Uncertainty

In the days following Xavier's confession, the safehouse was shrouded in an air of tension and uncertainty. Helena found herself avoiding Xavier, her heart torn between the undeniable connection she felt and the fear that threatened to consume her. She spent most of her time in her room, staring at the intricate patterns of the aged wallpaper, hoping to find the answers she desperately sought.

But no answers came. Only the same truth she wasn't ready to face.

Xavier, respecting her need for space, had kept his distance. But distance did not mean absence. She could feel him—his presence like a quiet storm on the horizon, waiting, watching, hoping. He threw himself into his research, poring over ancient texts and scrolls, seeking anything that could help them in their quest. Yet no book, no prophecy, no history could offer him what he wanted most.

Her.

One evening, as the dying light of dusk seeped through the windows, they found themselves alone in the safehouse's library. The crackling fire cast a golden glow, flickering shadows dancing along the bookshelves.

Helena stood by the fireplace, arms wrapped around herself as if to keep out a cold that had nothing to do with the weather. She wore a flowing white nightgown, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, the soft fabric making her seem ethereal—untouchable.

Xavier, clad in a simple black shirt and jeans, leaned against the large oak desk, hands gripping the edge as if grounding himself. His eyes, dark with emotion, never left her.

The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Helena, I can't keep living in this limbo." His voice was low, rough, threaded with frustration and longing. "I know you need time, but I need to know where I stand. Please… tell me what you're thinking."

Helena's breath caught. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

She turned to him, green eyes wide, vulnerable. She wanted to tell him. To take his hand, to surrender to the way he made her feel safe, wanted, alive.

But fear was a powerful thing.

"Xavier, I—" her voice trembled. "I'm scared. I care for you deeply, but I don't know if I'm ready to take that leap. I need more time."

A flicker of pain crossed his face. His hands clenched. For a moment, she thought he might say something sharp, something to push her away before she could do it first.

But he didn't.

Instead, he exhaled, the fight draining from his shoulders. His voice, when he finally spoke, was barely above a whisper.

"I understand."

He pushed himself off the desk, stepping away. Not leaving, not yet—but the distance between them suddenly felt unbearable.

"But please, Helena…" He looked at her then, and for the first time, she saw something she had never seen in his eyes before. Not anger. Not determination.

Fear.

"Don't take too long." His voice was raw, unguarded. "My heart can't bear this uncertainty forever."

Then, before she could answer, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the firelight—burning with everything she was too afraid to say.