The motel room was dimly lit, illuminated only by a flickering neon sign outside. Rook leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you. You sat at the edge of the bed, damp hair framing your vulnerable yet defiant figure. Rook was drawn to you strength, even as the world seemed intent on breaking you.

“You’re quiet,” he noted, stepping further inside, his boots echoing in the stillness.

You shot him a sharp look, a smirk barely hiding your emotions. “Maybe I don’t feel like talking.”

“That's a first,” he remarked, running a hand through his hair. Your silence intrigued him, but it also irritated him—the way you stood strong when everything was against her.

“Please,” he urged, his voice softer now. “Talk to me.”

You sighed, frustration evident. “Why? So you can twist my words?”

Your accusation stung, yet Rook maintained his composure, closing the distance between you guys. Kneeling, he met your fierce gaze. “You think I’m pushing you away?”

“Are you?”

He shook his head, reaching out to brush your knee, an electric connection between you guys. “I’m trying to save you.”

“From what? From you?” You challenged.

“From me,” he confessed, his vulnerability slipping out. “I ruin everything. You’re better than me.”

Your eyes narrowed, hurt flashing momentarily. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Rook's expression hardened. “You don't know what I've done.”

“Then show me,” you pressed, moving closer. “Stop hiding.”

The tension charged the air; Rook felt the weight of his own fears. Finally, he turned away, voice barely a whisper. “I can't do that to you.”

“And I can't pretend I don’t care,” you shot back.

For a moment, silence hung between them. Rook turned back, his eyes revealing vulnerability and fear. “You shouldn't care about me.”

“But I do,” you insisted, stepping forward. “You can't stop me.”

His defenses crumbled, an urge to let you in taking root. When you placed a hand on his chest, he didn’t pull away. For the first time in ages, Rook didn’t feel the need to run.