I stepped out of the cab and headed toward the hotel. The downpour was casually seeping into my dress, wet hair sticking to my face, and the hospital report file dripping with rain water in my hand.

In no hurry to get away as I was already soaked, I sluggishly climbed up the porch stairs, and stepped inside the hotel. It was somewhere past eight in the evening and there was a new receptionist at the counter. She was a bit nicer than the grumpy one in the morning. In the last six months that I had been staying here, she was the only one in the entire hotel that passed the vibe check.

She smiled at me as soon as I entered, but the smile faltered when she took in my form—a drenched crow. That was what I probably looked like, with the black dress all sticking to my body.

I flashed a little smile back at her before making my way toward the elevator. As soon as I exited the lobby, a shiver rippled through me, my head tilting to a side to suppress the visible tremble, as the chill air of the hallway cocooned me.

I needed to remember to take...uh, buy an umbrella. But umbrellas didn't usually go with my outfit. In fact, they always ruined my style. That was another reason why I still didn't own one.

The elevator slid open just as I reached for it, and a man, probably a little older than me, exited through the doors. When he spotted me, his eyes raked down my body, tongue tipping out to run along the seam of his lips. He wasn’t even trying to hide his ridiculous grin when his eyes finally made it to my face. And I just wanted to punch then shove his teeth down his throat.

Ignoring his presence altogether as he walked past me, I stepped into the elevator—thankfully alone—and the doors shut as soon as I pushed the second-floor button.

I huffed out a breath, my throat dry, contradicting the rest of my physical state. And I let myself a moment to replay the long day I had.

Five interviews, but none of them promising a probable outcome in my favor. Then dealing with Dean and his aimless lectures for almost an hour. I felt like I was back to high school, and probably in math class.

I hated math. Still did. And always would.

How long had it been since the last time I was signed to a therapy? Approximately, never. The only friend slash therapist slash physician I knew was Dean, because he knew me ever since I dropped out of school. And this all-in-one friend stuff was a little concerning now. Because on Friday I had to travel all the way to another lecture room. To Dr. Nathaniel C.

I had never heard that name before. Was Dean trying to set me up on a date? If he was, then he would need physical therapy soon.

I quietly frowned, watching the ghost of a girl staring back at me through the elevator wall. My hair was all over my face, clothes glued to my body like a second skin, drawing perfectly the outline of my bra and perky hard nipples.

Wow...

No wonder that man was staring at me with that look.

I sighed just as the doors slid open and I stepped out. The damn elevator was so slow that I could climb up faster to the second floor. But I had no strength, especially in my heels. It was a real pain.

If I had to make it to another few interviews tomorrow morning, I had to first make sure I didn’t catch a cold and fall sick. Which would require me to peel out of my soaking clothes as soon as possible.

I opened the door to my room with the key and stepped into pitch black darkness. I shut the door, dropped my heels on the floor with a thud and turned the lights on.

Squinting my eyes, I flipped the drenched report file over the dressing table, and when I turned around, a terrified shriek broke through me.

"Oh Fuck!" I gasped, stumbling back but bracing my hands back on the wall to support myself.

What the...

Standing by the window was a tall dark shadow, hands buried in his pant pockets, and facing away from me, staring down at the street view. His broad and rigid posture screamed his name into the air, and blood gushed through my veins, my heart singing in my ears.

How did he...?

My chest heaved with unstable breaths as my mouth opened then closed and repeated. I couldn’t find my voice. My throat was drier than before, and he was still standing there, like a brick wall. Although I was certain he had just heard my rather loud welcoming exclamation.

When he didn’t move or speak, my tongue tipped out and moistened my lips as I tried to speak again. And this time, I heard my voice, weak and hoarse.

"Michael?" The name hung in the tense air between us and I watched his back, motionless in my spot.

As if on cue, his head turned slightly, glancing behind over his shoulder, and unconsciously I eyed his growing stubble along his jaws. His feet shuffled first, turning back, then his whole body, his eyes.

His cruel grey eyes.

He was in an all-black suit, no tie, and two buttons undone from the top. I wanted to run my eyes down his form, to take in as much of him as I could, but forbid myself, and held his gaze. I had lost the right to ogle at him six months ago and I was not bending my morals now. No matter how much I wanted to. No matter how much I craved to.

We stared at each other, both glued to their own places, my chest moving a little too fast with breaths. My hands were clutching the sides of my dress. I wanted to leave—or ask him to leave—but I couldn't. His eyes, his lost expression held me in place, urging me to break him off his trance.

Or maybe I just wanted to say his name again.

"Michael," I said again, a little louder this time, just above a whisper. But loud enough for him to hear.

He blinked. After what seemed like an eternity, he blinked, and his chest moved with force, like he wasn't breathing all this while. I watched as steadily his lost look turned grave and lips parted slowly.

Even before I could ask him how he got inside my room or to leave right now, he was already starting toward me. With those long legs, it didn't take him more than three steps in the little room and he was towering me, shielding my view of anything else around.

All I could see was him. He was everywhere.

