Theo's pov-
The text wasn't planned.
It wasn't clever. Or careful.It was just one word.
"Come."
No punctuation. No explanation.But I knew she'd understand.
And she did.
Ten minutes later, she was at my door—storm eyes, silk skin, and all the fury of a girl who knew she had power.
But didn't want it anymore.She wanted answers.
Or ruin.
She stepped inside. Didn't say anything. Didn't take her heels off.
"Tell me it meant nothing," she said.
I didn't.
Because it did mean something. Too much.
"Say it," she whispered, stepping closer. "Say I'm a mistake. Say I'm just a spoiled girl playing pretend and you don't think about me."
My jaw clenched. I couldn't breathe, let alone lie.
"God, you're a coward," she said, bitter laugh on her lips. "I thought you were fireproof. Turns out you're just hiding in the ashes."
That was it.
I grabbed her wrist—gently, but firm enough to make her stop.
"You don't get to talk about pretending," I said, voice low, dark. "Not when you walked in here hoping I'd break again."
Her breath hitched.
We were too close.
Too quiet.
Too far gone.
"I tried to stop," I said, eyes locked on hers. "I really did."
Her lips parted, just barely.
"But you walk into a room and I forget how to breathe."
We stood there, trapped in a silence thick with want and warning.
And I realized something I hadn't admitted until now—
I wasn't afraid of ruining her.
I was afraid of what she would ruin in me.
The control.
The distance.
The carefully built wall between the man I am and the man I swore I'd never become.
She leaned in.
And whispered, "Then stop pretending he's not already dead."
Sid's pov-
He didn't move when I said it.
Just stood there, staring at me like he wasn't sure if he wanted to drag me out or drop to his knees.
So I moved instead.
One step.
Then another.
Until my hands were on his chest, and his heartbeat was hammering through cotton and shame.
"You hate this," I whispered.
"No," he breathed. "I hate that I want it."
My fingers slid up, hooked around his collar.
"I'm not scared of you," I said, tilting my chin. "But you're terrified of me."
He didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
Because the next second, his mouth was on mine.
Desperate.
Punishing.
Like every second he'd spent trying to be good had snapped.
His hands tangled in my hair, dragging me closer, until there was no air—just heat and ruin.
We didn't stumble.
We lunged.
Into sin.Into silence.Into the dark corner of ourselves we'd both sworn to never touch.
His jacket hit the floor.My blouse followed.
Buttons scattered like the last of our excuses.
He pressed me against the bookshelf, books falling behind me like confessions neither of us would admit out loud.
It wasn't sweet.
It wasn't soft.
It was war.
It was need with no leash.It was guilt carved into skin.
He whispered my name once.
Just once.
And I felt it in every shattered piece of me.
We didn't stop.
Even when we should've.
Even when the silence after would scream.
Because in that moment, there was no world outside that room.
No titles. No rules.
Just heat.
And the inevitability of falling.