Chapter 153: Chapter 153
Amara closed the door behind her with a soft click. The familiar silence of her apartment wrapped around her like an old cloak.
She had only come back for a little while. She needed to grab her writing materials, a few fresh clothes, and then return to the hospital. Celeste still needed her. And Amara wasn’t going to be anywhere else but by her side.
She set her bag down on the console and exhaled, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly. But before the quiet could settle into her, a voice came from the living room.
"Welcome back," Elias’s voice said. His voice came out calm, deep, and threaded with something that immediately put her spine on alert.
Amara froze, her hand still resting on the strap of her bag. Her heartbeat leapt into her throat. She turned, slowly, and deliberately, schooling her face into something steady even though she felt nothing steady in her when she heard him speak.
Elias was sitting on her couch like he belonged there. He annoyingly sat there, like he had every right to wait for her.
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice stern, and clipped, carrying all the sharpness she had left in her after days without rest.
Elias rose to his full height in one smooth motion, and walked toward her. The sight of him closing the distance made her fingers twitch, but she held her ground.
"You won’t even say hi to me?" he asked softly. His tone was disarming, and gentle enough to pry at her walls.
Amara rolled her eyes and crossed her arms tightly across her chest, like an armor. "I asked you a question, Elias."
He moved closer, and stopped just two steps away. He was close enough for her to feel his warmth but not close enough to touch.
His eyes held hers, unwavering. "I stopped by a few minutes ago," he admitted, with a low voice, while searching her face. "I wanted to feel your presence, since you decided to ghost me for about five days."
Amara’s jaw tightened. Her arms pressed closer to herself. "I felt like staying away." Her words came out softer than she meant. It almost sounded like a soft confession.
Elias’s gaze softened instantly. He didn’t push, neither did he argue. Instead, he lifted a hand, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted. His fingers threaded gently through her hair, brushing it back from her face.
Amara drew in a sharp breath. Her body betrayed her, leaning into the touch before she could stop herself. Her eyelids fluttered shut, with the weight of exhaustion making her crave something she didn’t want to admit.
The fate was strong, and she couldn’t push it too far. This would crush her if she tried to sit alone behind her walls.
Elias’s touch stilled for a moment, then he gave a light, almost playful pat to her head. His lips curved faintly. "Let me cook for you," he murmured, as though it were the simplest solution in the world.
Amara’s eyes snapped open. She blinked at him, startled. "What?"
"Let me cook," Elias repeated, already stepping past her toward the kitchen like he had been here a hundred times before.
She stayed frozen near the door, watching his broad back move around the space with quiet confidence. He didn’t ask if she wanted him to stay, or if she was going to stay.
He didn’t even hesitate. He opened her cupboards with ease, rummaging for pans, pots, and checking her fridge like he knew he would find what he needed.
Amara’s arms crossed again, though the skepticism faltered at the edges. "Do you even know what you’re doing?"
Elias glanced at her over his shoulder, his mouth tugging into that calm, almost boyish smile. "More than you think." He pulled out a cutting board. "Do you have garlic?"
"Garlic?" She asked, staring at him like he was a monster. She uses garlic, but it wasn’t something someone should ask for immediately they think about cooking.
Elias smiled at her. "I’m Italian, remember?"
Her brows pinched, and then, she nodded as if taking down a mental note. "...I do. It’s on the counter."
He found it, peeled it with practiced ease, and set a pan on the stove. The sizzle of oil filled the room a moment later, the smell already blooming into something warm, and grounding.
Amara sank into the edge of the couch, her eyes trailing him warily. "You never speak to your family, Elias," she said finally, her voice low but deliberate.
He didn’t pause in his motions, his knife slicing with rhythmic precision. "I caused a rift there," he admitted casually, tilting his head. His voice carried no bitterness, nor defense. Just fact. "I do think about them, though."
Thought he wondered where the question was coming from, he gave her a reply. He wished he could be very open with her.
She tilted her head. "But you don’t talk to them?"
"No." His answer was simple. "Not at all."
The bluntness of it settled between them, and Amara found herself staring at the way the firelight from the gas caught the edges of his hair, gilding him in something almost too soft for the man he was.
The scent of garlic, butter, and herbs began to weave through the air. The apartment felt warmer already.
Amara exhaled slowly, her arms uncrossing. She leaned back against the couch, one leg drawn up to her chest, with her chin resting lightly on her knee. "I don’t think I like you here," she murmured, though the bite in her words was gone.
Elias looked up, his eyes meeting hers across the space. "Maybe. But you’re still letting me cook for you."
Her lips twitched despite herself. She turned her face away, hiding the smile that almost slipped.
When he finally brought the food out, it was just something simple but fragrant. He set it before her like it was a gift, and not a meal.
Amara hesitated, her chest tightening as she picked up the fork. The first bite made her eyes flutter shut despite herself. Comfort. That was what it tasted like.
Elias sat beside her, quietly. His presence was steady as the walls she always carried around herself began to slip, piece by piece.
She glanced at him between bites, her voice smaller now. "Don’t act too soft with me. It feels like pretense."
He didn’t miss a beat. "You need soft," he said simply, looking at her like it was the most obvious truth in the world.
Amara’s throat tightened. She set the fork down, suddenly unable to eat past the lump in her chest.
Elias’s hand moved, careful, and slow, until it found hers. His thumb brushed the back of her knuckles once, then twice, grounding her.
For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, finally, she let herself lean in, just slightly until her head rested against his shoulder, and her body melted into his warmth like she had been holding herself rigid for too long.
Neither of them spoke. The silence was its own kind of language. When she finally lifted her head, her face was close to his. Too close that her breath caught.
Elias’s gaze flickered down to her lips, then back to her eyes. He didn’t move forward. He only waited.
It was Amara who closed the distance.
The kiss was soft, tentative, threaded with all the hesitation and all the yearning she had been swallowing down for days. Elias’s hand came up to cradle the back of her head, deepening the kiss only when she allowed it, answering her with patience, and with care.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes stayed closed, with her forehead resting against his. "Thank you," she whispered, breathless.
Elias smiled faintly, brushing his thumb along her jaw. "Can I say I’ve missed you?"