#105: Fallen: Fire and Redemption - War

***Violet***

If it were up to Julian, he’d stay at the restaurant all night—testing recipes, fixing things that didn’t need fixing, obsessing over every tiny detail like he could force it all to work through sheer willpower.

But I wasn’t letting him.

“We’re going out.”

He didn’t even look up. “Can’t.”

I crossed my arms. “You can.”

“Violet—”

“No excuses.” I stepped closer, making sure he could see me. “You need a break, Julian.”

His jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought he’d argue. Instead, he exhaled hard and tossed the dish towel onto the counter.

“You’re not letting this go, are you?”

I smiled. “Not a chance.”

The bar was nothing special. Dim lighting, the smell of old wood and cigarette smoke, a neon jukebox flickering in the corner. The kind of place where no one was in a rush, where life moved slower.

Julian sat on a barstool like he’d been dragged there, arms crossed, his knee bouncing under the counter.

“You look like you’re being held hostage,” I teased, nudging him.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Am I?”

Rolling my eyes, I ordered two bourbons. He didn’t touch his, just watched as I downed mine. The burn spread through my chest, warming me, grounding me. I leaned against the counter and studied him.

Still tense. Still thinking too much.

I sighed. “You never relax, do you?”

His lips twitched. “Not really my thing.”

“You used to.”

His brows pulled together. “What?”

“You used to be… lighter. Before everything fell apart.”

A shadow crossed his face, and for a second, I thought he’d shut down, dodge the conversation like always.

But he didn’t.

“I don’t know if I can go back to that.”

His voice was quiet. Honest. And it hurt.

Before I could say anything, a group of people burst into laughter near the pool table, shattering whatever moment we were having.

I latched onto the distraction.

“Let’s play,” I said, grabbing a cue stick.

Julian gave me a look. “Pool?”

“Yeah. You do remember how to play, right?”

He shook his head and took a slow sip of his drink. “I don’t remember you being good at it.”

“And I don’t remember you being such a pain in the ass.”

A real laugh this time. And just like that, something in him loosened.

I was terrible at pool.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that Julian started to be Julian again—smirking, throwing sarcastic remarks, rolling his eyes when I missed an easy shot.

And then, without thinking, he stepped behind me.

“Your angle’s wrong,”

The heat of him, the way his voice scraped low, the way he was close enough to touch—it sent a sharp, electric current through me.

He reached for my hands, adjusting my grip on the cue stick.

And suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about the game.

I was thinking about him.

The way his fingers lingered over mine. The way his breath skimmed my cheek. The way my pulse hammered in my throat, betraying me.

The way he wasn’t pulling away.

I turned my head, just slightly, and our noses brushed.

I sucked in a breath.

His grip on my hands tightened, and I swore I felt his whole body go still, like he was fighting something.

Like we were fighting something.

“Violet…” His voice was barely a whisper. A warning.

I didn’t want a warning.

I wanted—

“Hey! Is this table free?”

The moment snapped.

We broke apart so fast it felt like being caught doing something we weren’t supposed to.

Julian ran a hand over the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at me. I swallowed hard, trying to pretend like my heart wasn’t slamming against my ribs.

“We could… play something else,” he muttered, grabbing an empty glass like he needed to do something with his hands.

I knew what he was doing.

And he knew that I knew.

But neither of us said a word about it.

The moment was gone.

But the tension?

That stayed.

Stronger than ever.

Julian had his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his eyes fixed straight ahead. I should’ve said something—should’ve teased him, nudged him out of his head.

But I was stuck in mine too.

I wanted to be mad at him.

I was mad at him.

For always shutting me out. For never letting me in the way, I let him in.

For looking at me like I was the only thing keeping him sane, then acting like none of it meant anything.

Like maybe he wanted to say something too.

Instead, he just exhaled and pushed the door open, walking inside.

I followed, shutting it behind me.

The air between us was heavy. Charged.

Julian sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands together. I stood by the door, arms crossed, unsure of what I wanted to say, only knowing that I had to say something.

"You don’t let me in."

He tensed. "Violet—"

"No." I shook my head. "You don’t. And I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that’s okay."

His jaw locked, but he didn’t argue.

Didn’t fight me on it.

Because he knew.

And somehow, that hurt even more.

I turned away before he could see the sting in my eyes.

"Good night, Julian."

I climbed into bed, pulling the covers up, my back to him.

A long silence stretched between us. Then the sound of him standing, the shift of the mattress as he lay down on the other side.

Neither of us moved.

Neither of us spoke.

But the space between us felt smaller than ever. When will this war end?