Aria’s POV
The morning light stretched across the room in soft ribbons, painting everything in hues of gold and amber. I was still wrapped in the warmth of the bed, but it felt different today-like the air was clearer, and my mind wasn’t clouded with the dizzying fog from last night.
Last night.
I inhaled sharply, my fingers curling into the blankets as the memories trickled back in fragments-Jason, the drink, the strange heaviness in my limbs as it all unfolded. I’d barely remembered anything past that until Daniel had appeared, his hands strong and steady, pulling me out of the mess I’d gotten myself into.
I couldn’t help but wonder why he’d stayed. Why he hadn’t just walked away after I’d pushed him at the party, after everything that had happened between us.
I slowly slid out of bed, stretching carefully. My muscles ached, but it wasn’t from the physical strain. It was like my body was reminding me of everything I’d endured.
A knock at the door broke my concentration.
“Aria?” Daniel’s voice was low, like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace I’d managed to settle into. “You awake?”
I quickly made my way to the door and opened it, meeting his eyes. For a second, the words stuck in my throat. He was standing there, still looking concerned, but there was something else in his expression too-something softer than the usual guarded intensity he carried.
“Yeah, I’m up,” I said, a little surprised at the calmness in my voice. I had expected to feel more rattled, more confused. But right now, I just felt… quiet.
He nodded, stepping inside and handing me a steaming mug. “Coffee. I figured you might need it.” His gaze flickered over my shoulder, scanning the room briefly before landing back on me. “How are you feeling?”
I took the mug from him, inhaling the rich, earthy scent. The warmth against my hands was comforting, and it felt like it was grounding me in a way nothing else had.
“Better,” I said honestly. “A lot better. Still a little dizzy, but… I’m okay.”
He seemed to relax slightly, the tension that had been in his shoulders since he’d arrived easing just a little. But there was still a hardness to him, a constant vigilance that never seemed to leave his eyes. It was like he was always waiting for something to go wrong, always on edge.
“I’m glad,” he said, his voice softer now. “I didn’t know what you’d taken, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”
The way he said it-like it was personal, like I was personal-made my chest tighten, but I pushed the feeling down. Now wasn’t the time for that.
I looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since I’d woken up. His hair was a little tousled, his jaw slightly stubbled, as though he hadn’t slept much, either. He looked worn, like he’d spent the entire night worrying.
“You stayed with me,” I said quietly, the words coming out before I could stop them.
He shifted uncomfortably, glancing away for a moment. “I didn’t want to leave you alone. I knew you’d need someone.” He paused. “I didn’t know how bad it was going to get.”
His words hung between us, like a thread waiting to snap. I was still trying to understand it. Why had he stayed? After everything? After the way I’d pushed him away?
“I was an idiot last night,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.
He shook his head immediately, cutting me off. “No. You weren’t.” His eyes softened, and for a second, I saw the vulnerability behind the walls he’d built around himself. “I should’ve been there sooner. I should’ve been paying attention.”
I stared at him for a moment, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to his words than just guilt. There was a protectiveness, a fierceness in the way he spoke that made my heart flutter and my head spin.
“Daniel, you can’t…” I started, but the words got stuck. What could I even say? You can’t always protect me. I don’t need you to save me.
But that wasn’t true, was it? Because, in that moment, I knew I needed him more than I’d ever admit. The truth was, I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I didn’t want to face the chaos of my life without someone there to steady me.
“Can we just… forget last night?” I asked, the words feeling heavier than they should.
He didn’t answer immediately. He just stared at me for a moment, searching my face like he was trying to understand something he couldn’t quite grasp.
“You’re not ready to talk about it,” he said slowly, his voice even.
I looked down into the coffee mug, my fingers tracing the rim. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be ready. But that doesn’t mean we can’t move on.”
Daniel’s eyes softened, and he exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”
—
The day passed in a haze of quiet conversations and small moments. Daniel didn’t ask too many questions about last night, and I didn’t volunteer answers. We didn’t need to. There was an understanding between us now, unspoken but clear. He was here for me, and in his own way, I was here for him too.
It felt strange, this feeling of being cared for. Like a part of me was waking up from a long sleep, but another part of me was still hesitant to believe it.
By the time the sun began to set, the tension between us had eased, but there was still something hanging in the air-something that neither of us had addressed. I could feel it in the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, the way he lingered in the room just a little longer than necessary.
I watched him, my mind trying to piece together the strange pull between us. He was closed off, distant, but when it mattered, when it came down to it, he was here. For me. And I was starting to realize that maybe I’d been running from that for too long.
He caught me staring and gave me a small, almost sheepish smile.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he said, his tone lighter than it had been all day.
I smiled back, a little unsure of where things were going but also… okay with it. Whatever this was between us, whatever it could become, I wasn’t going to push it away anymore.
“Thanks,” I said quietly, meeting his eyes. “For everything.”
And this time, when he looked back at me, I saw something there-a flicker of something warm, something real.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I’ve got your back, Aria. Always.”
For the first time in a long while, I believed him. And for once, I didn’t feel like I had to carry everything alone.
We stood there, the room quiet except for the soft crackle of the stove in the background, but I didn’t need to say anything more. The words had already been spoken, and the rest would fall into place when it was time.