With lips parted, drawing in shallow breaths, as his eyes travelled down on me. I was well aware what state I was in and why that little line formed between his brows. But it was nothing that he hadn’t already seen. He had seen it all. All of me; my worst and the best.

As he took another step forward, I pushed myself back against the wall, feeling it's coldness double through my wet clothes. He invaded my personal space, shutting everything out of my view as I helplessly tried not to shrink away under the intensity of his eyes.

He was still staring at me, looking absolutely vulnerable and absent minded.

He looked lost. And I hated that thought.

"Michael." I called for the third time. But he didn't answer, instead, his hands reached forward.

My back stretched across the wall, body tensed, as his hands pushed against the concrete on either side of my elbows, like he was trying to move the wall. He was not touching me, but he wanted to. I knew he wanted to. But he didn’t.

I wanted to reach up and wake him up from the sleep walking state he was in. But before I could, his head dipped down, forehead pressing against my shoulder. I almost slumped down against his weight. He was fully leaning on me, all of him. His warm breath fanning my clavicles.

"Maeve," Was all he breathed, and my eyes shut on their own. The pain in his voice had my fists clenching and nails digging into my palms. He was doing it again. His voice was doing it again. "Why...?" He whispered, and stepped closer, so that his forehead was now sliding up against the wall and body pressing against mine. If I had my heels on, I would have been staring into his eyes but since I was bare feet, my face pressed against his chest. "Why are you doing this to me?" His nose buried into my wet hair and he inhaled.

I moved my head away on instinct and pressed my palms against his abdomen, pushing him away.

I can't do this again.

I knew where this had led me in the past and I had gone way out of my reach to avoid it for six months.

"Michael, I need you to leave." I said, hands still holding an arm of distance between us. Please leave before I succumb.

He didn't budge.

"Like you left?" He mumbled, almost faintly and I was forced to meet his eyes. Glossy and pained eyes, staring at the wall beside my face, not meeting my gaze. The black rings under his eyes didn’t really account how much of sleep he was getting. My heart twisted painfully in my chest as I took in his form. He was so close to breaking down.

"You didn't leave, but you...you left. You left...me. Left..." He fumbled, eyelids fluttering uncontrollably and all of a sudden, before I could steady myself, he leaned forward, a hand pressing against the wall, and head ducking down.

But the hold didn't last and he collapsed over me.

Instinctively, my palm pressed against his forehead, keeping it from hitting the wall and he slid down to the floor, bringing me down with him. His knees gave out with a thud and I fell back on mine, hugging his limp body in my arms. Like I used to.

But I was still in shock of the moment.

What just happened?

I quickly came back to my senses when I didn’t feel any motion from him.

"Michael? Michael, are you alright?" I shook his shoulders. He didn’t answer. He didn't even move. Anxiety seized my brain and I tried to calm my nerves to think straight. Trying to stabilize my breathing all the while trying to recall where the fuck was my phone. I needed to call for help.

But just when I concluded he had passed out in my arms, I heard a silent sniffle. I stiffened.

His shoulders softly shook and two weak, but firm hands snaked around my waist. I felt the wetness on my shoulder again, seeping in through the thin fabric, but it wasn't the rain.

It was his tears.

"They came back, Maeve...they won't let me sleep." He mumbled, almost unconsciously, and I held him. Just held him tightly.

Now, I knew why he was here. I knew what he was talking about.

His nightmares. Everything about his childhood that he did not want to recall. Michael’s father was not exactly considerate towards his only son, a son he considered a curse given his mother had passed away during delivery. He was their first and last child, but that did nothing to crack the stone heart that the old man had. Considering the ill-temper which was generously passed down to Michael, he had a rather rough time growing up. And when his father passed away, everything that was supposed to pass away with him, didn't leave. It haunted Michael.

The day Michael had told me these things, I had held him close as we fell asleep on his bed, which was unusual because he preferred sleeping alone. I had thought it was a one time thing. But the night after that, we slept together again, because it seemed the nightmares ceased when I was with him. Although nothing ever happened between us, I was still pretty much content being able to just hold him. I wanted to protect him. From everything that was bothering him.

But there was nothing I could do about it now. He hadn't tried to stop me when I was leaving, and now when I did, he was breaking again. And I was not going to admit how much it hurt me to see him like this.

He was just like the first time I had met him. Not in his senses, and curled in my arms. But it was different then, he was paying me for it. Paying for some warmth, and affection. I didn’t know why I was doing it now.

"I need you, Maeve." He snuggled up against my neck, lips brushing against my skin ever so softly. "I n-need you..."

I knew he did, and I knew what he needed, but didn't I already cross over that path? Did I want to go back to where it all had started?

I wasn’t sure.

"Please..." As I felt more tears gliding down my neck, which weren't mine, I let my guard down and circled my hands around his shoulder pulling his upper body into my lap.

Just one more time, I told myself. Just once.

Even if there wasn't anything left between us, I knew this man more than anyone ever could, and I wasn't ready to let him slip into something I had pulled him out of years ago.

I cradled him into my arms, caressing the back of his head as a silent promise left my lips. It wouldn't have meant a lot to anyone but to him, in that moment, he needed it more than anything else.

"I'm not leaving, Michael. I'm here."