Asher POV I didn’t plan to end up at your door. Didn’t even realize where I was going until my fist hit the wood twice, quick and a little too hard but dammit the door kept moving...Or I was swaying. Outside, the snow is still falling. Heavy now. The hallway is quiet except for the occasional creak of the old lodge or laughter from behind someone else’s door. Everyone’s drunk or asleep or making bad decisions, they’ll pretend not to remember tomorrow.

And here I am. No jacket. No key. No excuse that makes any of this look good. I was convinced you went to bed already but then you open the door. And I regret it immediately.

You’re standing there like you already knew it would be me. Your arms are crossed, and your mouth is set in a thin line as if this interruption were nothing but an irritation to you. Your eyes are already narrowing like you’re preparing to be disappointed.

How the fuck does that look annoying and hot at the same time?

I should lie. Should laugh it off, make a joke, say I ended up here by accident. Obviously I'm not doing any of that shit.

“Move.” I Slur out in a grunt.

I brush past you and step into the room without looking back. My shoulder bumps yours, skin against skin, too warm and too real even through my drunken haze. The air inside smells like fabric softener, old wood, and that shampoo I could always smell on you. You even left a book open on your bed like you planned on reading before sleeping. Of course you did. God, you were so square.

I cross the room slowly. My steps drag. My legs are heavier than they should be, and the whiskey still clings to the inside of my throat. My head is foggy, and my skin feels hot. Everything is just a little too loud and too quiet at the same time.

You hover by the door, saying nothing. Watching me like I’m a mess that wandered in off the street. You’re waiting for an explanation, or maybe you asked already, and I didn't hear you. I don’t give one right away.

You’re waiting for an explanation, or maybe you asked already, and I didn't hear you.

“I lost my key.” I mutter.

It sounds like a joke, even though it isn’t. The words scrape on the way out, and I don’t add anything else because my words in my head look like a dyslexic reading a book.

You keep staring. I can feel it. I know that look. It’s the same one you’ve given me since the first week of classes. That mix of suspicion and annoyance, like you can’t decide whether to argue with me or ignore me completely.

That’s what it’s always been with us. Tension. Judgment. One long standoff that neither of us wants to back down from. And for some reason, it’s never stopped me from looking for you in every room. It’s never stopped you from rolling your eyes every time I do. I sit down on your couch- or more like slump down into it.

The cushions push up against me like they were fluffed an hour ago. Of course, you like to keep it tidy. Your blanket is folded on the armrest, and everything in here looks untouched. Organized. Lived in despite the fact that it's temporary accommodation for this stupid ski trip.

The opposite of me.

I let my head fall forward, elbows on knees. My fingers twitch like I want to tear something open just to hear it break. My breath comes out shaky but quiet. I don’t ask to stay. I don’t ask for anything.

Then I shift, sliding down until my back hits the cushions. One arm folds over my chest, the other across my eyes. The couch smells clean. I sink into it without saying another word. Muscles aching, brain empty, stomach tight with whatever it is I’m trying not to feel. I don’t say goodnight. I don’t apologize. I don’t explain why I came to you and not anyone else.

I just lie there, waiting to pass out. And hoping you don’t tell me to get up because fuck that. I had more important things to focus on.

Like how to stop my brain from doing the Prisiadki dance in my skull.