CHARLIE WOKE UP FEELING... COMFORTABLE.  It was an odd sensation, one she wasn't entirely familiar with. For a moment, she stayed still, her mind hovering in that peaceful haze between sleep and awareness. The bed beneath her was soft—softer than anything she remembered sleeping on in years—and the air was warm, wrapping her in a kind of safety she hadn't felt in longer than she could admit.

She blinked a few times, clearing her vision as the light from the window crept through the curtains. That's when she realized it wasn't her bed. It wasn't even her room. The sleek furniture, the faint smell of cologne, and the ridiculous level of comfort could only mean one thing.

Johnny's room.

Of course, she thought, letting out a small breath as the pieces fell into place. Fancy silk sheets? Check. A mattress that probably cost more than her first car? Check. It made sense. Johnny Storm wasn't exactly one for subtlety.

But before she could think any further, she noticed something else—something that sent a jolt through her chest. Her eyes drifted down to the pair of arms draped loosely around her waist, holding her close. Arms that were unmistakably his.

Johnny.

Charlie froze, her pulse quickening as her brain caught up with the moment. He was right there, asleep beside her, his breathing slow and steady. She didn't even need to look over to confirm it—she could feel the heat of him against her back, the weight of his arm resting around her waist. His presence, though comforting, felt like a weight pressing on her chest, like a reminder of everything she'd just let herself experience.

For a fleeting second, she thought about staying. It was warm, safe, nice. Maybe the most comfortable she'd ever been. A part of her didn't want to move, didn't want to disturb whatever this was, whatever had shifted between them last night. She could stay here, she could let herself believe in it, just for a little longer. But then her thoughts turned to last night—everything she'd told him, everything she'd allowed herself to feel. And reality came rushing back like a wave crashing over her.

I can't do this, she thought, the weight in her chest sinking deeper. The voice inside her, the voice that had kept her guarded for so long, was back—louder than ever. She couldn't stay. She couldn't let herself get too close to him, not when everything in her was still a mess, not when she wasn't even sure what she was doing with herself.

Carefully, she shifted, trying not to wake him as she began to untangle herself from his grasp. His arm resisted slightly, as if even in sleep he wasn't ready to let go, but she managed to slip free. Every movement felt deliberate, a delicate balance between keeping the peace and making her escape without disturbing him. Her breath caught in her throat as she moved away from him, each step away from the bed feeling like a betrayal.

The cool air hit her as soon as she was out of the bed, and she hugged her arms to herself instinctively, as if protecting the vulnerability that had come over her in the night. Her bare feet felt like they were pressing into the floor harder than usual as she made her way to the living room. The apartment was too quiet now, too still. It wasn't the quiet she was used to—the kind that came with solitude, the kind that felt like a buffer between her and the world. This was different. This silence felt oppressive, suffocating even, as if the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for her to make a decision.

She sank onto the couch, curling her legs beneath her, but she didn't feel any more comfortable. Her arms remained wrapped tightly around herself, the familiar gesture of self-protection that she couldn't seem to shake. The weight of last night was still heavy on her shoulders, and she couldn't let go of it. She couldn't let go of him. Not now, not when she was already starting to feel something she wasn't ready to face.

Her mind was racing, bouncing between the softness of the moment she'd just left—the warmth of his arms, the tenderness of his touch—and the harsh reality she knew she had to face. The way he had looked at her, the way he had made her feel like she wasn't just a girl with too many broken pieces, but someone worthy of being held. She'd been so afraid of that, so afraid of letting someone else see her like that, see her as vulnerable as she had been with him.

You're getting too close, she told herself. You can't do this. Not with him. Not with anyone.

Charlie rubbed at her temples, trying to will away the confusion swirling inside her. She hated this. She hated how easy it was to feel comfortable with him, to feel safe in his presence. She hated how much she craved that safety, how much she wanted it to last. But no matter how hard she tried, last night kept replaying in her head—her confession about Evan, the rawness of her grief, Johnny's openness, the way he'd listened without judgment, the way he'd held her when she needed it most.

