Chapter 7 Seven

Sunday night crept in like fog; slow and suffocating. Gal had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, her pillow flipped more times than she could count. No matter how many positions she tried, her thoughts kept circling back to one person.

Milo.

They had barely spoken all weekend. Not after the awkward walk to school after the picture episode. Not after she ignored him throughout the rest of the week. Not after football practice, when she'd deliberately left early just to avoid his shadow at her side on the way back home.

Every part of her screamed to keep her distance, to preserve the boundary she'd tried to build since...well, forever. But now, with him in their guest room a few meters away she was just out of sorts. Milo had always moved into their house whenever both his parents went away on work trips.

The stillness of the house pressing down on her, all she could think about was the way he'd said her name the last time they'd spoken. So quiet. Almost...revently.

She sighed and shoved her blanket off. "Screw it, Gal," she mumbled and padded barefoot into the hallway. She had even stopped thinking about Evan's and Sai's betrayal. Thinking of Milo made the feeling of what Evan did a little bit more bearable.

The kitchen was dimly lit, but familiar. Safe. Gal grabbed a saucepan, poured some milk into it, and set it on the stove. The act of stirring gave her something to do, something to focus on. The scent of vanilla from the splash she added was calming.

The floor creaked behind her. She flinched; then scowled when she recognized the lazy drawl of his voice.

"You making one for me too?"

Gal turned around to find Milo standing in the doorway, hoodie loose around his shoulders, hair a mess like he'd just rolled out of bed. Or like he hadn't slept at all.

She blinked. "Couldn't sleep either?"

He shook his head and yawned. "Too much on my mind." Then, in a surprisingly polite tone, "If you don't mind... could you make me some too?"

She huffed. "You're lucky I already poured enough milk."

A few minutes later, they sat side by side at the small kitchen table, each with a mug in hand. The silence was... not comfortable, exactly, but it wasn't hostile either. Gal stole glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking. But of course, Milo caught her.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.

She stiffened. "For what?"

"For everything." He turned slightly to face her. "If I've ever hurt your feelings... I mean, I know I've been a jerk sometimes. But if I ever crossed a line, I didn't mean to."

Gal set her cup down and tilted her head at him. "You always hurt my feelings. Since kindergarten."

He blinked, lips twitching. "Really? Since kindergarten? That far back?"

"Oh, you don't know!" she snapped, but there wasn't much heat in her voice. "You stole my glue stick and told everyone in school that I cried about it."

"That was premium glue," he said solemnly, eyes widening in mock horror. "Purple and sparkly. A national treasure."

"You're doing it again," she accused.

"Doing what?"

"That!" She pointed at his stupidly amused face. "You're mocking me."

Milo raised both hands in surrender, though he was clearly fighting a grin. "I'm sorry. But I swear I only tease you because..." He hesitated, then winked. "You're my favorite girl, Gal."

Her breath hitched. Just slightly.

"I don't want to be your favorite girl, Milo." She looked away quickly, but not before he saw the flicker of emotion cross her face.

They were quiet again. Not because they had nothing to say, but because everything suddenly felt like too much.

"I don't want you to bite my head off," she said softly, still not looking at him.

"About that..." He scratched the back of his neck, his tone shifting to something gentler. "I know it scared you. What happened in my room. The transformation."

Gal didn't say anything, just watched the steam curl up from her mug.

"You asked me to prove it. That I'm not just some lunatic who thinks he's a werewolf. So I did." He leaned forward slightly. "But I swear, Gal, I would never hurt you. Not even when I'm shifted. Not even if I'm out of control."

When she didn't respond, he reached for her hands. "Look at me."

Slowly, her eyes met his. And when she did, his expression wasn't smug or teasing. It was raw. Honest.

"I'm serious," he said. "No matter what happens... no matter what I turn into... I'd never hurt you. Ever."

Something in her chest twisted. She wanted to argue. She wanted to roll her eyes, push him away, rebuild the wall that had kept him out for years.

But instead... she nodded. Just once. Slowly.

And in that moment, she realized something that made her heart clench.

This was the first time in her entire life she actually believed him.

"Don't look at me like that," she whispered, blinking fast.

"Like what?"

"Like... like I matter."

"You do." He whispered. Her hands tightened slightly around his.

"This doesn't change anything," she said quickly. "I'm still mad at you. You're still annoying."

"Obviously."

"And you're not my favorite anything."

"Of course not." He smirked. "But I'm definitely your second favorite. After warm milk."

She let out a soft, reluctant laugh. "You're such a pain."

"I know," he said, standing to stretch. "But I'm your pain."

"Ugh," she groaned, throwing a balled-up napkin at him.

Milo dodged it with ease and shot her a lopsided grin. "Don't stay up too late, Gal."

She didn't reply. Just watched him leave the kitchen, the air still warm with vanilla and something she couldn't name. Something new. Something dangerous.

And when she finally climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, she couldn't help the small smile on her lips.

He's going to be so much trouble. She thought to herself.