I blink at Seth.

Us.

It's weird to hear the word from his lips, like he's actually thought about this a lot. He wants to talk about 'us'. What about it? We're nothing more than friends, right? Dropping my head back against the door, I peer over at Seth.

"What 'us'?" I question.

"Don't be like that," he warns, dropping his head as he rubs at his neck again. When he tilts his head up again there's a weariness in his eyes. "I've told you once already, but I'll say it again... it was never a competition because Cassandra never had a chance. If it came down to your friendship or her affection, it would always be you. Because, while I don't agree with the way you pushed yourself into my life, I've never been more grateful for a person's stubbornness. You've taught me what it means to go after the things that are important to me."

He pauses, eyes searching my face as if waiting for a response, but I don't dare. I don't want to read into anything he's saying. If he's got anything to say, he needs to spell it out for me because I don't want to get stung making assumptions.

"You're important to me, Mercy."

Seconds tick by silently before I speak.

"Have you..." I swallow. "Did I ever make you feel uncomfortable?"

"How so?" His head is cocked in genuine confusion, apparently never having considered such a thing.

"With the kisses." My fingers cling to each other, desperate for strength to say what needs to be said. "I'm so sorry. I honestly never even thought about the possibility that you didn't want it. The way you reacted... I mean, the first time, it won me the role. The second time, you kissed me back. It just sort of seemed like—"

"I wanted it?"

My eyes jump to his, startled by his question. I nod, brain muddled. "Why?"

He shakes his head, slow and thoughtful. "I don't know."

He's being honest, but I feel a flare of bright, hot fury ignite in my chest. After all this. I've spilled my guts to him, humiliated myself in order to be honest with him, and this is all I get in return. A hollow 'I don't know.' I want to scream, and with the level of noise going on downstairs, I probably could and no one would even know. No one except Seth. But screaming in rage would be a new low for me.

Instead, I find myself nodding, trying to accept his honesty as I stand up. "Okay."

"No," Again, there's a tinge of desperation in his tone as he jumps up and takes a step toward me. "Not like that... I was attracted to you—I am. I am attracted to you and I enjoyed being around you. But that second kiss, I don't think I knew I even wanted it until it happened. It surprised me." He pauses, looking at the floor before meeting my eyes again. "I haven't stopped thinking about it."

He's rambling and I know he rambles when he's nervous, but my body feels tired. I believe him, but I'm also weary from our conversations. Weary of all the circles.

"Seth," I sigh, dropping my attention to the floor. "Could you please stop with all this?"

He jolts backward as if I've just slapped him. "Stop what?"

"Talking," I whisper, throat tight. "I mean, you could be honest and just tell me how you feel..." I pause, waiting for him to jump in.

He runs his hands down his face, and the hesitation is all the answer I need.

"Actually, no." I wave my hands out in front of me as if trying to erase everything I just said. "You know what, I don't think I want to know how you feel. I think I'd prefer if you just stop talking... please."

My eyes sting as I turn around and twist the doorknob. But as soon as I pull it open, it slams shut, freezing me in place. I turn my head just enough to see Seth's hand pressed against the wood, his arm grazing my shoulder.

"I'm not done," he whispers, voice ragged against my ear. The heat of his breath awakens a chill that scuttles down my arm.

Something in my chest grows hot at his nearness. It's as if layers of my heart are melting and dripping into my stomach. I can't move. As his body heat seeps into the back of my sweater, I feel myself turning into ice. I'm a glacier that's been ignited, flames threatening to swallow all my dignity.

Then I feel his fingers against my neck, sliding upward and into my hair. They venture into the strands, like chocolate gliding through silk. Goosebumps trickle down my spine, the gentle caress threatening my eyes closed. Each vertebra locks into place and I'm a statue, barely breathing.

The air is sucked from my lungs the moment his other hand drops to my waist. His palm trails across my stomach, his movements slow and intentional until he reaches the opposite hip. With gentle pressure, he's rotating my body toward him. I try to resist... I think I do, but I'm jello in a sea of Seth. I go where he leads me.

"Seth," I sigh, letting him turn me to face him. I pull in a ragged breath, but his face is so close to mine and I'm pretty sure he's somehow swallowed all the oxygen in the room.

His eyes flash up to mine and the intensity in his gaze is enough to silence me. I press into the door at my back as he drops his focus down one feature at a time until he reaches my lips, my chin, my neck. I watch him explore my face, his eyes refusing to lock with mine as he absorbs every inch of visible skin. He carefully extracts his hand from my hair, grasping a single lock and sliding his fingers down the strand until he reaches the end.

"What are you doing?" I ask, voice gravelly and unsure.

He lifts his attention to me, smiling and dropping both hands to my hips. His eyes follow the movement, watching his own thumbs as they glide across my hip bones. Then he tilts his head back up, a boyish grin on his face. "I'm telling you how I feel while not talking."