But that's what made it dangerous, wasn't it? That connection, that fragile thread that had pulled them together. She had already let herself go too far. She couldn't keep pretending that it was just one moment, just one night. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how much she was trying to deny, how much she was running from. And the thought of being too close to him, of letting herself feel something more than just the physical comfort of his touch, made her stomach twist.

The sound of footsteps pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up to see Johnny shuffling into the room, his hair a mess, his pajama shirt slightly wrinkled. He looked groggy, his face still half-formed with sleep, but there was something about him that felt... calm. More relaxed than she was, at least. He paused when he saw her sitting on the couch, his brow furrowing in mild confusion, but there was no panic in his gaze—just concern, as if he wasn't sure why she was up so early or why she was so far from him.

"Morning," he said, his voice raspy from sleep. He gave her a small smile, though there was something careful about it, like he wasn't sure how she'd respond.

"Morning," she replied softly, shifting awkwardly on the couch.He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms loosely across his chest as he watched her, his eyes tracing the contours of her form with an unsettling kind of focus. There was a quiet patience to him, like he was giving her space but at the same time, waiting for her to say something, anything. The room felt like it had shrunk around them, the weight of the silence pressing in as his presence filled the space between them.

"You, uh, left pretty fast," he said, his voice light, almost casual, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity there. It was more than just an observation—it was a question. One she wasn't ready to answer.

Charlie felt a tightness in her chest at his words, her pulse quickening slightly. She hadn't expected him to notice, hadn't expected him to call attention to it. The way he said it, though—like he was trying to understand what had driven her to slip out without a word, without waking him—made her feel suddenly vulnerable. The back of her neck heated as she avoided his gaze, staring at the floor or anywhere but at him.

"I didn't want to wake you," she muttered, her voice quieter than she intended. It was a flimsy excuse, but it was all she could offer. She didn't know what else to say without giving away more than she wanted to.

Johnny didn't buy it. She could tell by the slight quirk of his brow, the way he shifted just enough to make her feel like he was reading her every move. He tilted his head to the side, studying her with an intensity that made her stomach flip. The words that came next were soft, but they held a weight she wasn't ready for.

"Charlie..." His voice was low, gentle, but there was a quiet demand in it—a desire to understand. It wasn't accusatory, but it felt like he could see right through her, like he was waiting for her to open up. And the worst part was, she could feel herself wanting to.

Her name on his lips had an immediate effect on her. A tightness gripped her chest, and her heartbeat picked up. It was an innocuous thing, something most people would never think twice about, but for Charlie, it was everything. His voice—familiar, comforting—spoke to a part of her she wasn't ready to face. It reminded her that there was still someone who cared, someone who was willing to look past her walls and see her, even when she didn't want to be seen.

She forced herself to glance back at him, meeting his eyes, but it felt like she was exposing too much. He was looking at her like he could see every thought, every unspoken word that swirled in her mind. It felt like she was standing on the edge of something, teetering between the decision to let him in or push him away. But no matter how hard she tried, the latter felt impossible. Not when his gaze held so much understanding, so much warmth.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Johnny said, his voice sincere, his expression softening as he shifted slightly, leaning closer. He seemed to be offering her an apology, even though she hadn't asked for one. She couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at that. He didn't deserve to be the one apologizing. He hadn't done anything wrong.

"Last night... I wasn't trying to—"

"You didn't," Charlie interrupted quickly, her voice steady but firm. She needed to stop this before it got any further, before she let herself break down. "It wasn't you."

The words came out almost too quickly, a reflexive defense. She didn't want him thinking she'd had any regrets, didn't want him to believe that the closeness they'd shared had been a mistake. It hadn't been a mistake. But her heart was screaming at her to stop, to push him away, because if she didn't, she would let herself get attached to him—and that was the last thing she needed.

