I'd always been good at faking it.
Smiling when I didn't mean it. Laughing when I didn't feel it. Pretending I was fine when every bit of me was quietly falling apart.
But this... this was different.
Ava's flat smelled like vanilla and that overpriced coconut shampoo she swore by. The lights were dimmed low, a soft golden hue washing the space in a kind of warmth I didn't feel. Some mellow indie track played through the speakers, one she'd called our song, though I was sure I'd never heard it before.
She tugged at my hoodie, pulling me toward her lips. The kiss was deep, eager... like she was trying to erase the space that had grown between us over the last few weeks. I kissed her back.
Because I was supposed to.
Because she was pretty. Smart. Safe.
Because maybe if I just kept doing this, I'd finally feel normal again.
But I didn't.
Every touch felt choreographed. Every kiss a scene I'd already rehearsed. My hands moved over her body the way they were meant to, but there was no spark. No fire. No ache of anticipation.
Only pressure and guilt.
She led me to the bedroom, fingers laced with mine. I followed.
Clothes hit the floor one piece at a time... my hoodie, her tank top, my belt clinking onto the hardwood. Her mouth found my neck. Her hands moved with purpose. I knew what she liked. I knew how to touch her in the way she expected.
But it felt like I wasn't in my body.
Her skin was soft, her moans real. She whispered my name in a way that might've felt tender if I wasn't watching myself from a distance. I moved like I was following a script.
Kiss here. Touch there. Make her feel wanted.
Lie to both of us.
I tried to focus. Tried to remind myself this was what I'd wanted. What I'd chosen.
But every second felt like sandpaper against my nerves.
And through it all... him.
Dorian.
The way he kissed me with intent. Touched me like he was trying to ruin me. Like he already had. The way his mouth had left bruises, like he needed everyone to know I was his.
I closed my eyes and saw him instead of her.
Saw his smirk. The fire in his eyes. The way he dragged moans out of me without even trying.
God, the way I'd wanted him.
I bit down on the thought. On the memory. But it didn't go away. It never did.
I didn't make a sound when I came. Just let it happen. Let it end. Let it be over.
Ava curled into me, head on my chest, her breath evening out against my skin. She sighed, content. "That was... nice."
Nice...
The word echoed in my skull.
I stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open, my chest tight.
Was that what it was supposed to feel like?
No fire. No rush. No ache in my lungs from gasping his name. Just silence. Just cold.
She curled closer, one arm draped over me like we were something real. Her fingers traced light patterns on my ribs. I didn't move.
Because if I did, I might say something I couldn't take back.
Like how my skin still burned where his hands had been.
Like how I was trying to feel her... and failing.
And all I could feel was the hollow space Dorian had left behind.
And the terrifying truth that maybe I hadn't just lost something with him.
Maybe I'd never wanted this at all...
The next morning, she made coffee. Wore my shirt. Kissed my cheek like we were something steady, something real.
I smiled.
Pretended.
The smell of roasted beans drifted through her tiny kitchen while she hummed to herself, padding barefoot across the tiled floor. She looked happy. Comfortable. Like this was normal for us. Like we did this every weekend.
She passed me a mug with both hands, fingers lingering on mine a second too long. "You should stay over more," she said softly. "It's nice waking up next to you."
I nodded, murmured something like "yeah" or "maybe"—I don't even remember what came out. Just that it felt heavy. Like a lie I didn't have the strength to dress up anymore.
She looked at me then, really looked, and I wondered if she could see it. The disconnect. The way I couldn't meet her eyes for too long without something in me folding.
I took a sip. It burned my tongue. I didn't say a word.
Her fingers brushed through her hair, messy from sleep, and she laughed about how we'd been tangled up like vines all night.
All I could think was: I kept turning away from her in my sleep.
I checked the time. Told her I should get going, shift started soon. She kissed my cheek again, smiling like she meant it.
And I stood there, smiling back, like I did too.
But inside, I felt nothing.
Nothing except that lingering ache in my chest where his name used to sit.
Dorian...
I left her flat with my hoodie half-zipped, collar damp from her perfume. The morning air hit cold against my skin, but I barely felt it.
The streets were quiet. Buses rumbled past, early traffic starting to hum, but everything felt far away. Like I was walking through a life that belonged to someone else.
You should stay over more.
Her words echoed. They weren't cruel. They weren't even clingy.
She just wanted something real. Something I couldn't give her.
I shoved my hands in my pockets, head down, hoodie pulled tighter.
I should've felt guilty.
I should've felt something.
But all I felt was… wrong.
Like I was wearing someone else's skin. Living a version of myself I'd invented just to keep the peace. A peace that didn't exist inside me.
She deserved someone who reached for her first.
Not someone who woke up next to her and thought about the wrong hands on his skin.
I crossed at the lights. Almost missed the signal turning green.
Everything blurred lately... time, touch, memory. Even the city felt like it was moving past me too fast... or maybe I was moving too slow.
And somewhere between the flat and the hospital gates, his name came back to me like a whisper I'd been holding down since last night.
Dorian.
He felt like gravity I was trying to pretend didn't exist.
I swallowed hard and pushed open the staff entrance.
Back to pretending...
But the second I stepped into the ward, the air changed.
Dorian was already there, leaned against the nurses' station, flipping lazily through a chart. His hair combed back, scrubs tight against his frame, expression unreadable.
When our eyes met, the shift was immediate.
My chest tightened. My hands tensed around the clipboard.
He didn't smirk. Didn't wink. Just looked.
And fuck, it rattled me.
I could still feel his grip on my hips. The scrape of his teeth at my throat. The roughness in his voice when he told me I liked it. That I wanted him.
He'd been right.
The air between us was thick now. Electric. A tension that felt like it might snap the second we were alone.
I cleared my throat. Turned away. Focused on the notes in front of me.
Ava passed by in the corridor and smiled, brushing my arm as she entered for her shift. I flinched.
She didn't notice.
But Dorian did.
His eyes lingered. Knowing. Dark.
I busied myself with the ward round, avoiding mirrors, avoiding him. But every room we entered, every interaction... he was there.
Too close. Too quiet.
And the absence of his voice was louder than anything I'd heard all day.
Later, I found myself standing in the staff bathroom, gripping the sink, breathing hard.
What the fuck am I doing?
I looked at my reflection.
I looked like a liar.
And deep down, I knew... I hadn't just slept with Ava.
I'd tried to erase him.
And failed.
I splashed cold water on my face. Let it drip down my jaw, sting my eyes.
Maybe if I looked tired enough, no one would ask questions.
Maybe if I kept my head down, this ache would go away.
But it wouldn't.
Because it wasn't just a mistake.
It was want.
It was truth I kept trying to drown in Ava's sheets.
And Dorian... he didn't have to say a thing.
He already knew I'd come undone.