Page 15 of F*ckboys

Me: Uh, yeah, lol. Just got a little carried away with my cooking.

Mia: Alright, just checking on you.

Her text pings back immediately, and I let out a shaky breath. It's like she's here even though she lives across town.

I pour myself another glass of wine. The vibrant red liquid swirls around as if reflecting my own turbulent emotions. Taking a sip, I close my eyes and focus on the flavors that dance on my tongue, allowing them to anchor me in the present moment.

My phone vibrates again, breaking my reverie. Glancing at the screen, I see another message from Mia.

Mia:Hey, I'm about to head out but just wanted to remind you that you're stronger than you think. You've got this. Love you xo

A small smile tugs at my lips as I read her words. It's comforting to know that, despite the chaos and turmoil that surround me, there are people who care for and support me. Even if the path ahead is fraught with danger, I'm not alone.

I feel a surge of gratitude for her unwavering friendship.

Me: Thanks, Mia. Love you too xo

Chapter 8

Fallon

About to put the very final touches on my meal before sitting down to eat, the sudden buzzing of the intercom startles me, disrupting my thoughts. Who could be calling at this hour? Reluctantly, I press the button to check who it is. Mia's clearly texting me from across town so she's not here, and it's not like my family to drop in unannounced.

"Fallon, it's Aksel. Can I come up?" His voice sounds hesitant, yet hopeful.

Ugh, of course it's Aksel. I finally get my mind off him and am about to enjoy my meal, and here he is, ruining it. The man who used to make my heart race, but now twisted it with pain and bitterness. Why would he be here now, though? Warily, I buzz him in, a mix of curiosity and apprehension swirling within me.

I hear a soft knock at the door, and as I open it, there he stands: Aksel, with his piercing gray eyes, filled with uncertainty and hope. He's dressed casually in designer jeans and a fitted shirt which accentuates his toned body. God, he looks good.

"Hey," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I messaged you, but didn't get a response. Thought I'd take a shot and just show up."

My phone lies forgotten on the counter where I placed it after responding to Mia. I must have missed his message while finishing up the meal. As much as I want to be angry with him for showing up unannounced, I can't ignore how attractive he looks or how my heart races at his presence.

"Come in," I say reluctantly, stepping aside to let him pass. As he walks by, I catch a whiff of his aftershave—a scent that's strangely familiar, like something from our shared past.

As he enters my apartment, I find myself torn between conflicting emotions. Part of me wants to slam the door in his face, to protect the fragile peace I've built. But another part...that part longs for the connection we once had, yearning to know if it can still be found amidst the ashes of our past.

I lead Aksel into my carefully curated space, my sanctuary. The aroma of the French dish I've been preparing fills the air, and as he breathes it in, his eyes widen with surprise.

"Wow," he murmurs appreciatively. "That smells amazing. You made this, or did you order in?"

"It was all me," I shrug, feeling a spark of heat making its way onto my cheeks.

He lets out a low whistle as he admires the contents of the pot bubbling away on the stove, as well as my artistically plated meal. "I didn't know you could cook like this."

"Neither did I," I admit with a small smile, unable to resist the lighthearted banter that comes so easily between us. "I've comea long way from high school, huh? Remember when I set that kitchen on fire in home economics?"

Aksel laughs, the sound warm and familiar, and for a moment, it's as if the years of heartache and distance have never existed. "How could I forget? You were so mortified."

"Hey, it wasn't entirely my fault," I protest, crossing my arms defensively. "That stove was ancient."

"Sure, Fallon. Blame the under-funding of the school system for your culinary inadequacies. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

My cheeks burn, but not just from embarrassment. The easy back-and-forth we slip into is both comforting and disconcerting. I can't help but feel drawn to him, even after everything that's happened.

As we share laughter over memories, Aksel reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and flat—a Polaroid photograph. He hands it to me, and my breath catches as I recognize the scene: Aksel and me as teenagers, grinning widely, his arm around me.

"I found this at my place the other day," he says, watching my reaction closely. "Thought you might want to see it."

---