Nora

I hadn’t planned on being awake at two in the morning but here I was. Lying in a room that still didn’t feel like mine, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. I’d tried everything. Music, a book, closing my eyes and pretending I was anywhere else. Nothing worked.

The problem wasn’t the bed or the lighting or the unfamiliar silence.

The problem was me.

There was a knot in my chest I couldn’t untangle, a quiet pressure building behind my ribs that no amount of deep breathing could fix.

And I hated that I knew exactly when it started.

That moment at the pool.  

The look in his eyes. The way he said I wasn’t his sister and meant it like it mattered.

I didn’t want to think about him. Not when I couldn’t even understand my own mind lately. Not when just being here already felt like walking through someone else’s life.

But every time I closed my eyes, he was there again. Silent. Staring. Steady in a way that made me feel off-balance.

And it wasn’t just him. It was everything.

My father trying too hard to make things seem normal. 

Philippe being too nice.  

The weight of a life I hadn’t asked for but somehow had to fit into anyway.

I sighed, sitting up in bed.

There was no point in forcing it.

I pulled on a hoodie and padded to the door, barefoot and careful, like I was sneaking out of a place I didn’t quite belong in.

The hallway was dim, and colder than I expected.

I wasn’t expecting to see anyone. Especially not him.

Axton stood halfway between my door and the stairs, shirt wrinkled, hair pushed back like he’d been just as restless as me.

For a second, neither of us moved. Then I stepped out.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just watched me with that unreadable expression that always made me feel like I was the one being studied.

“Can’t sleep?” he finally asked, voice low.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Same.”

I hated the way something about that word made my chest shift.

Same.

I wasn’t used to same.

“Just needed water,” I added.

He nodded. “Kitchen’s empty. I already checked.”

Of course he had.

I passed him without another word, but I could feel his eyes on me as I walked.

It wasn’t invasive. It was just.. aware.

When I got to the kitchen, I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and stood by the sink, staring out the dark window while the tap ran. My reflection stared back at me. Soft edges, tired eyes, a hoodie that smelled like the back of a drawer I hadn’t unpacked yet.

I didn’t look like myself anymore.

Or maybe I just didn’t know what that looked like now.

The water didn’t help. But standing there in the dark, I realized something I didn’t want to admit.

He looked tired too.

And not in a superficial way. The kind that came from staying up too many nights with too many thoughts.

The kind I recognized.

When I finally turned back to head upstairs, he was gone but the space where he’d been still felt occupied. And that, more than anything, made it even harder to breathe.