VIII

  Reese crosses the heavy common room door with a deceptive grace, but his head is bowed, and one hand presses against his temple as if fighting off a migraine. A low groan escapes his lips. The other contestants surround him, as usual, but Reese doesn’t acknowledge them—his gaze is elsewhere, distant. He looks less like a pop star emerging victorious from a reality show and more like a traumatized warrior returning from war.

  When he gets past the first crowd, Contestant 22 throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He responds by pulling her in, one arm circling her waist.

  More people come to congratulate him, including the twins. Contestant 6, having completely forgotten about his deactivated ability, mimics Reese—pinning Contestant 5’s head into the ground.

  “That was awesome, man! You should’ve seen yourself.”

  Rebecca longs to join them, to thank him, to feel the solid weight of his body against hers and let him know everything will be alright. But she can’t. The crowd is too dense, their excitement too overwhelming.

  Besides, she decides to give him space since Reese doesn’t seem to reciprocate their enthusiasm. He endures the embraces with patience—it’s protocol, after all, part of the spectacle—but his body stays stiff, his movements mechanical. He offers no smiles, no words of thanks. When the last hug is awkwardly untangled and the excited voices finally fade, he simply turns and walks away, shoulders slumped, feet dragging. He heads straight for the corridor where the dormitories are located, disappearing behind the door of the common room without a backward glance.

  Rebecca watches him go, her chest tightening. She no longer feels the thrill of his victory, she’s worried now, nothing else. He’s won, yes, but he doesn’t seem okay. The way he was holding his head and ignoring the celebrating crowd said it all. He needs peace and quiet. He needs her.

  After a long moment of indecision, Rebecca finally follows. Her heart hammers in her chest at the rhythm of her hesitant steps. She reaches his door, raises her hand, presses her knuckles against the cold metal and pauses for a moment before taking a deep breath. Then she knocks—softly at first, then more firmly when there's no immediate response.

  The door opens, and Reese steps out. His face is pale, deep lines of exhaustion etched around his eyes. His usual confident swagger is gone. He doesn’t smile or ask why she’s here; he just stares at her. He knows what she’s thinking. “You don’t have to say or do anything, Rebecca. I did it ‘cause I wanted to.”

  “Reese,” she whispers, wanting to say something that might let him know things have changed, but no words come out.

  He doesn’t answer, he merely stares at her with a numb expression as he leans against the doorframe, his head slightly inclined.

  “Reese, let me…” she begins, stepping closer. Her voice catches in her throat, and Reese straightens up, looking at her with a furrowed brow—as if he doesn’t understand why she’s moving closer. She repeats, “Let me just…”

  Unable to finish her sentence, she draws her arms around him in a tight embrace. He doesn’t move, speak, or push her away. Seeing his hesitation, she hugs him tighter. His body, stiff at first, slowly relaxes. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, and for a moment, she remembers how his touch felt like a refuge.

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  He remains still for a long moment before his arms slowly and tentatively encircle her; his touch is hesitant at first but gradually grows stronger and more possessive. She senses the tremors in his body and the subtle tension in his muscles—he isn’t completely healed. He needs time and rest.

  After a long moment, she pulls back slightly; her fingers trace the line of his jaw while her thumb gently strokes his cheek. His dark and intense eyes meet hers; they hold a mixture of relief, affection, and a rare softness that tugs at her heart.

  Leaning forward, she brushes her lips against his but stops there. She waits for him to pull away or push her aside, but neither happens. She closes her eyes and presses her lips harder, kissing him softly at first, but with certainty.

  The kiss doesn’t last long; his lack of response makes Rebecca hesitate. When they break apart, their gazes lock once more. She feels strangely comfortable staring into his eyes—and it seems he does too, because he never looks away.

  He gently pulls her into his room and closes the door behind her, letting the battle, the pain, and the silence of the past week dissolve. In this moment they’re sharing, they are simply two people—wounded, yes, but bound together—seeking strength and an escape in each other.

  Standing on her tiptoes, she kisses him again. This time, Reese deepens the kiss. His hands tighten around her waist, pulling her close until there’s no space left between them. He pins her against the door, his lips crashing into hers with a growing dominance—and Rebecca lets him take control, despite the fear, despite the risk. Her heart pounds wildly against her ribs, her breath coming in harsh, frantic gasps as the rhythm of their bodies accelerates.

  His tongue roams along the parting of her lips, seeking entry. She gives in, her own tongue meeting his in a fervent, desperate dance. A low moan escapes her, swallowed by the intensity of the moment. His hands slide lower, cupping her hips. The sensation sends shivers down her spine, and a burning warmth spreads from her core to her extremities. Beyond the physical desire, it’s a release—from tension, from fear, from the constant threat they’ve grown accustomed to.

  He carries her toward his bed, and her body follows his lead without question. In that moment, she feels a mix of excitement and deep vulnerability—the kind she had long denied herself. With him, she thinks, she doesn’t want to pretend to be strong all the time. Maybe she doesn’t have to. At least, not anymore.

  The bed welcomes them as he gently lowers her onto the mattress, trapping her between the soft fabric of the covers and his weight, their bodies entwining. The heat presses against her skin, smothering the space between them. Kneeling over her, he pulls off his shirt, then unbuttons the upper part of her jumpsuit. He stares at her for a moment before leaning in again, resuming the kiss while his hands explore every curve of her body with a rough reverence that both thrills and humbles her. His skin burns hot.

  The rest of their clothes soon become an impediment to expressing what they both so desperately want. With nothing but darkness between them, his lips trace burning paths along her skin, awakening desires she never knew she had. She arches into him, her body melting into his touch, her hands tangling in his hair, urging him closer. In that raw, charged moment, the brutal reality of their lives ceases to exist; it’s just the two of them in their private, chaotic world. Among all the feelings that storm in the back of her heart, the one that prevails is the sensation of coming home.

  In that moment, Rebecca allows herself to surrender. She gives herself to him completely as he thrusts gently into her. He looks at her, checking to see if she’s okay, and strokes her cheek with his hand. Rebecca nudges into it and kisses his palm.

  The night rushes into a blur of ethereal moments, each more intoxicating than the last. The melody of their bodies speaks a single agreement—one that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud, for their touch, their lips, their hands, their moans make it unmistakably clear. They are here for each other now, and nothing is strong enough to break their connection.