Part Eight - Part Two

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The cool tiles against my bare feet send a shiver up my spine as I wander into the kitchen. The quiet hum of the apartment at night wraps around me, a comforting cocoon of stillness. The events of the day buzz faintly in the back of my mind, like a storm threatening to break.

I grab a glass from the sink, letting the faucet run until the water turns ice cold. I lift the glass to my lips, savoring the relief as it soothes my parched throat.

For a moment, I let myself focus on the sound of water filling the glass again, the simple rhythm almost meditative.

Then, a faint creak from the hallway shatters the stillness.

I freeze, my grip tightening around the glass as my heart skips a beat. Slowly, I turn toward the sound, and my breath catches in my throat.

Jake steps into the doorway, a towel slung low on his hips, water droplets trailing down his chest like they have every right to be there.

His damp hair falls messily across his forehead, and his green eyes glint faintly in the dim light. He looks like something out of a daydream-or maybe a nightmare, considering what I've been trying so hard to forget.

My eyes betray me before I can stop them, flicking downward for the briefest moment. The heat rising to my face is instantaneous.

I force myself to look up, locking onto his face instead, but even that feels dangerous. His lips curl into a faint smirk, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"I thought you were asleep," he says, his voice low, rough at the edges, like he's just as surprised to see me as I am to see him.

"I was," I reply, setting the glass down a little harder than I mean to. "Got thirsty."

He chuckles, stepping further into the room. "Thirsty, huh?" His gaze flicks toward the faucet, which is still running. "Yeah, I noticed."

I reach over and shut it off, the sharp squeak of the handle cutting through the silence. "What are you doing up?" I ask, hoping to steer this conversation into safer territory.

Jake shrugs, the movement drawing attention to the shift of muscles in his shoulders. "Couldn't sleep," he says simply. "Guess we both have that problem."

I sidestep, intending to slip past him and retreat to the safety of my room. But Jake shifts too, his movement subtle yet deliberate, blocking my path. His hand brushes against my elbow-warm, firm, and all too disarming.

"Stay," he says, his voice dipping lower, more serious now. "We need to talk."

I swallow hard, every nerve in my body on high alert. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" His lips twitch, a faint shadow of his usual teasing smirk, though his eyes remain steady, searching. "Afraid to be in the same room with me?"

"No," I snap, a little too quickly. The corner of his mouth curves upward, and I feel a rush of annoyance-at him, at myself, at this entire situation.

"Then don't run," he says softly. "Not from me."

I shake my head, taking a small step back. "There's nothing to talk about, Jake. What happened... it was a mistake. End of story."

Jake's jaw tightens, the faint flicker of hurt in his expression quickly replaced by something sharper-determination.

He steps closer, his presence filling the space between us. "End of story?" he repeats, his voice low and disbelieving. "You really believe that?"

I cross my arms over my chest, as if that might shield me from the weight of his gaze. "Yes. And honestly, it seems like you've been pretty busy yourself, so why does it even matter?"

His brows knit together, confusion flashing across his face before realization dawns. "Busy? You mean Taylor?" He lets out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "That's what this is about?"

"I don't care what-or who-you've been doing," I say sharply, though the words taste like a lie even to me.

"Clearly, you do." He takes another step forward, his frustration simmering just below the surface. "For the record, Taylor's not what you think. I needed to clear the air with her, that's all. It wasn't personal."

"Like that's supposed to make me feel better," I mutter, my nails digging into my palms.

Jake exhales sharply, his hands raking through his damp hair. "Day," he says, his tone softening, "ever since that night, I can't stop thinking about you. About us. About how it felt."

His words hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over every wall I've tried to build since that night. My heart pounds in my chest, and I hate the way his honesty stirs something deep inside me-something I've been desperately trying to ignore.

"Jake," I say finally, my voice trembling, "it can't happen again. It was a mistake."

"A mistake," he echoes, his voice low, almost incredulous. "Is that what you really think? That it didn't mean anything?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," I say, forcing my voice to steady. "You're my brother's best friend. This is wrong, Jake. You know it is."

Jake steps closer, the intensity in his gaze pinning me in place. "You keep saying it's wrong, but what about what feels right? Don't stand there and tell me you didn't feel something that night."

I look away, my throat tight. "It doesn't matter," I whisper. "We can't do this. Not now, not ever."

"Why not?" His voice is raw, pleading now. "Is it really because of your brother? Or is it because you're scared?"

The question stings, cutting through my defenses with surgical precision. My silence seems to give him the answer he's looking for, and he steps even closer, until the heat of his body wraps around me like a second skin.

"I know you're scared," he says softly, his voice coaxing. "But we can figure this out. Together. Just you and me."

I close my eyes, willing myself to stay strong. "Jake, we have to think about what this would mean," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "The consequences. The fallout."

Jake's hand brushes against mine, tentative and light, yet it sends a jolt up my arm. "I know," he says quietly. "But I also know I've never felt this way before. Not about anyone."

My chest tightens, my resolve wavering. I hate how easily he gets under my skin, how effortlessly he makes me question everything I thought I knew.

"Jake," I say again, my voice firmer this time. "I can't do this. I won't."

For a moment, silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words and emotions neither of us knows how to untangle. Jake's hand falls to his side, his shoulders slumping slightly as he takes a step back.

When he meets my gaze again, his eyes are shadowed with disappointment, but there's something else there too-a quiet determination that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Maybe you're right," he says quietly, the forced smile on his lips not reaching his eyes. "Maybe this is too complicated. But what if it's not? What if this is our only chance?"

I shake my head, the weight of my decision pressing down on me like a stone. "It's not just about my brother," I say softly. "It's about everything. The trust, the friendship... I can't ruin that. I won't."

Jake studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nods, exhaling a breath that sounds almost like a sigh.

"I don't want to push you," he says finally, his voice steady but tinged with something I can't quite place. "But I'm not giving up on you, Day. Not yet."

And with that, he turns and walks away, leaving me alone in the kitchen. My heart pounds in my chest, my mind a tangled mess of emotions I can't begin to unravel.

As the quiet hum of the apartment settles around me once more, I press my palms against the cool counter, trying to ground myself.

But the ache in my chest lingers, and I know-no matter how hard I try to push Jake away-this isn't the end of the story.

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