Warm suh Gentle hier. Thend of day that make you believe in and cows and track starts and all the things fligt tear impicable when you’re lying awake at 2:47 AM


    We walk along theke shore, Cisar running ahead to collect stones while Hunter and Irsamtain our carshof distance Maps careful.


    Always wallding on eggshells around each other.


    “He’s happy here,” Hunter says, watching Caesar chase a butterfly.


    “He’s happy everywhere. That’s who he is.”


    “He gets that from you.”


    I nce at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”


    “The way you find joy in small things. The way you make everything feel…” He pauses, searching for the word. “Warmer”


    My chest tightens. This is the Hunter I fell in love with. The one who made me feel special just by existing. The one who saw beauty in ordinary moments.


    The one who made me believe I was worth loving.


    “Don’t”


    “Don’t what?”


    “Don’t do this. Don’t be sweet and thoughtful and make me remember.”


    “Remember what?”


    “Why I loved you.”


    The words are out before I can stop them, and Hunter stops walking. He turns to face me, and there’s something raw in his expression.


    “Would that be so terrible?”


    “Yes.” My voice cracks. “Because none of this is real, Hunter. You’re not keeping me here because you love me. You’re keeping me here because you’re scared of losing control.”


    “Can’t it be both?”


    The question hits me like a physical blow. Because what if it can be both? What if love and control can exist in the same space?


    What if Hunter loves me ‘and‘ he’s destroying me?


    What if that’s the most dangerousbination of all?


    “Mama! Papa! Look!”


    <b>1439 </b>Thu, 7 AUU ? D


    Caesar runs toward us, holding a piece of driftwood shaped like a heart. His face is so bright, so full of joy, that I almost start crying right there on the beach


    “That’s beautiful, baby.”


    “It’s for you.” He presses it into my hands. “Because you’re the best mama in the whole world.”


    The tearse anyway. Hot and fast and impossible to stop.


    “Thank you, sweetheart.”


    Hunter watches this exchange with something raw in his expression. Longing. Regret. Love.


    Always love with Hunter. Too much love. The kind that suffocates.


    “We should head back,” he says quietly. “It’s gettingte.”


    That evening, I’m standing in front of the easel that Hunter bought me.


    I have been staring at the nk canvas for an hour, brush suspended in midair, unable to make the first mark.


    Because what do you paint when your life is falling apart? What do you create when everything you touch turns to ash?


    “You’re thinking too hard.”


    I jump, spinning around to find Hunter in the doorway. I didn’t hear him approach, but then again, I never do. He moves like a predator.


    Silent and careful and always watching.


    “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He steps into the room, and I hate how my body reacts to his presence. The way my heart speeds up.


    The way my skin feels is too tight.


    “May 1?”


    No.


    “I guess.”


    He settles into the chair beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne. The same one he wore on our first date, when he told me I was


    beautiful and made me believe it.


    When everything was simple and perfect and not destroyed by his need to control everything.


    “What are you trying to paint?”


    “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”


    “Then start with what <i>you </i>feel.”


    Iugh, but there’s no funniness in it. “What I feel would burn the canvas.”


    “Try me.”


    I load my brush with crimson paint and sh it across the white surface. The color bleeds like an open wound, angry and raw and honest.


    “pher trappast Bogn och af de cat is in


    My pisze


    pond, but tranfeal his tension. The way he ha?ng himself so will, like any incuentent might heel water flintsty


    thing galste between us.


    add ck weit. Dark, swirls that consume the red like it’s consuming me.


    “feel angry. At you. At myself at this whole situation<b>” </b>


    “And“” His voice is barely above a whisper.


    I hesitate, then add touches of blue. Soft, sad blue that speaks of tears and longing and all the things I can’t say out loud.


    “And I feel confused. Because sometimes, in moments like this, I remember why I fell in love with you. And I hate myself for it.”


    The brush trembles in my hand. Hunter reaches out, his fingers covering mine, and the contact is electric.


    Dangerous.


    “Don’t hate yourself,” he says softly. “Hate me if you need to. But don’t hate yourself for feeling something real.”


    look at him–look–and see the man I fell in love with. Vulnerable. Uncertain. Desperate to be worthy of love but terrified to trust it.


