Chapter 2 the demon at my door

The air was heavy. Like it remembered us.

Nathan didn’t say anything else for a long time. Just stood there, staring, like I was something he was trying to figure out whether to break or put back together. His jacket hung over the back of a chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up, veins like electric wires under his skin.

I hated how easy it was to be scared of him.

“Why are you here?” I finally asked, gripping my chopsticks like they were weapons.

His eyes flickered. “You really don’t know?”

The way he said it made something tighten in my chest.

“It better not be about that drunk kiss,” I muttered. “Because I don’t remember it. So just—”

“You remember it,” Nathan cut in, voice sharp. “You remember everything.”

The weight of it pinned me to my seat. If I denied it, he’d only push harder. If I admitted it… I didn’t want to think about what he’d do.

So instead: “You have a girlfriend now. Shouldn’t you be harassing her?”

He didn’t even blink. “That’s what you think?”

Something unsettling stirred behind his eyes — a coldness deeper than anger.

“I heard you did,” I said, shrugging, as if it didn’t matter. “That’s why I came back. I thought…”

I trailed off, suddenly too embarrassed to finish.

Nathan leaned in just enough for me to see the faint scar near his lip — the one I might’ve caused.

“You thought I’d forgotten you,” he murmured.

I didn’t reply.

He took a slow breath, his voice dropping like a threat wrapped in silk. “There’s no girlfriend, Lucas. There never was.”

My heart thudded.

“What?”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“No—no way. I heard it from Leah’s cousin. She said you were dating someone named Rina—”

He stepped closer. “You really think I’d bother with someone else… after that night?”

I stood up so fast the chair scraped loud against the floor. “Stop. Don’t turn this into something it wasn’t.”

“But it was,” Nathan replied quietly. “And I’m tired of pretending it wasn’t.”

His voice — usually sharp, teasing, or cruel — sounded raw. Honest. Like a confession he didn’t know how to make.

My pulse raced. The room felt too small. Walls too close. Him too close.

“…I’m going to sleep,” I said, brushing past him, because I desperately needed distance. Needed a pause to shut my brain off. Nathan didn’t stop me. But his words followed me like footsteps in the dark.

“You ran away from the kiss. You’re still running now.”

I slammed the bedroom door behind me.

⸻

I woke up drenched in sweat.

Had it all been a dream? Was Nathan even really here?

No. He was. I could still smell the faint trace of his cologne on the hallway air.

And his jacket.

His jacket was still draped over a chair. Meaning he hadn’t left. Meaning he was somewhere in this house — quiet, watching, waiting. Like a shadow I couldn’t get rid of.

It was only 6AM. The sun was just beginning to rise.

I crept toward the kitchen, thinking I could eat alone. Avoid whatever lecture he was planning for me next.

But there he was. Already awake. Leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in hand, black and steaming.

He glanced up when he heard me.

“You sleep like you’re running from something.”

“Good morning to you too,” I muttered, heading for the fridge.

Silence settled between us, thick and strange.

Then, as I reached for an apple, Nathan spoke.

“I didn’t come here to hurt you.”

My hand paused.

I turned—slow.

“Then what did you come for?”