RUNNING TOWARDS YOU.

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Volume 2, Chapter 77 – Running Toward You.

Vincent didn't stop moving.

Didn't hesitate.

For once in his life, he wasn't running away from something—he was running toward it.

The hallway stretched ahead of him, doors lining the walls, the air thick with something he couldn't quite name.

It wasn't fear.

Not anymore.

It was something deeper.

Something that had been clawing at him for days, for weeks, for longer than he was willing to admit.

His heart was pounding too fast, too loud, but he didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

Not now.

Not when he'd spent so long avoiding this.

He turned a corner, his pulse a steady drumbeat in his ears.

And then—

He saw him.

Zane was standing at the far end of the hall, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, gaze distant.

He hadn't seen him yet.

Vincent's steps slowed.

His breath caught.

Because fuck, he hadn't thought this far ahead.

Hadn't thought about what he was actually going to say.

Zane had given him space, hadn't pushed, hadn't tried to pry his way in again after Vincent had walked away the night before.

And that?

That had made it worse.

Because Vincent had felt the absence.

Had felt the weight of the distance, had felt the ache of knowing Zane was only a few doors away but still too far.

And he hated it.

Vincent exhaled sharply, forcing himself forward.

One step.

Then another.

Zane looked up.

Their eyes met.

Something flickered across Zane's face, something unreadable, something that made Vincent's stomach twist.

Surprise.

Caution.

Hope.

Vincent's throat tightened.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Neither of them moved.

Then—

Zane's lips parted slightly, his gaze searching Vincent's face. "Vincent—"

"I can't do this."

The words slipped out, unfiltered, unplanned.

Zane's expression shuttered.

A flicker of something—hurt? Disappointment?—crossed his face before he masked it. "Right. Got it."

He started to turn away.

Vincent panicked.

"No—wait."

Zane stilled.

Didn't turn back.

Vincent's pulse was a mess. His hands curled into fists at his sides. His mind was screaming at him to fix this before it was too late.

"I didn't mean it like that," Vincent said quickly. "I meant—I can't do this. I can't keep pretending like you don't matter."

Zane went still.

Vincent's chest ached. His entire body was burning with the weight of everything he had never said, everything he had fought to keep buried.

And now?

Now it was spilling out, raw and desperate.

"I don't know how to do this," Vincent admitted. "I don't know how to want something without ruining it. I don't know how to let someone stay without pushing them away first. I don't—I don't know how to be what you need."

Zane turned back slowly, his gaze softer now. "Vincent—"

"But I want to," Vincent cut in. "I want to try."

Zane's breath hitched.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile.

Vincent swallowed hard. "I don't want to lose you."

It was the same thing he had said before.

But this time?

This time, it wasn't a confession made out of fear.

It was a choice.

A promise.

Zane stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then—

"You won't."

Vincent exhaled sharply, his entire body sagging with something dangerously close to relief.

Zane stepped closer.

Carefully.

Like he was giving Vincent the chance to run if he needed to.

Vincent didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't pull away.

Zane's voice was quieter now. "Let me in, Vincent."

Vincent's throat tightened.

Because this time?

He wanted to.

More than anything.

He just had to figure out how.

Then—Zane reached out.

Not fast. Not forceful. Just… a touch. A hand resting lightly against Vincent's arm, warm and solid and grounding.

Vincent didn't jerk away.

Didn't flinch like he normally would.

But he did inhale sharply, body tensing as if waiting for something.

Zane felt it.

Felt the way Vincent fought every instinct screaming at him to run.

And instead of pushing, instead of saying anything at all—

He just stayed.

Just let his hand rest there.

And Vincent—

Vincent let it.

And somehow, that meant more than anything he could have said.

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