I blink at him several times before cracking a smile. For a moment, I break myself out of the force field of crackling heat that's shaped itself around us and glance behind Seth at the scum-covered shower door, the yellowing toilet, the rusted sink.

"Is this where you bring all the girls you plan on not sharing your feelings with?" I ask, jutting my chin behind him as I fight a smile.

His hands drop away from me as he turns to take in the scene around him. Sliding one hand into his back pocket and wrapping the other around the back of his neck, he grins, turning to face me again.

"No, definitely not," he tells me. "Usually it's star-filled skies, waterfalls, rainstorms, or Ferris wheels. You," he lifts a hand to tuck a wisp of hair behind my ear, "are extra special."

"I feel honored to be your bathroom experience."

"Well," he shrugs, stepping back to lean against the sink as he crosses his arms, "only you really know how significant that really is."

He's still smiling as he says it, but there's a thread of truth woven into his words.

My mind blinks back to his confessions. How, as a child, he sought safety within four similar walls. It's where his sister died, where the child in him died, where his hope in humanity died. And now I'm here with him and for a moment it's as if we're creating something new out of the ashes of his past. He's stirring beauty into his memories, intertwining his present with the shadows of his yesterdays.

For a moment, I let my mind picture what this really is for him. Maybe the horrors didn't take place in this very bathroom, but it still carries the same truth. I see his history as a pile of brokenness and we're the flowers growing up through the blood and bruises.

I clear my throat and drop my attention away from Seth. I re-tuck the strand of hair Seth had pushed behind my ear just a moment before—even though it's still in place. My hands are frantic for something to touch, but I'm not sure they're ready for the reality of Seth as he stands barely two feet away from me; open, vulnerable, and willing to explore.

"This doesn't feel real," I tell him, lifting honest eyes to his. "It feels like... If feels like you're scared of losing my friendship so you're allowing yourself to give in to these fabricated feelings of romance. It's not real, Seth. The touching, the yearning looks... it's not real."

He drops his arms from his chest and shoves his hands into his front pockets. "How could you possibly know what I feel?"

I look at the ground, nodding in agreement. "You're right. How could I know what you feel when you refuse to show me?"

"I'm showing you now," he counters.

"No." I'm shaking my head. Either I'm being blinded to the truth or this is all artificial—a truth that Seth wants to believe is real, but isn't. "You can't consider Cassandra one day and then look at me like that," I point at his face, "the next."

"I can when Cassandra was never even an option."

"So, what," I throw my hands up, "was this all a game to you? A way of getting revenge for Cassandra and me competing for your affection? Now you're playing both of us?"

"You don't know me at all if that's what you really think." He shoves his fingers into his hair and pulls at the strands in agitation. "I don't know how many times I have to repeat it before you actually hear me, but I never wanted Cassandra. I've made that blatantly clear. It's always been you. Had it been a true competition, then you won from the start."

"Okay," I concede, "so, had we been battling for your friendship, then, yes, I won. But that's the thing, it was always friendship for you."

He lifts a single brow at me, folding his arms across his chest. "You sure about that?"

The room goes silent, the thump-thump of music blaring downstairs vibrating beneath our feet, but otherwise completely unnoticed.

"Why make it seem like Cassandra is an option then?" I question, folding my arms around my body.

He cocks his head at me, eyes narrowing. "And why don't you just admit that you have feelings for me?"

I blink, baffled. "Haven't I?"

He shrugs. "Barely. You've mentioned that you like me and then immediately follow up with something about friendship or you make a joke out of it. So yes, basically you've admitted to liking me as a friend."

"I feel like I've kissed you enough times to maybe give the hint," I throw back, irritation wrapping its claws around my chest. "Why would I kiss you if all I felt was friendship?"

"I don't know," he admits, biting down on his lip as he watches me. Then he shakes his head, "maybe because kissing is fun. It's where flings and one-night stands start, right?"

"So this is a meaningless fling, then?"

"Is that what you want it to be?"

"Is it what you want?" I counter, body rigged as I fight the desire to dig my fingernails into something. Maybe my own palms. Or maybe his face.

I sigh, something in my chest deflating with each question he avoids. "Why does this always have to be so complicated?" I ask, voice small. "Why can't you just tell me how you feel?"

"Because," he shrugs, humor flickering into his eyes, "you told me to stop talking."

I groan at the ceiling, frustration vibrating past my lips.

"Would it kill you to have a little patience?" Seth's tone is more curious than accusatory, his eyes analyzing my expression as he speaks. "Maybe you're right. Maybe our feelings aren't in sync. Maybe I don't really know what all this is," he gestures toward his chest, indicating his emotions. "But, it'd be nice if you could just slow down a little."

I swallow, watching his face and then nodding once, slowly, before nodding several more times. "You're right," I concede. "I haven't been fair to you. Why don't we just forget about all this? We can ju—"

"No." He flings the word at me, irritation in his voice even though he remains composed. "No, we're not going to forget this." He steps forward. "You've managed to snap me out of my selfish circle," his hand slides to my shoulder, holding me as he moves an inch closer, "and I'm not ready to go back in there."