Johnny hesitated for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her more intently. She could almost hear the gears turning in his head, like he was trying to make sense of the abrupt shift in her demeanor. He didn't press her further, though. Instead, he shifted his weight, moving closer to her, but not so close that she felt overwhelmed. 

He sat down on the edge of the coffee table in front of her, just enough distance to let her breathe but still close enough that she could feel the heat of his presence. His knee brushed against hers lightly, the contact sending a ripple of warmth through her. It wasn't much, but it was enough to send Charlie's heart racing. She forced herself to stay still, to not pull away.

For a moment, they just sat there, the air between them thick with unspoken things. Johnny's eyes never left hers, and she felt his gaze settle on her like a weight she wasn't sure she could carry. It felt intimate, more intimate than anything they had shared before, and yet it was so simple. So innocent. But Charlie knew herself well enough to know that simplicity often held more complexity than it appeared on the surface.

"Got any plans today?" she asked, desperate to shift the focus, to distract herself from the pull she felt between them. Her voice sounded a little too forced, but it was the best she could do to mask the confusion and vulnerability inside her.

Johnny ran a hand through his messy hair, thinking for a moment. His face, still soft from sleep, had a relaxed quality to it, like he was still in the afterglow of whatever moment they had shared the night before. He seemed at ease, like he didn't mind the silence or the awkwardness that had settled between them. She wished she could be that way—just calm and unbothered—but instead, she felt like a storm was brewing inside her, threatening to spill over.

"Nah, nothing really." Johnny shrugged, a lazy grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "But if I decide to go somewhere, I'll let you know."

Charlie nodded, relieved by his casual response. She hadn't expected him to want anything serious, but she also wasn't sure how to handle him now. How to be around him without feeling like she was treading water, about to drown in whatever this was between them.

"Okay," she said quietly. Her chest felt tight, and she looked away again, but not quickly enough to miss the way Johnny was still staring at her, his gaze intense and unwavering.

He didn't look away. Instead, his eyes drilled into hers with an intensity that made her stomach flutter. He wasn't just looking at her—he was searching, trying to figure something out.

Charlie could feel the weight of his stare like a thousand questions unsaid. And as much as she wanted to be immune to it, as much as she wanted to turn it all off, she couldn't. There was something about him, something that made her feel like she didn't have to pretend to be anyone else. But at the same time, it terrified her. It terrified her how easily he could see her, how easily he could unravel her, and how much she didn't want to let him.

The room was still, the tension building, as he waited for her response, his gaze never leaving hers. Charlie felt like she was caught in the space between moments, unable to move, unable to breathe.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion.

Before Johnny could respond, his phone rang. He cursed under his breath and held up a finger to her. "Hold on."

Charlie watched as he walked out of the dining room, the sudden shift in his demeanor completely catching her off guard. She couldn't hear who was on the other end, but whatever was said seemed to throw him off balance. The moment he was out of earshot, Charlie exhaled a sigh of relief, her shoulders loosening for the first time in what felt like hours.

Hiding her feelings for Johnny was proving to be harder than she thought.

She had just started to collect her thoughts when the elevator dinged, drawing her attention. She walked toward the door, expecting the usual routine of daily activity, but instead, she found Sue stepping into the apartment. Sue looked like she'd just rolled out of bed, but the playful glint in her eyes immediately fixed on Johnny, who was still standing by the phone.

"Hey, Charlie," Sue greeted her with a small smile, her eyes quickly flicking to Johnny with a smirk. Charlie couldn't help but notice the way Johnny coughed awkwardly, clearly caught off guard by his sister's sudden entrance.

"So, what brings you here?" Charlie asked, hoping to ease the tension.

Sue's smile widened, but there was something playful and knowing in her eyes as she answered, "Just wanted to visit my baby brother and make sure he's alright."

Johnny let out a light laugh, rolling his eyes. "What's the real reason?"

The mood shifted suddenly. Sue didn't answer right away, her playful demeanor faltering as the silence hung between them. Johnny was about to say something else, but Charlie took it as her cue. This was clearly a family matter, and she didn't need to stick around for it.

