Dinner had ended in a strange silence neither of them had the strength to break. Erin kept her head down, picking absently at her food, while Xander glanced at her now and then, fighting the urge to speak.
She had tried—tried so hard—not to bring up what had happened earlier in the room. Her mind, however, wouldn't let go of the image of him leaning into her, his mouth hot and urgent against her neck, and the look in his eyes like she was the only thing he wanted in that moment. It confused her, because she hadn't expected it. She hadn't expected to feel anything in return. But she had. And that scared her.
More than anything, she didn't want to admit that she had been disappointed when her leg flared in pain and ended it. Because deep down, she knew she wouldn't have stopped him.
Xander, on the other hand, had no idea how to start untangling the knot inside him. He watched her carefully, noting the way her fingers trembled slightly when they brushed the rim of her glass. He had wanted to say something—anything—but every time he opened his mouth, the words died in his throat.
So when she insisted after dinner that she could manage upstairs on her own, he didn't argue. He simply bent down and lifted her into his arms.
She didn't protest this time.
The elevator ride was painfully long , filled with the kind of silence that buzzed louder than any noise. When they reached the room, Xander gently lowered her to her bed and adjusted her pillows. Then, he stood by the door like he had something to say. Like he wanted to.
But he didn't.
He turned instead and walked into the bathroom.
By the time he returned, Erin was already fast asleep. Her breathing was soft, her chest rising and falling steadily beneath the blanket. He stood there for a moment, just watching her, before quietly making his way to his own bed. He lay down, but sleep didn't come easy.
Morning light filtered gently through the curtains when Erin woke up.
Xander wasn't in the room. She could hear the faint sound of running water in the bathroom. She yawned and turned over, and that's when she saw it.
A small, folded note was tucked under the lamp by her bed.
She picked it up, eyes narrowing.
You're not the first girl he's done this to. Don't get comfortable.
Her breath caught.
The words weren't signed, and the handwriting was unfamiliar. Her fingers tightened around the paper, and for a moment, she just sat there, heart thudding in her ears.
Doubt began to creep in.
Who left this? Why now?
She forced herself up, grabbing a fresh change of clothes and limping carefully toward the guest bathroom. She needed space. She needed to breathe.
When she stepped out, towel wrapped tightly around her wet hair, Xander was already seated on the edge of the guest bed, waiting.
She had expected this.
She didn't flinch, didn't startle. She had already changed inside the bathroom, anticipating his presence.
"You didn't wait for me," he said quietly.
Her tone was colder than she intended. "I don't need permission to freshen up."
Xander blinked, taken aback.
"I just meant your leg hasn't—"
"It's not something you should worry about," she cut in.
His brows furrowed. Something was off. She was distant now. Closed off. He couldn't figure out why. Was it because of what he did last night?
Was she regretting it? Or worse, did she hate him for it?
He returned to the main room in silence, trying to mask the guilt crawling under his skin. Breakfast came and went in a strange rhythm—short words, fleeting eye contact.
Then, without really thinking, he asked, "Do you want to play a game or something?"
Erin raised a brow. "A game?"
"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just… something to take your mind off things. If you want."
She hesitated. This was strange. But then again, wasn't everything strange lately? Maybe this was her chance to observe him. To understand what was real and what wasn't.
"Alright," she said. "Let's play."
Xander wasn't entirely sure what he had expected when he asked Erin if she wanted to play a game with him that morning. Maybe something slow-paced, like chess or even a card game. What he certainly didn't expect was to be sitting stiffly on the edge of the sleek black leather couch in front of the enormous flat-screen TV in the lounge, a controller clumsily wedged in his hands, while Erin lounged beside him like she'd been doing this her whole life.
"Video games?" he had asked, mildly confused.
Erin had blinked at him. "Yes. What else?"
He didn't have a good answer, so here he was, about to face complete humiliation at the hands of a smug, slightly limping girl who looked entirely too pleased with herself as the loading screen of Shadow Brawl glowed before them.
From the moment the first match began, Xander knew he was doomed.
Erin's fingers danced across the controller with ruthless precision, selecting Jinx -Li and absolutely thrashing his poorly timed Qing attacks. Within thirty seconds, her character had flipped, kicked, and comboed him into a glorious defeat.
"That was brutal," Xander muttered, staring at the "K.O." on the screen.
Erin grinned wickedly. "That was merciful. I let you get one hit in that time."
He looked at her, aghast. "You let me?"
"Uh-huh. Call it beginner's luck—on your part."
The second match was even worse. Xander had tried switching characters, opting for D. Vison this time, hoping for better results. But Erin had been waiting for that. With Kammy, she all but danced around him, dishing out flawless combos while humming softly.
By the time the third game ended with another loud, echoing K.O., Xander tossed his controller down with a groan and slumped against the back of the couch.
"This game is stupid," he muttered.
Erin laughed—not a soft chuckle, but a full, uninhibited laugh that filled the room with warmth. "It's only stupid because you suck at it."
He turned to her, feigning offense. "Excuse me?"
"No offense," she said, holding back another grin, "but you're just… really bad."
"That's because this isn't my type of game," he declared, grabbing the controller again.
"Oh?" Erin lifted a brow. "And what is your type of game, Your Graceful Loser?"
He ignored the jab and navigated to a different screen. "Let's play Battlezone: Urban Strike. You in?"
Erin smirked. "Bring it on."
The change was immediate. The moment the game started, Xander transformed. His fingers moved with startling precision, and the controller felt like an extension of his hands. Erin struggled to keep up as his kill count climbed. He was strategic, calm, and oddly focused, and before she could process what was happening, she was behind by nearly thirty points in the first match.
"Wait—how?" she blurted.
Xander didn't even look at her. "I told you. Not my type of game. This is."
The second match? Even worse. Erin barely had time to load her weapon before he sniped her from across the map.
The third? She fought harder, even managed a few kills, but still lost.
"Ugh, this is rigged," she muttered, tossing her head back dramatically.
Xander looked smug, the barest hint of a smile twitching on his lips. "Not so easy now, is it?"
"You're such a show-off."
"Says the girl who did a victory dance three matches ago."
By the fourth round, Erin was fully determined to win. She hunched forward, narrowed her eyes at the screen, and fought with the kind of ferocity usually reserved for real combat. This time, she snuck behind him, outmaneuvered his sniper position, and dealt the final blow.
"Yes!" she yelled, dropping the controller and bouncing slightly on the couch. "Finally! I beat you!"
Before she could stop herself, she leaned in, shaking his arm. "Did you see that? Did you?"
Her face was close to his, their noses just inches apart. Her fingers were gripping his forearm tightly. It wasn't until his eyes locked with hers, soft and unreadable, that she realized how close they were.
Too close.
Her breath caught. Her smile faded.
She pulled back immediately, cheeks flushed. "Sorry. I got a little… carried away."
Xander looked at her for a moment longer before glancing away. "It's fine," he said quietly.
The tension lingered, unspoken but unmistakable. Yet the room no longer felt heavy. Not quite. It was something else. Something unnamed and growing.
They both turned back to the screen, pretending to reset the match.
But neither of them pressed start.