Eric stepped into the closet with a sigh. How he wished his life weren’t such an open-ended lie. Among his family he was one person, to the world, another, and now a strange mixture of the two with Eloise. How she would despise him if she knew he understood what she had said, all the private and deep concerns she’d shared. A part of him longed for just such a reality. He’d never known anyone outside of his family willing to show such depth of truth and emotion to him. Closing his eyes against the pain of their false closeness, he grabbed at his wet shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it aside before opening a dresser drawer and rummaging through for another. A shadow shifted in the doorway.

Turning in place, he found Eloise standing in the doorway, clutching the blanket about her shoulders and standing on trembling legs. The faint light of the candle he’d set behind him on the dresser revealed an anguished expression his fingers ached to smooth away.

“I don’t want to go back to my room yet.” She pleaded. “It’s cold, and dark, and childish though I may be, I fear my memories will take hold of me again before the dawn and lead me out where I shouldn’t be.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Eric could do nothing but stare, wanting to comfort her, knowing he couldn’t respond to her unless she wrote out her concerns, and cursing the blasted notebook sitting on his desk. She blocked his escape and didn’t seem concerned about his comprehension.

“Let me stay here with you?” She shifted the blanket about her shoulders, her eyes beseeching in the soft candlelight.

“Eloise,” Eric began to shake his head, but she stepped in closer to him, her nearness confusing his senses. He shut his eyes against the scene, knowing it was only her lingering fright and confusion which prompted her. In desperation, his lips formed the lie meant to dissuade her, send her back to the fireplace. Words he swore he’d never use again in a conversation. “I don’t underst—”

But his words cut off with a gasp and his eyes shot open when her small, blissfully warm fingertips skimmed over the skin at his ribs. The sight of those fingers tracing along his side and curving around to his back entranced him until the press of her palm against his spine brought him back to reality and the danger of their scenario. “Eloise,” he implored her, but something in her eyes as she angled her head back to gaze at him made his blood run cold a moment before she spoke. They looked at him as though his very soul lay bare to her inspection.

“You understood me, didn’t you?” She challenged, all of what I just told you, everything I told you by the fire. You don’t need that notebook.”

Eric stiffened, but she leaned into him, refusing to let him go.

“And not just the words,” she continued, “You understood the meaning of it, didn’t you?”

His breath caught and he struggled to maintain an even breathing pattern, knowing Eloise would notice if he didn’t, she stood too close not to, the only barrier between them the arm which still clutched the blanket closed about her shoulders. Here stood his fantasy come to life, but his mind couldn’t believe it, refused to trust it. He needed to put space between them, drink in the winter air again before he went mad. Her words reflected the fanciful expression of a stressful night and the suggestive environment. When morning came and she saw him again in the light of day, she would regret everything she said now, remembering what he was to the world.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, forcing his hands up to her shoulders and forcing her a step back, breaking their connection enough to slide past her and head for the relative safety of the balconette. He threw open the doors and stepped out, gulping in great drafts of night air until the spinning in his head lessened and the racing of his heart subsided to a manageable hum.

Returning to his room, the sight of Eloise, blanket wrapped tight about her, sitting forlorn beside the fire met him, clawing at his heart, she turned to face him, lip caught between her teeth and avoiding his eyes.

“I don’t think we are all that different,” she murmured, making it difficult for Eric to read her words. She’d taken on a distant stare. “Both wanting to be seen and accepted. I thought we could see each other.” She smiled into wherever her thoughts had wandered. “I’m very sorry I was wrong.”

She ducked her head and got to her feet, still not directing her attention to him. Walking over to the desk with the confidence of someone comfortable in the space, she adjusted the blanket so she would have use of her arms and sat in the chair, reaching for the notebook.

He stood rooted in place watching her, the glow of the fire playing over her hair and exposed shoulders. Something changed, the warmth in her dissipated, leaving the cold mask of neutral politeness she’d taken on after their kiss under the mistletoe. With a jolt he realized she’d set it aside for a moment while she spoke, and in her plea to stay.

Anger built in him, anger at himself for being the cause of her resetting the mask. Every fiber in him yearned to turn back time, return to her request and grant it, wholeheartedly.

She set down the pencil and rose, leaving the slip of paper where it lay and returning to the fire, again avoiding him, behaving as though she walked through an empty room. A tightness formed in his chest. Used to others ignoring him, the thought of Eloise joining their ranks sent a sharp pain through him deep enough he feared never recovering from the loss. He tore his gaze from where she settled by the fire again, focusing instead on the note she’d written. Moving to the desk, he took up the paper and read it.

Forgive me for my behavior, it won’t happen again. I’m ready to go to my room.

The pain surrounding his heart ripped through him. He raised his eyes to where she sat, attempting to swallow past his insecurities. He’d tried in the past to believe when a woman told him she cared deeply for him, she understood his difficulties and decried the world for shunning him. Inevitably, those women either lied outright in some ploy to satisfy a fetish or came to regret their statements and declare him a source of unending embarrassment. He’d steered clear of both scenarios in recent years and had no desire to reanimate them.

Moving with measured steps in her direction, he regarded her in light of his own experiences, noting her utterly defeated stance. She stared into the fire unseeing, legs tucked under her, shoulders sagging. The words she wrote spoke of strength of resolve, but her posture echoed the plea her eyes had sent him earlier. He understood the sensation of defeat, the consequences it could lead to, and would rather take on every hardship in the world than allow Eloise to experience any more of it than she already had.

Kneeling beside her, he set gentle hands on her shoulders, once again covered by the blanket, and prompted her to turn. He needed to look into her eyes. She tilted her head back of her own volition, straightening her spine and jutting out her chin in a show of confident defiance only partially displayed in those eyes. The eyes which held back a mist and wavered, ghosts of fear, hurt, and disappointment flitting across them.

He pressed his lips together. If he were wrong, he might destroy everything he’d built over the last decade. If he were right, Eloise put herself in danger of ruin.

I thought we could see each other, her words repeated in his mind. Swallowing, he looked again at the note she’d written, then crumpled it in his hand before tossing it into the fire. She followed his movements and now returned her gaze to his face, head tilted to the side, eyes scanning his.

“You weren’t wrong.” He bent down to kiss her, tugging at her shoulders so she met him half way.