The forest around them felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Too damp.
Too heavy with the weight of things unsaid.
The rain continued to trickle onto the burnt leaves, the smell of charred wood clinging to the air.
Astrid stared into the flickering campfire, legs pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight. Her sleeve tugged uncomfortably against the brand on her arm.
Kurai sat a few feet away, cloaked in silence, his head low, eyes on the dirt. He hadn’t looked at her since he finally moved after the fire.
What am I supposed to do? I feel like I’m caring for a child who never learns. Charlie was a walk in the park compared to this guy.
"You need to sleep," she said.
He didn’t answer.
She turned toward him. "Are you just going to pretend nothing happened? Never sleep again?"
Kurai’s jaw tightened. "Nothing happened."
Bullshit.
"You nearly set the whole damn forest on fire," she snapped. "And you think just because the flames are out that I’ll drop it?"
"I handled it."
"No," she said, sharper now. "*We* handled it. You didn’t even see what you were doing!"
His shoulders lifted, then fell. "I'm tired, Astrid."
"Yeah? Then maybe you should listen for once."
"That's not what I’m talking about," he mumbled.
Her voice shook — not from fear. From something older. Frustration. Exhaustion.
"I keep showing up," she said, forcing herself to stay steady. "But you won’t let me in. You build up these walls and dare me to climb them, and when I do — you push me right back down."
She stood abruptly, pacing, the firelight catching the tightness in her expression.
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"I know you're scared. Guess what? So am I. I'm scared of watching you fall apart and not being able to do anything about it."
She stopped, fists clenching at her sides.
"We can’t keep doing this — fight, flare-up, silence, pretend everything's fine. It's not fine, Kurai. We’re not fine."
Her voice dropped, rough and bitter:
"So what? We keep going until you do kill me? Until everything you’ve been bottling up explodes?"
She regretted the cruelty the second it left her mouth.
But part of her didn’t.
Because she needed him to react.
Kurai finally looked up.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Just... hollow. Like her words had hit something deeper than anger.
"You don't understand what it's like," he said, voice low. "What's inside me... it doesn't care who you are. Or how much I try. It just wants. It doesn’t stop."
Then help me understand, you idiot.
Astrid shook her head, voice tight.
"Then why is letting me in scarier to you than losing control?"
His breath hitched — just once.
"Because I don't want to watch you get hurt. Not because of me."
Astrid’s chest ached.
"For once," she thought, he didn’t look dangerous. He looked scared.
Her voice softened.
"You don’t get to decide that," she said. "I do. I choose to be here. But if you keep pushing me away — if you keep making me feel like I’m standing alone — eventually, I won’t."
She turned away, walking to the edge of the clearing.
Her voice cracked:
"Just... stop pretending you don't care. It's written all over your face."
Silence.
The fire popped between them.
Finally, Kurai’s voice — hoarse, raw:
"I do care," he said. " Every time I try to care, something burns. I don’t know how to stop that."
She closed her eyes.
"Then learn."
Without looking back, Astrid sat down at the base of a tree, pulling her knees up to her chest.
No more arguing.
No more begging.
If he wanted to find her — he would have to come to her.
Kurai stayed where he was, staring into the fire like it might offer answers.
He didn’t know how to cross the space between them.
Not yet.
But for the first time... he wanted to.
---
The fire had burned low by the time Astrid drifted off.
Now, only a few pale embers remained, struggling against the grey light of dawn.
The rain had stopped sometime in the night, but the damp still clung to everything.
Astrid stirred, blinking sleep from her eyes.
Her body ached from sleeping against the rough tree bark, but she didn’t move right away.
Across the clearing — Kurai was already awake.
Of course he didn’t sleep.
Did nothing I say get through that thick skull?
He sat hunched, turning something over in his hands — her flask.
Turning it once, twice, like he wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean.
When he noticed her watching, he set it down awkwardly and glanced over — giving a small nod. An almost-apology.
She didn’t nod back.
But she didn’t look away either.
Nope. I’m not giving you a damn thing, you stubborn idiot.
Eventually, he stood and crossed over, holding out a wrapped bundle.
"Bread," he said. "It’s stale."
Astrid took it, raising an eyebrow.
"Romantic."
A faint huff — almost a laugh.
"Didn’t want you passing out halfway through your next meltdown."
She blinked at him.
"Was that... a joke?"
He shrugged.
"Sort of."
Oh, don’t you dare try to be cute. But... maybe this is his way of trying?
They sat in silence for a while.
Birds chirped somewhere high above.
The forest, at least, seemed willing to forgive them.
Kurai shifted, pulling his knees up. Arms resting across them.
"You were right," he said, voice low.
"About last night. About all of it."
Astrid didn’t answer.
He didn’t expect her to.
"I don’t know how to be someone who lets people in," he said.
"But... I want to be."
He hesitated.
"Even if I’m bad at it."
Astrid picked at the crust of her bread.
The words landed harder than she expected.
"Good," she said softly. "Because I’m tired of knocking on a door that never opens."
Another long pause.
But this one felt different.
Not silence.
Stillness.
Then, almost whispering:
"I don’t want you to walk away."
Astrid didn’t move.
Quietly, steady:
"Then stop giving me reasons to."
Another beat.
Kurai nodded once.
They didn’t hug.
They didn’t cry.
No grand declarations.
Just Kurai shifting a little closer — shoulders brushing, casual but deliberate.
Astrid leaned into him slightly — not enough to make it a statement.
Just enough to say:
Thank you for trusting me.
