Episode 1: what happens on the road

The cabin was quiet, tucked away in a valley that smelled of pine and summer heat. You were both supposed to be sleeping. But sleep was impossible with him in the next room.

You'd been best friends forever. Raised on scraped knees, late-night confessions, and inside jokes no one else could understand. This trip was supposed to be simple. Just the two of you. Like it had always been.

Except it wasn’t the same anymore.

He’d changed.

More silent stares. More tension in his jaw when other guys looked at you at gas stations. More fire in his eyes when you laughed too hard at someone’s dumb joke online.

Tonight it had exploded.

All because you answered a message from some guy.

---

He’d snapped.

“You think he gives a damn about you?” His voice was rough, low. He paced the small living room while you stood frozen, arms crossed over your chest.

“It was just a message,” you said calmly. “We’re not even talking.”

He turned sharply, eyes burning into yours.

> “You don’t get it, do you? You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

You stared at him, heartbeat pounding. “I’m not a thing to be owned.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” he growled, walking closer. “I mean I’ve loved you since we were sixteen and you still don’t see it. I’m not gonna sit here and watch you pretend I’m just your best friend.”

Silence.

Thick. Unforgiving.

The kind that split the room in two.

He was inches from you now. Breathing hard. Chest rising like he wanted to scream — or kiss you.

---

> “I’ve seen you cry. Bleed. Sleep-talk about your fears. I know every version of you. And you’re gonna act like some guy you barely know means more than me?”

Your voice trembled when you answered.

> “I never said that. But you don’t get to claim me just because you’ve been here the longest.”

His jaw clenched. He turned away for a second—then spun back, fire still in his eyes.

> “Then why do you keep coming back to me? Every time you’re broken, every time you’re scared, you run back here. To me. Why?”

You couldn’t answer. Because you knew why.

But saying it meant no going back.

He stepped even closer. His fingers brushed yours, hesitant. Like he was afraid of breaking you. Or himself.

> “You don’t even see what you do to me,” he whispered.

“I hate every guy who touches you. I want to fight anyone who makes you laugh the way I used to. I’m jealous. All the time. I think about you in ways I shouldn’t. I dream about kissing you. Touching you. Hearing you say my name like it means something.”

You were shaking now. From his words. From the way your body responded. From the ache you’d buried for years.

> “Why didn’t you ever say it before?” you whispered.

He let out a dark laugh. “Because I was scared. Scared I’d lose you if I said it. But watching you smile at other people like they could have you? That’s worse. That’s killing me.”

You looked up at him, chest tight.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He blinked.

“I didn’t leave. I never do.”

---

Something shifted in his eyes. His hand reached for your face, fingers tracing your cheek like you were fragile and dangerous all at once.

> “If I kiss you now,” he breathed, “I won’t be able to stop.”

> “Then don’t stop,” you whispered.

And that was it.

His mouth crashed into yours — desperate, messy, full of years of unsaid things. His hands gripped your waist like he’d fall apart if he let go. You moaned against him, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer.

This kiss wasn’t soft.

It was claiming.

---

When he pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

> “I’m not gentle when it comes to you,” he warned. “I get jealous. I overthink. I want you too badly.”

> “I don’t want gentle,” you replied. “I want you. All of it. The mess. The anger. The fire.”

His eyes darkened.

> “You have no idea what you just unlocked.”

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room, lips crashing into yours again like he couldn’t breathe without you.

The bed creaked under your weight as he hovered over you, eyes scanning your face like a man starved. Like he’d waited years to touch you like this.

> “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, fingers brushing your shirt hem.

> “I won’t.”

---

That night, he didn’t just kiss you.

He worshipped you.

With his hands. His mouth. His words.

He held you like he’d dreamed of it for years.

Told you everything — how he used to stare at your lips when you fell asleep on his shoulder, how he almost confessed a dozen times but always choked, how he never once looked at another girl the way he looked at you.

> “You ruined me,” he whispered against your neck.

“And now that I’ve had you… I’m never letting anyone else touch you again.”

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