Invidious

GUYS THIS SCENE FOREVER HAS MY HEART ARGHHH 😭

It all happens so fast.

One second I’m storming ahead through the trees, chewing on every annoying thing Liam just said, and the next—

My boot catches on something. A root, maybe. Doesn’t matter. I lurch forward with a strangled noise that definitely doesn’t qualify as graceful.

Then hands catch me.

Strong. Steady.

I slam into a solid chest, and my fingers instinctively grab at the fabric in front of me to keep from going down. When I look up—of course.

Liam.

He doesn’t let go.

“You good?” he asks, voice low, a little amused, but not in a mean way. Calm. Like I’m the one making things dramatic.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, trying to untangle myself from him. But my hand is still clutching the front of his hoodie like he’s the only stable thing in the world. Which, unfortunately, in this exact moment, he kind of is.

He doesn’t move back.

His eyes stay on mine.

Hazel. Not just brown—hazel, with gold catching in the light like tiny sparks. Like sunlit honey or something ridiculously poetic I would never say out loud.

My breath catches in my throat.

He reaches up and brushes a piece of hair from my face with the back of his fingers, and I forget what I was going to say. It’s such a small thing, but it lands like a punch to the chest.

My lips part—just a little. His eyes flick down for half a second. I feel it everywhere.

I don’t pull away. I don’t even blink.

His nose brushes mine, barely. His breath is warm. The air between us hums, tight and charged. I should move. Say something. Do anything.

But I don’t.

My fingers are still in his hoodie. Holding on.

He leans in—slow, like he’s giving me time to change my mind.

I don’t.

And then—

Snap.

A twig cracks behind us.

I jolt back like I’ve touched a live wire. My hands shove at Liam’s chest, and I spin around—already knowing what I’ll see.

Gray.

Standing just past the trees.

Still. Watching.

His face has gone pale, like all the color drained from it at once. His mouth is slightly open, eyes wide—not angry, just… hurt. The kind of hurt that guts you silently.

My stomach drops. A sick, heavy free-fall. I take a shaky step toward him, panic blooming in my throat.

“It’s not—” I start, too fast. “It’s not what it looks like.”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t blink.

And when I turn back to Liam, his expression has already shifted. The softness is gone. Every trace of warmth has vanished, like a door has slammed shut behind his eyes.

He stares at me, face unreadable, mouth a thin line.

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