She started to turn toward the door, but Johnny's eyes followed her, and there it was again—the pleading look, the one that seemed to speak volumes without him saying a word. The same look he'd given her last night, one that tugged at her heartstrings and made everything feel more complicated than it should.

Before she could leave, she turned back toward him. "I'm just one call away, Johnny," she said, offering a half-smile.

Johnny nodded, but the unspoken words lingered in the air. She could feel his eyes on her as she stepped on the elevator, the weight of his gaze settling in her chest.

Charlie stepped into her apartment, the door clicking shut behind her with an almost finality that seemed to echo through the silence of the space. She stood there for a moment, listening to the hum of the city outside, but it did nothing to quell the storm brewing inside her. Her apartment, usually a safe haven, now felt like a cage. She walked toward the living room, her eyes scanning the space methodically, checking every corner, every surface. She opened the drawer where she kept a few of her more personal belongings and rifled through it, making sure everything was just where it should be. She didn't know why, but it felt necessary, like she needed to double-check the order of things, to make sure the chaos she was feeling on the inside didn't spill over into her environment.

After a few minutes of compulsive checking, she felt a slight sense of calm wash over her, but it was fleeting. Her thoughts were still cluttered, swirling around Johnny, Evan, Victor, and the overwhelming weight of her own emotions. The apartment, though neat, couldn't mask the sense of emptiness she felt in her chest. She knew she was hiding from something, from herself, but she couldn't face it. Not yet.

With a sigh, she made her way toward the bathroom, hoping that the simple act of washing her face or checking herself in the mirror might ground her. She shut the door behind her and flicked on the light. The fluorescent glow illuminated her reflection, making her look paler than usual, the shadows under her eyes more pronounced. 

She stepped closer to the mirror, eyes narrowing as she inspected the bruises on her neck, now a deep shade of purple that seemed to refuse to fade, even after all this time. Her fingertips traced the discolored skin, a quiet shiver running down her spine.

She didn't recognize herself. The bruises were a reminder of the hell she'd been through, the pain, the guilt, and the loss. She turned her head slightly, checking the bruises from different angles, trying to figure out just how much longer they'd stay, how much longer they'd be a constant, visible reminder of Evan's death. 

But it wasn't just the physical marks that repulsed her. It was everything. The way she felt like she was betraying herself, betraying Johnny. How could she sit there and tell him he wasn't alone when she was doing exactly that—leaving him alone to handle everything? The words she'd said to him, comforting him, assuring him that it would be okay, felt hollow now. How could she have said that, knowing the weight she was carrying inside?

Her stomach churned as she thought about how she'd walked away from him after everything. She had convinced herself she wasn't ready to confront whatever feelings she had for him, but now she realized it wasn't just about that. 

It was about running from her own grief, from the wreckage of Evan's death that she'd buried so deep inside, too afraid to look at it. How could she move forward when she hadn't even processed the past? And how could she be so selfish as to leave Johnny to deal with his own demons alone?

Her breath hitched, and she wiped at her eyes, frustrated with herself. Johnny deserved better. He deserved someone who would be there for him, someone who wouldn't just offer empty words and walk away. She had promised him that he wasn't alone, and yet, that's exactly what she'd done.

She couldn't keep doing this. She couldn't keep running from the truth—about her grief, about Johnny, about what they both needed. It wasn't fair to either of them.

Charlie turned away from the mirror and walked toward her bedroom. She knew what she had to do. Her mind was already made up. 

She opened the drawer beside her bed, her hand going straight for the piece of paper she had shoved into it weeks ago. The number. Bonnie's number. 

Her fingers shook as she pulled her phone from her pocket and typed the numbers in. Her heart pounded in her chest, the anxiety building as the phone rang. Each ring felt like a countdown, each second dragging on longer than the last. Finally, the line clicked, and a voice came through the speaker.

"Hi, is this Bonnie?"