Fray's POV
I turned up the heat and sank back onto the couch. The cold had crept in fast tonight. I wasn't a fan of winter—not the snow, not the holidays, and especially not the black ice that came with living in Seattle. Accidents waiting to happen. This time of year always felt... dangerous.
Arya and I were deep into one of those late-night talks where the hours melted away unnoticed. It had started simple—work, dreams, random stories. But somehow, as the night went on, we found ourselves leaning into each other, sharing pieces of ourselves we didn't usually offer up.
She made me nervous. Not in an obvious way, but in the way where every glance, every brush of her hand sent my thoughts into chaos. Arya knew what she was doing, too. The soft touches, the way her eyes flicked up at me through her lashes—every move was calculated, even if it looked effortless. She was soft, sure, but I could sense the steel beneath.
I couldn't get myself together. My words stumbled out awkwardly all night, like I was trying too hard. I hated it—usually, I wasn't like this. But something about Arya's constant eye contact left me defenseless. It was too much, like she could see every thought in my head. I kept looking away, focusing on the coffee table, the couch cushions—anything but her.
"I don't think people can change," I said finally, breaking the silence and trying to steady my voice.
Her head tilted, her expression shifting to something more serious. "Not everyone's the same," she said, leaning in slightly. "Why do you think that?"
I cracked my knuckles, a nervous habit I couldn't shake. "From what I've seen, people who really want to change can do it, but... I think deep down, we are who we are. That doesn't change." I chanced a glance at her, but her teasing look was gone. She was just... listening.
It threw me.
Memories surfaced before I could stop them—dark ones. I thought about the people I grew up around, the ones who put their hands on me, who broke me down no matter what I did to please them. They proved, over and over, they'd never change. It took me years to realize it wasn't my fault, but the scars left by that truth never quite faded.
Arya bit her lip, her gaze thoughtful. It took all my willpower not to let my eyes linger there. "I've never thought about it like that," she said softly. "So if people don't really change, what does that mean for relationships?"
"I wouldn't know," I admitted, shrugging. Her eyebrows rose, curiosity sparking in her eyes. I shifted under her gaze. "I've never had one. Not really."
"Why not?" she asked, her voice light but genuinely curious. She tucked her legs under her, leaning forward just enough to make my pulse quicken.
I cleared my throat, my hands tightening into fists to ground myself. "I could blame my childhood, but... it's probably just me. Relationships mean trusting someone, even with the parts of themselves they don't want to share. That's a lot to ask."
Her expression softened. "That's... a really interesting way to look at it," she murmured, almost to herself. She set her mug down on the table and shifted closer, her scent—something warm and sweet—wrapping around me. My jaw clenched as I tried not to let my mind wander. She looked incredible in those tiny shorts, and it was hard not to notice how they hugged her figure.
"What about you?" I asked, desperate to shift the conversation.
She smiled faintly. "I've dated a bit, but I've been single for a while now." As she leaned forward to grab her mug, I looked down. Too late, I realized my gaze had lingered a second too long. When she glanced back, her smirk said everything.
