Page 33 of Twisted Violet

“Thanks.” I say, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

It’s quick, light, more instinct than anything else, but it still stuns him.

I feel his body go rigid. His gaze catches mine, sharp and unguarded for a heartbeat, before he clears his throat and steps back like I just brandished a weapon.

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again.

“I, uh…” He gestures over his shoulder. “Forgot to put the other stuff in the fridge.”

“Rome,” I say, eyeing him cautiously, “Is everything good?”

I expect him to laugh. Or shrug. Or do anything, really. But he just backs away like I burned him.

“It’s fine,” he says, and disappears down the hall.

I glance at my screen.

Stevie hasn’t moved. She’s staring at me with her head tilted and her brow furrowed, like she’s trying to solve a complex math problem.

“You kissed him,” she says.

I blink. “On the cheek. It was a thank-you kiss.”

Though I can’t remember the last time I could get that close to someone without flinching.

“Sure.” She sits up straighter in her hospital bed, the movement stiff but precise. “That’s what it looked like.”

I stay quiet.

She doesn’t.

“I told you to be careful.”

“I am,” I say, even though I’m not sure it’s true.

Stevie sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her jaw is tense. “Look, I know you’re grateful they were there when you needed them. I get it. But you’re still healing, Alex. You’re vulnerable. And they -”

I flinch.

Alex.That name doesn’t belong to me anymore. It hasn’t for a while now, but I still let her use it. She already lost the old me; I didn’t want her to lose anything else.

“They’re my friends.” I say a little sharper than I mean to. “They’ve been nothing but good to me.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

Stevie’s eyes flick to something off screen. She takes a second too long to respond, and when she does, her voice is eerily calm.

“You shouldn’t blur the lines, Al. You’re there because you need a safe place to stay, not… whatever that was.”

I go quiet, because I don’t know what to say.

Whatever’s happening between me and Rome, me and all of them really, isn’t defined. It’s not clear, and maybe she’s right. Maybe blurring the lines is a bad idea.

But also…what if it isn’t?

“I just think,” Stevie adds carefully, “you should be careful. At least until you’re back home and your head’s clear.”