MALCOLM:
The old train yard stretched before me like a forgotten relic, the rusting freight cars standing still and silent, their hulking forms swallowed by darkness. This place had always felt abandoned, like time itself had given up on it. It was perfect. No prying eyes, no unwanted ears—just the cold steel, the gravel crunching beneath my restless steps, and the quiet hum of my own thoughts, buzzing louder than I wanted them to. The chill in the air seeped into my bones, adding to the sense of isolation.
I paced the length of the maintenance shed, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. The space was small, cluttered with old equipment and the faint, lingering scent of rust and oil. Moonlight seeped through the cracks in the wooden walls, slicing through the dark like thin blades, barely illuminating the dust swirling in the air. Every creak of the floorboards beneath my feet echoed in the confined space.
Every few minutes, my gaze flicked to the entrance. My stomach twisted, my nerves coiled tight like a wire about to snap. The anticipation was unbearable, each passing second amplifying my anxiety.
What if he didn't come?
I checked my phone. 10:42 PM. His shift should have ended by now. The illuminated screen was a stark contrast to the darkness around me.
Come on, Asher. I willed him to appear, the thought repeating like a mantra in my mind.
I had no idea if he'd even read the damn note. Hell, for all I knew, he might've thrown it away the moment he saw what was written in it. And why wouldn't he? After everything, I'd be a fool to think he'd want to see me. The weight of our history pressed heavily on my shoulders, a constant reminder of the scars we'd both carried.
I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the strands tight before exhaling sharply. The familiar gesture did little to calm my racing thoughts.
Maybe this was a mistake. But I couldn't stop now.
The past ten years had been hell. A slow, suffocating kind of hell. The kind where every breath felt like drowning, every day a slow death without him. Each moment without him had been a relentless torment, a never-ending ache.
I never meant to betray Asher. But I did. And if I had to, I'd do it again.
Because losing him had never been an option. The thought of a life without him was unbearable, a void I couldn't fathom.
He had always wanted to leave Eldermire. Dreamed of it. Talked about it like it was salvation, like the world beyond this cursed town would somehow make everything better. I never believed in that. But if he had to leave, then it sure as hell wasn't going to be without me. His dreams had been my anchor, even when I couldn't share in his optimism.
A noise broke through my thoughts.
Footsteps. Slow, hesitant. My pulse spiked. I turned toward the entrance, my body locking up as a figure moved through the darkness.
Asher.
Even in the dim light, I could see the tension in his frame, the way his shoulders were tight, his head tilting slightly as he looked around—like he was afraid of being followed. The sight of him brought a rush of conflicting emotions—relief, fear, longing.
I let out a quiet "Pfft, pfft," signal. The sound was barely audible.
His gaze snapped to mine. For a long, stretched moment, he just stood there, like he was deciding whether or not to turn back. The uncertainty in his eyes mirrored my own doubts.
Then, reluctantly, he stepped forward.
The second he was inside, I shut the door, sealing us in. The click of the latch echoed in the confined space.
The air between us was thick. Stifling. It felt like every breath was a struggle, the tension pressing down on us like a heavy luggage.
Asher's hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw tight, his whole body radiating a quiet anger—no, something sharper than that. Something more like resentment.
"Asher—" I started, but his voice cut through the silence like a knife.
"Why am I here?"
His tone was cold. Controlled. The restraint in his voice only made the anger simmering beneath the surface more palpable.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. The words I had rehearsed in my mind suddenly seemed inadequate.
Asher stood rigid, his dark eyes locked onto mine, daring me to give him a reason—one good enough to justify why I'd dragged him out here, why I still had the audacity to ask for his time.
I forced myself to breathe, to steady the mess of thoughts racing through my head. I had to tread carefully. One wrong word and he'd walk. Maybe he should. Maybe I deserved that.
But I wasn't letting him go. Not again.
I parted my lips to speak, to say anything that might make him stay, but Asher shook his head sharply.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice quieter this time, but no less cutting.
I hesitated, glancing away for a split second before meeting his gaze again. My throat felt tight, the words catching somewhere deep in my chest.
"Because I needed to see you," I admitted, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.
His laugh was sharp, humorless. "See me?" He scoffed, shifting his weight as if he was already preparing to leave. "After ten years? You needed to see me now?"
I clenched my fists at my sides. "It's not that simple, Ash."
He flinched at the name. A small reaction, barely noticeable—but I caught it.
Good. That meant something was still there, beneath all the walls he'd built to keep me out.
"Oh, it's not that simple?" He took a slow step forward, and I could see it now—the years of anger and hurt simmering just beneath his expression, threatening to spill over. "You don't get to say that, Mr Hayes. You don't get to act like this is some complicated mess that just happened to us."
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. "It was complicated."
"No." His jaw clenched. "You made it complicated."
The words cut deeper than I'd expected, but I didn't flinch. I couldn't.
"Asher, just—" I exhaled, forcing down the frustration clawing at my chest. "Give me a chance to explain."
His expression didn't waver. "There's nothing to explain."
"That's not true."
Asher swallowed hard, glancing away for the first time since he got here. His fingers curled at his sides, tension radiating from his stance.
"It doesn't matter anymore," he muttered.
"It does to me."
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He still did that when he was frustrated—I remembered that habit well.
"Look," he said, his voice weary now, like he was already regretting coming. "If you dragged me out here just to play whatever game this is, I'm leaving."
He turned, already heading for the door.
Panic kicked in. I stepped in front of him, blocking the exit before I could think twice about it. And then, before I could stop myself, the words came tumbling out.
"I love you, Asher."