"I'm not avoiding anyone," I protest automatically, but the words sound hollow even to me.
"You are," he counters gently but firmly. "I've tried to talk to you three times this week and you've found excuses to leave the room every single time. Asher says you barely look at him anymore, won't meet his eyes. And now you're having panic attacks in front of vending machines."
"I'm not having a panic attack," I lie, even though my hands are shaking and my breath won't come right and I can still smell the rain-soaked alley.
"Val—"
"I'm fine," I snap, voice coming out sharper than intended. "Can everyone just—I'm fine."
He's quiet for a moment, studying me with those too-knowing eyes, the ones that see through every defense I've ever built. Then: "You know what I find funny?"
"What?" I ask, staring at the vending machine, at the rows of chips and candy bars blurring together.
"Two months ago, you hated Xavier. Wanted nothing to do with him. Kept telling me we should run away together, just disappear and start over somewhere else." His voice is careful, measured, like he's navigating a minefield. "Remember that? You had it all planned out. Chicago. New names. New lives. And now? Now you won't leave his side. Haven't left this hospital in a week. Won't even let yourself sleep properly in case something happens to him."
"He almost died," I respond, defensive, feeling my shoulders hunch. "He almost died and it would've been—" I stop, swallow hard around the lump in my throat. "I care about him. That's all."
"Since when?" Zay presses, taking a small step closer.
The question catches me completely off guard. "What?"
"Since when do you care about him like this?" he continues, voice gentle but relentless. "Because a week ago, before he woke up, you were a mess. Worried, yeah, but not like this. Not clingy and avoidant and having panic attacks when someone touches you unexpectedly. So what changed?"
I grab a chocolate peanut butter protein bar from the machine, then punch the button for a Gatorade harder than necessary. The mechanical arm moves with agonizing slowness. "Nothing changed."
"Valentina—"
"I said nothing changed," I snap, grabbing the items as they drop with hollow thuds into the collection bin. "Can you just drop it? Please?"
I try to walk past him but he steps smoothly in front of me, blocking my path without touching me, keeping his hands carefully at his sides.
"Move," I demand.
"Talk to me first," he counters.
"Zay, I swear to God?—"
"What happened at the Vipers?" he asks directly, cutting through my deflection. "What did they say to you that night?"
"Nothing."
"That's a lie and we both know it."
"Move," I repeat, voice rising, echoing off the hallway walls. A passing nurse glances our way.
"Not until you tell me?—"
"Stop," I cut him off, and something in my voice—something raw and desperate and breaking—makes him step back immediately, hands raising again. "Just stop. Please. I can't—I can't do this right now."
We stare at each other. He looks hurt, confusion and worry warring on his face. All the things I can't deal with right now, can't process when I'm barely holding myself together.
"You've never looked at me like this before," he observes quietly, and there's pain in his voice that makes my chest ache.
Like what?I want to ask.Like I'm broken? Like I'm barely holding it together? Like I'm one wrong word away from shattering into a thousand pieces no one will be able to put back together?
But I can't say any of that. Can't admit how close I am to the edge, how one push would send me tumbling over.
So instead I step forward, drop the chips and Gatorade on the floor, grab the front of his shirt in both fists, and pull him into a kiss.