    “Why are you doing this to us?”


    His thumb strokes across my knuckles, and I should pull away. I should run. But I don’t.


    “Because I’m selfish. Because I’m terrified. Because I love you so much it’s killing me, and I don’t know how to let you go.”


    “So you decided not to give me the choice?”


    “I decided to fight for you. Even if it makes me the viin.”


    “You’re not the viin, Hunter.” I turn my hand in his, our fingers intertwining. “You’re just broken. And you’re breaking me too.”


    “I know.” His voice is thick with emotion. “God, Celine, I know, But I don’t know how to stop.”


    We sit in silence, hands joined, staring at the angry painting that somehow captured everything we can’t say. The room feels smaller. The air


    is thicker.


    “I should go,” Hunter says finally.


    But he doesn’t move.


    “You should.”


    But I don’t want him to.


    Our eyes meet, and I see my own confusion reflected back at me. The pull between us is maic. Dangerous. Inevitable.


    “Celine…” His voice is rough.


    “Don’t.” But even as I say it, I’m leaning closer.


    “I’m trying to be better. For you. For Caesar. For our baby.”


    “know” My free handes up to cup his cheek. “I can see you trying.” <fnfa8c> This text is hosted at fin?novel</fnfa8c>


    He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch like he’s starving for it. Like I’m the only thing keeping him alive.


    “I’m so tired of fighting this.”


    “Then don’t.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Hunter’s eyes fly open, searching my face.


    “What are you saying?”


    “I’m saying I’m tired too. Tired of hating you when I want to love you. Tired of fighting something that feels unavoidable.”


    “Celine.”


    He breathes my name like a prayer, and suddenly the space between us disappears. His lips find mine, soft and desperate and full of everything we’ve been trying to deny.


    This kiss is different. Not born of anger or maniption, but of exhaustion and hope and the desperate need for connection.


    1 kiss him back, pouring all my confusion and anger, and stubborn love into the contact. His hands frame my face, thumb stroking across my cheekbone.


    “I love you,” he whispers against my lips. “I know I’ve ruined everything, but I love you.”


    “I love you too.” The admission tears from my throat. “And I hate myself for it.”


    “Don’t. Please don’t.”


    He pulls back to look at me, and I see tears in his eyes. Real tears. Not the calcted emotion I’ve be ustomed to.


    “I want to trust you,” I whisper. “But I’m scared.”


    “I know. I’m scared too.”


    “Then what do we do?”


    He strokes my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear. The gesture is so tender, so familiar, that I almost start crying again.


    “We try. We take it one day at a time and try to find our way back to each other.”


    “And if we can’t?”


    “Then at least we’ll know we tried.”


    The moment between us feels delicate and valuable. I want to believe in second chances, redemption, and that love can ovee the need for control.


    But I’m terrified.


    “I need time,” I say finally. “To think. To figure out what I want.”


    “I’ll give you all the time you need.”


    “And space?”


    He hesitates, and I see the war in his eyes. The desperate need to control warring with his genuine desire to be better.


    18:30 Thu, 2 kilo


    Cluster 196


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    It’s not perfect. It’s not freedom.


    But it’s progress.


    “hay


    He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. “We’re going to figure this out.”


    “Are we


    “We have to. Because the alternative is losing everything that matters.”


    A sound from the hallway breaks the moment. Caesar’s footsteps. Hunter and I spring apart like we’ve been burned.


    “I should go,” he says, but his eyes never leave mine.


    “Yes.”


    He stands, but pauses at the door. “Celine?”


    “Yeah?”


    “Thank you. For giving me hope.”


    He leaves, and I’m alone with my painting and my racing heart. The canvas stares back at me, a riot of angry colors that somehow, in the right light, might be beautiful.


    Just like us.


    I pick up my brush and add a touch of gold to the chaos. A small spark of light in the darkness.


    Because maybe we’re not beyond saving.


    But as I hear Hunter’s door close down the hall, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re standing on the edge of a cliff.


    One wrong move will send us both tumbling. The question is: are we brave enough to take the leap together?


    Or will fear destroy us both? It usually does.