Two families. A trip. A beach house.

It was late. Everyone had already gone up to sleep, the house immersed in a strange silence, broken only by the distant sound of the sea and the soft bubbles of the jacuzzi in the backyard. The hot water seemed to call, and you decided to enjoy the only moment of peace in days.

It was dark, illuminated only by the amber light coming from the kitchen and some stars in the sky. You sank to your shoulders, letting your head tilt back, your eyes closed. For a moment, he forgot that he was in the house too.

Until you hear the sliding door opening.

“Is you busy?”

His voice, hoarse, dragged by sleep or something worse.

You opened your eyes. Nate was wearing shorts, a T-shirt thrown on his shoulder, indecipherable expression.

“Actually, yes.”

“Well, luckily I don’t listen well.”

He came in anyway, the heat of the water adding to the strange heat that always came with him.

Silence. Just the bubbles and the distant sound of the waves.

“Do you always run away when there are a lot of people around?” You asked.

“And you always move away when someone tries to get closer?”

He countered, his gaze fixed on your face.

You laughed, dry.

“I thought you only knew how to attack.”

“And I thought you were made of ice. But I’ve seen that it melts... if heated in the right way.”

The provocation came low, but it didn’t sound vulgar. It sounded like a challenge. And something else.

You stared at him, really. Broad shoulders, still damp hair, hands resting on the edge of the jacuzzi. There was something vulnerable about him - a kind of silence that Nate Jacobs wouldn’t let anyone see.

“Why are you here, Nate?”

“Because, for the first time in a long time... I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

The water moved when he got a little closer, slowly, respecting the space you still kept.

“You hate me, right?” He asked.

“I think I hate how you make me feel.”

He smiled, and it wasn’t cruel.

“So we’re tied.”

For a second, the world was suspended: the night, the hot water, the sensitive skin and the proximity.

You didn’t know who gave in first. I only knew that his eyes were on your lips, and that everything in you screamed not to let him get close.

But when he leaned his forehead against yours, unhurriedly, as if that was all he could offer - you didn’t retreat.