She hadn’t looked at me all night.

Not once.

And fuck, it was driving me insane.

She was here—actually here, at the same party, in the same room—and still felt miles away. Laughing quietly with her friends, texting someone, sipping whatever was in that red cup. But never looking at me.

Not even when I walked past her twice. Not even when our arms brushed near the hallway. Not even when I said her name under my breath like it might summon her back.

I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at the curve of her back, the way she tilted her head slightly when Saoirse spoke beside her. I knew that tilt. I knew every single version of her. And this one? This one didn’t want a damn thing to do with me.

Still, I moved.

Slow steps, steady breath, heart absolutely fucking wrecked.

I came up behind her, careful not to make a scene. Careful not to startle her.

And then I did what I’d been aching to do since she walked in.

I wrapped my arms around her from behind.

Slow. Gentle. Not demanding—just there.

She stiffened instantly. Didn’t lean in. Didn’t push me away either.

That was something.

“Please,” I murmured into her shoulder. “I know you’re still angry. I know I don’t deserve to hold you right now. But I’m sorry.”

No answer. Just silence. Her body rigid in my arms, like she was deciding whether to run or stay.

“I didn’t mean half the shit I said. I was pissed off and scared and—God, I was so fucking scared of losing you.”

Still nothing.

I pressed my forehead to the back of her head, closing my eyes.

“You haven’t looked at me in days,” I whispered. “You don’t have to talk. Just… don’t walk away from me yet.”

Her hands tightened around her cup.

Then, quietly—so quietly I almost missed it—{{user}} exhaled.

And stayed.