☾

𝐩𝐫𝗼𝐥𝗼𝐠𝐮𝐞.

La Push, WA.
February 2010

𝑴aija Lahote yawned softly, nuzzling into Quil Ateara's chest as his arm rested around her. His warmth, his scent—it was her safe place. She traced idle patterns on his chest, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can I ask you something?" She tilted her head, meeting his gaze with her big brown eyes, equal parts curious and vulnerable.

Quil's lips quirked up in a soft smile. "Depends," he teased, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on her lips. He lingered, unable to resist the pull of her, and deepened the kiss for a moment longer than intended. But when he pulled back, there was that look in her eyes again—the one that made his chest tighten.

"What are we, Quil?" she asked quietly, her tone measured but laced with uncertainty.

Quil froze, his easy grin faltering as his heart gave a painful thud. He sighed and sat up, forcing her to sit up too. The warmth of her weight against him was gone, replaced by a creeping unease. He scrubbed a hand down his face, his pulse quickening. He had known this was coming, but he still wasn't ready.

"What do you mean?" he asked, even though he already knew. He was stalling.

"You know what I mean," Maija said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice was calm, but the tension between them was palpable.

Quil stood abruptly, grabbing his shirt from the edge of the bed and pulling it on. His back was to her as he fumbled for the words. "Maija..." he started, his voice low, almost pleading.

"Don't 'Maija' me," she snapped, her tone sharper now. She stood too, the distance between them only making her feel colder. "What are we, Quil? Why can't you just say it?"

He turned to face her, a mix of frustration and guilt flashing in his dark eyes. "You know I hate labels. They just... they make everything complicated," he said, his voice unsteady. "I don't want us to be complicated."

Maija stared at him, her jaw tightening as a pang of hurt shot through her chest. "No, Quil. You make things complicated," she said, her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. "You always do this."

Quil's brows furrowed, the sharpness of her words hitting a nerve. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, stepping closer.

"Exactly what it sounds like!" Maija fired back, her anger spilling over. "You're scared, Quil. Scared of screwing this up because you always screw eveything up! And instead of just trying, you push me away! You're such a piece of shit!"

Her words were like a slap to his face, each one hitting harder than the last. His chest ached, and he could feel the lump in his throat rising. But he refused to let her see how much she had hurt him. His expression hardened, his voice dropping. "Wow, that's rich coming from you," he said bitterly. "You're the most selfish, self-absorbed person I've ever met. You think the whole damn world revolves around you."

Maija's breath caught as the sting of his words landed, but she didn't back down. Instead, she stepped closer, the anger in her eyes burning as bright as the pain she felt. "Excuse me?" she hissed, looking up at him, her voice dangerously low.

"Yeah," he snapped, gesturing toward the door. "You can excuse yourself. The door's right there."

Her chest tightened, her breath hitching as his words cut through her like a knife. She blinked quickly, desperate to stop the tears threatening to spill over. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of his room, slamming the door behind her.

Quil stared after her, the sound of the door echoing in his ears. His hand instinctively reached for the spot where she'd been moments ago, the warmth of her now replaced by an unbearable cold. He swallowed hard, guilt and regret already settling in. But it was too late. She was gone.