Chapter Forty-Eight Aurora
Chapter Forty-Eight
Aurora
Something heavy rested against the top of my head. Warm. Steady.
It took me a moment to remember where I was: a soft blanket, the quiet hum of the TV still playing something half forgotten, and a faint vibration against my arm. Honey, purring.
Then I felt it. The slow rhythm of breath beside me.
Joshua.
His head had tilted at some point during the night, resting gently on top of mine.
And somehow, I didn’t move. I should’ve.
I should’ve sat up, pulled away, pretended like this never happened.
But I didn’t. I just stayed still, eyes half-open, letting my gaze trace the window where the morning light spilt through faintly.
Last night came rushing back: the bike ride, the cold air biting at my skin, the view from the top of the hill. His voice said his name after I’d said mine. Friends.
That word still echoed softly in my chest.
I had told myself that once the ride was over, I’d let go. That I’d keep my promise to myself, to stop getting attached, to stop giving pieces of myself to people who’d only ever shattered them.
But then his hands were on my thighs, grounding me. His voice—steady, low—telling me I was safe. I actually believed it.
So how do you walk away from something that feels like safety after years of chaos?
I couldn’t.
He wasn’t the same Joshua who spat cruel words and glared as if I were beneath him. He was quieter now. Softer. He cooked, he fed a stray; he made me laugh without even trying; he looked at me like I was human again.
Ever since New Year’s, it’s been different.
And now it’s been two weeks, two weeks of laughter and quiet meals. Of Honey’s tiny paws climbing over our laps, of little moments that made me forget who he used to be.
People don’t change overnight.
But maybe he did.
Or maybe… maybe I just started seeing the part of him he buried under all that anger.
I didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to let him go.
Not this time.
So I stayed perfectly still, breathing quietly, feeling the weight of his head against mine, and decided.
Maybe I made the right choice last night.
Maybe asking him to be my friend wasn’t just forgiveness; it was a beginning.
A new one.
Because right here, right now, with Honey asleep on my lap and Joshua leaning against me like peace itself… it finally felt like I was where I was supposed to be.
Honey stirred first.
A tiny, squeaky yawn right against my ribs, then a soft stretch, paws pressing into my stomach as if I were just a piece of furniture. The purring started next, loud and rumbling, and that’s what did it.
Joshua moved.
The warmth above my head shifted, his breath brushed against my temple, and before I could even pretend to close my eyes again, his head lifted. I froze.
Our eyes met.
Barely a few inches between us.
The kind of distance that feels like a choice.
The room was quiet, too quiet. The TV had switched to the home screen, the hum of the heater filling the silence, but it was like all I could hear was my own heartbeat thudding too fast.
He looked… different in the morning.
Messy hair, strands falling over his forehead. His jawline was sharper from sleep, a faint crease under his eyes, his t-shirt pulled tight against his shoulders in a way that made my brain short-circuit a little.
I blinked.
He blinked back.
For a second, neither of us moved… just looked.
And then Honey, absolute menace that she was, let out the loudest little meow, smacking her tail right between us like she was scolding us for existing.
The spell broke.
Joshua cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter, rubbing the back of his neck as if he could erase the tension with his palm. I stood up too quickly, clutching Honey like a lifeline. Her tiny body purred louder against my chest, smug as ever.
“Traitor,” I whispered to her under my breath, but my voice still came out shaky.
Joshua glanced up once, just once, and that was enough to make my pulse stutter again. That stupid, sleepy look on his face shouldn’t look that good on anyone.
He ran a hand through his hair, and his voice came out low, still rough with sleep. “Morning.”
God help me, it sounded like honey itself.
I swallowed hard, hiding behind the kitten in my arms as if she could save me from myself.
“M-morning,” I managed to say quietly, stuttering a little in the process. Well, I do have a stutter, but I thought it went away… not that it could overnight, but—
But yeah.
I don’t know, I’m panicking.
I’m not okay. And he noticed, his lips twitching just a little, as if he wanted to smile but didn’t dare.
Honey purred louder.
And honestly, at that point, I couldn’t even tell who was worse. Joshua Lockhart, or the tiny orange cat determined to make my heart combust before breakfast.
I couldn’t breathe properly.
It wasn’t that the air was heavy, more like my lungs forgot how to work when he was that close. So before my brain could betray me further, I did the only logical thing: I lowered Honey into his lap.
The little traitor purred as if she belonged there, curling instantly against his stomach as if to say, yeah, I like him better anyway.
Joshua’s eyes flicked up to me, confused, still half-asleep but awake enough to notice the way my hands trembled.
“Bye,” I said softly, the word small, nearly a whisper, before turning on my heel.
I didn’t wait for him to respond.
Didn’t dare.
I could feel the weight of his gaze following me as I slipped on my shoes by the door, could still hear Honey’s faint purrs echoing behind me, like the universe was laughing, whispering you’re running again, Aurora.
Maybe I was.
Because if I stayed one more second in that room with his messy hair, the rasp of his morning voice, and the ghost of that almost-too-close moment, I’d do something stupid.
Like stay.
So I ran.