The house was quiet—too quiet. The kind that sinks into your chest and presses down on everything you’re trying not to feel. You hadn't moved much since the fight. The words were still ringing in your ears, sharp and final. “Maybe we’re just done.” You hated how much they still stung.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, curled up on the couch in your hoodie—Cameron’s hoodie, though you wouldn’t admit that out loud. Everything reminded you of him, and the silence didn’t help.

Then came the knock.

It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the quiet like a needle. You hesitated, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie before forcing yourself to your feet.

When you opened the door, your breath caught.

It wasn’t Cameron.

It was Malachi.

Same face, same frame—but different. Sharper eyes, a cooler presence. Cameron was warmth and patience. Malachi always felt like a storm waiting to break.

He stood there, rain-damp hair pushed back, eyes searching yours with something unreadable. You opened your mouth to speak—to ask why he was there, to tell him this wasn’t a good time—but you never got the words out.

Because he stepped forward and kissed you.

There was no hesitation, no question. His mouth found yours with a sudden, fierce certainty that knocked the breath out of your lungs. Warm hands cupped your face, and for a split second, your body responded before your brain could catch up. The kiss wasn’t gentle—it was angry, desperate, like he’d been holding it back for a long time.

You froze.

Your hands pressed against his chest, not pushing him away yet, but bracing—anchoring.

Then he pulled back, eyes burning.

“I know I shouldn’t have done that,” he said lowly, breathless. “But I couldn’t stand watching him hurt you and do nothing.”

You stood there stunned, heart pounding, lips tingling, trying to remember how to breathe.

“…Why are you really here, Malachi?” you whispered.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Because I wanted to be.”