"You're the least selfish person I know," I tell him, gripping the crook of his arm.

"You'd be surprised," he admits, sliding his other hand around my waist and pulling me against him. "I feel extremely selfish right now."

I examine his expression, brows dipped in confusion. "Why?"

"Because I don't know exactly how I feel," he admits, shrugging as he drops both hands to my waist. He takes a small step back, creating a gap between us that I certainly don't appreciate. "But I know that, right now, I'd really like to..."

He clears his throat, eyes trailing down to my lips before flashing back to mine.

"What?" I question, breathing out a laugh. "You waiting for permission or something?"

"Isn't that how it works?" His brows are scrunched in doubt as he reaches to scratch the back of his neck.

"No," I tell him. "I mean, yeah, sometimes, maybe. Depends on the circumstances. But sometimes a person's consent is written on their face. If they don't want something, it's usually quite obvious. You just have to read their body language. Besides, I never got your permission, so it's only fair..."

"That's terrible advice," he chuckles. "Sure, I agree that sometimes the consent is woven into the moment. But, I'd never take advantage of you simply as payback."

"I know," I nod, "but Seth, if you want to kiss me, then just freakin' do it!"

There are several beats of silence, an instant thickening in the air as my heartbeat creeps up into my throat. Seth's hands drop away from me as he steps back, the magic shattering around us.

"Wait," he croaks, voice deep and hesitant, "what?"

There's genuine bewilderment on his face. It's like he's stunned by the turn our conversation took. I blink at him, frantic for a way out of this situation. Had we not been talking about the same thing at all? What kind of consent had he been referring to?

I want to turn around again and fling the door open to leave, but now that I've had time to consider my actions, I'm seeing how dramatic of an exit that would create. When did I start being so dramatic? I used to be the chill, unruffled girl. The one who could brush off all the tension and theatrics with a joke or a laugh. Now, I'm standing here in front of Seth serious and frustrated that he doesn't feel what I feel. It seems I'm a child who can't accept the truth. The boy I want doesn't want me back, so why can't I just move on? Release my hold on this delusional dream?

"I'm so lost," I mumble, laughing as I cover my face with my hands. "What are we even talking about now?"

Seth's finger skims over my chin, adding just enough pressure to tilt my head back up to him.

"That was a bad joke," he mutters, a whisper of sound between us as he moves closer. "So you're really okay with this?... With me... uh..."

My heart stutters.

"... leaving to go buy a pint of butter pecan ice cream?" he finishes, anxious eyes staring back at me.

"Seth," I breathe, dropping my forehead to his chest. "You're an idiot."

He laughs, the deep vibration against my ear. "I'm sorry," he says, amusement whirling in his eyes. "But in all seriousness, I didn't need your consent because I already knew." He shrugs at my perplexed expression. "You're a terrible actress."

I gasp in mock offense. "How dare you."

He laughs. "You couldn't hide your feelings even if you slipped a paper bag over your head."

"That obvious, huh?" I rub my hands down my face.

"Painfully so. But," he adds, bending down to be eye level with me. "I like it. I like being able to read you. And," he steps forward, "it makes doing this far less stressful."

"Doing what?"

His eyes fixate on mine, and then he's leaning in, his lips so close I can feel the subtle whisper of them against mine. It's so faint, like a secret. He pulls away just long enough to lock eyes with me before he starts moving forward again. My lids flutter shut, anticipation blooming in my chest like the brilliant petals of a titan sunflower. But the seconds tick by and my lips remain alone. I open my eyes to find his attention on the door, his lips hovering just out of reach of mine.

"Change your mind?" I question.

He shushes me in the most gentle way possible, his finger coming to rest against my lips. "Just a second."

I wait, heart thumping wildly, apprehension swelling as my patience struggles to remain in control. I'm seconds from removing the space between us when Seth suddenly jolts backward, muscles rigged and attention focused anywhere but in this small room.

"Something's not right." He slides his hand down the length of my arm, his fingers mingling with mine for a fraction of a second as he pulls me away from the door. Then he's swinging the bathroom door open and racing down the stairs.

I stand in shocked silence, my world muffled around me before my senses start throbbing back into existence. That's when I become aware of shouting downstairs, shouting that I can only hear because the music has stopped. Something's flashing through the window and I hurry toward it, having to strain to catch even the smallest view of what's going on at the front of the house.

"Shoot!" I hiss, hurrying from the bathroom and stumbling down the stairs.

I come to a halt at the bottom, watching as police swarm the living room. My eyes frantically absorb the scene around me, but it's not until I hear Seth's voice calling out to his mom that I see her. She's being escorted from the house, hands bound in cuffs as she cusses wildly at the ceiling. Seth stands, hands tangled in his hair, helplessly watching her get dragged away.

---

Thoughts?