Different

Jace sighs, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "Mila, don't start."

I look down, watching the bubbles swirl lazily on the surface of the bathwater. "You asked, I answered," I say quietly. But something in me stirs—restless, aching—and I can't help but push. "Is it so wrong to want to know why?"

His voice sharpens. "So now I'm the bad guy because I'm trying to be decent?"

"No," I breathe, my voice small. "It's not that." I glance at him, heart pounding. "I told you... I'm ready. For you. For this."

His jaw tightens, but I don't stop. I should, but I don't.

"It wasn't hard for you to sleep with everyone else, so why is it so hard with me?"

Silence slices the air.

Jace stiffens. Then, without a word, he launches out of the bath, water sloshing over the edge. He grabs a towel and wraps it around himself, movements clipped and angry.

"I can't deal with your bullshit right now," he snaps, storming out.

The door slams. The echo makes me flinch.

Well done, Mila. Great job.

I sink deeper into the tub, arms wrapping around my knees, chest tight. I shouldn't have said that. God, I knew it the second the words left my mouth.

The warm water doesn't feel comforting anymore. It feels heavy, sticky, like it's weighing me down.

I stay in it anyway. Not because it helps, but because I can't bear to face him—not yet.

My mind won't stop spiraling. Maybe there's a reason he won't touch me. Maybe I disgust him. Maybe... he's just not into me like that at all.

Eventually, I drag myself out and dry off. I'll have to face him. I wrap myself in a towel, open the door, and avoid his gaze as I slip into my clothes.

"I'm gonna head back to the dorm," I say, voice flat. If he wants space, fine. I'll give him space.

"What? No." Jace sighs and walks toward me. "Don't be stupid, Mila." His arms wrap around me in a firm, quiet hug. "Come here."

"I shouldn't have said that," I murmur into his chest.

"It's fine," he says, softer now. "I'm sorry for snapping." He pulls back just enough to look at me. "Come on. I'll make us something to eat. We can just... chill, watch Netflix."

"I'm sorry too," I whisper. "That last part—I shouldn't have said it."

But even as he smiles and leads me to the kitchen, I feel it. The tension still humming beneath the surface.

He's dodging the real issue. And I don't know why.

________

The rest of the evening passes in a kind of pretend-normal. And the next morning, he keeps his promise and drives me home. Things between us feel... off. Like something important got buried and we're both too afraid to dig it up.