purpose.

It was an unspoken rule between them—if the door was closed but not locked, the bathroom was free. If it was locked, it meant someone was inside. Simple. Routine.

Jack was nothing if not predictable. He would come home, head straight for the bathroom for a shower. She had timed it perfectly.

Footsteps.

Her stomach flipped.

The handle turned.

The door swung open.

Jack froze.

Water droplets glistening on her bare skin, her damp hair cascading over her shoulders. Her body was bathed in soft, golden light from the overhead bulb. the soft glow of condensation on her skin, the delicate curve of her waist.

For a single, electrified heartbeat, his eyes devoured her

Then—

“Jack!”

Her voice rang out, sharp and scandalized. She grabbed a towel and pressed it hastily to her chest, wide eyes locking onto his.

Jack’s brain snapped back online, his face flushing. Fuck—.

“Shit! I—I didn’t know—you—” He recoiled like he’d been burned, his face flushing red-hot as he stumbled backward. His hands shot up in surrender, as if that would somehow erase what he had just seen. “The door—it wasn’t locked—I thought—”

He slammed the door shut, pressing his back against it as he exhaled a sharp breath.

His heart was pounding.

Inside the bathroom, Alex smirked.

“Oh, of course, you didn’t,” she called out through the door, her voice dripping with teasing accusation. “You sick perv.”

She barely managed to keep her voice steady, amusement threatening to spill over.

Silence.

Jack didn’t respond.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

His mind was a warzone.

On the other side of the door, he stood there, hands gripping the doorknob as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. for that split second—just before his guilt crashed down—he had wanted to step forward instead of back.

And that terrified him.

That night, Jack lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his chest tight.

This was spiraling.

Alex wasn’t stopping. And he…

He wasn’t stopping her.

It was like a rope pulling him toward the edge of a cliff, and no matter how hard he tried to dig his heels in, his grip was slipping.

But this was Alex.

His best friend.

The person he had sworn to protect.

And if he let this happen—if he crossed that line—

He wouldn’t be able to take it back.

Jack shut his eyes.

He had to put a stop to this.

Before it was too late.

As for Alex. She was on her bed staring at the ceiling, with a deep grin.

She had him.

She knew she had him now.

And she wasn’t going to stop.