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“That’s not—”

“Or is it Jake?” The name comes out uglier than I intend. “Are you lonely? Missing him? And I’m just here, conveniently, so you figure, why not use me to fill the space he left?”

“Stop.” His voice hardens now, finally cracking his composure. “That’s not what this is.”

I want to believe him, but I can’t. I’m spiraling, but I can’t stop it. The panic is rising too fast, too ugly, the kind that makes my thoughts spin, and my ribs feel as if they’re caving in. My fucked up brain is already screaming that this is too good to be true. That it’s all in my head and he’s going to take it back any second now.

“How do I know that?” My breath is coming too fast, my chest too tight, the walls of the cabin pressing in like they’re shrinking around me. “How do I know any of this is real and not just me wanting it so badly that I’m making it up? What if this is just my head doing what it does, taking something small and building it into something that isn’t there?”

“Maksim—”

“What if I wake up tomorrow and none of this happened the way I think it did?” My voice cracks completely now. “What if this is just another episode, another delusion, and you’re going to look at me like I’m insane for believing you meant any of it?”

“Hey.” He steps closer. “Hey, look at me.”

“No.” I turn my face away, arms wrapping around myself. “I can’t. I can’t look at you right now.”

“Maksim.” His hands find my face before I can stop him, gentle but immovable, holding me steady even as I try to twist away. “Look at me.”

“Let go of me.”

“No.”

“Tristan—”

“Baby, look at me.”

The word stops me cold because it’s not just soft; it’s certain.

He’s called me baby before, but not like this. He only calls me that when we have sex; he hasn’t openly called me this before.

My eyes lift to his despite myself.

His eyes are bright in the low light. Not with tears. Tristan would probably rather walk into the river again than cry in front of me.

But he looks wrecked.

“I am not confessing because I pity you,” he says. Each word is slow, deliberate. “And I am not using you to forget Jake.”

My throat tightens.

“Then why?” I whisper. “Why do you want me, Tristan? After all this time. After pushing me away again and again. Why now?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes search mine, dark and intense. Then, quietly, almost reverently, he says:

“Because I like you, Maksim. Because I have feelings for you. Real ones. The kind I’ve been trying to ignore for years because they scare the shit out of me.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s it?”

His gaze doesn’t move from mine.

“I like the way you fill a room,” he says. “Even when you’re too loud. Especially then.” His voice is low and steady. “I like that you pretend nothing gets to you, even though everything does. I like that you fight me on everything, even when you know I’m right.”

“I’m always right.” I stubbornly manage to say.

The corner of his mouth threatens to lift, but the expression fades before it can become a smile.

“I don’t believe you,” I whisper. “I don’t believe that you like me.”