Chapter 2: After Midnight—Boundaries Broken

"Okay, that’s the only way," she called, sounding both resigned and grateful. "Please hurry!"

Her voice was muffled but I could hear the relief. I hustled to the kitchen, mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

I boiled a kettle of water and carried it carefully to the bathroom door. "Hey, the water’s ready—how should I get it to you?"

Balancing the steaming kettle with both hands, I made my way back, careful not to spill. The hallway was pitch black, and every step felt like a minefield.

"Just leave it at the door. I’ll come out and get it," she called, her voice wavering just a bit.

I set the kettle down a safe distance from the door, not wanting to risk any accidents in the dark.

I double-checked the spot, then called softly, "All set!"

Rachel opened the door, wrapped in a bath towel, barefoot, feeling her way out in the dark like she was crossing enemy lines.

I heard her feet shuffling on the tile, her breath coming fast. Everything felt tense, like the world was holding its breath.

Maybe it was the darkness, or maybe the floor was still wet, but she stumbled and fell right out of the bathroom.

There was a thud, then a gasp. My stomach dropped.

Her towel slipped off, and even in the dim light, I caught a flash of bare skin—just enough to make my brain short-circuit.

I managed to look away after just a heartbeat, face burning with embarrassment. Mortified didn’t even begin to cover it.

Everything happened so fast—I just stood there, frozen, not sure if I should help or run for the hills.

I hesitated, caught between wanting to help and desperately wanting to give her privacy. Eventually, I went with my gut.

"Ouch... it hurts..."

Rachel was sprawled on the floor, her voice small and trembling. I rushed over, trying not to look anywhere inappropriate.

I grabbed the towel and draped it over her, hands shaking. "Are you okay?"

I kept my eyes averted as I wrapped the towel around her shoulders. She winced, clutching her knee.

"Don’t touch me," she whispered, barely audible. "Turn around."

I spun so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet. "Sorry, sorry!"

I turned away and heard her scramble for the kettle, then dash back into the bathroom, slamming the door.

The door banged shut, and I stood there, heart pounding, replaying the whole mortifying scene in my head.

After a while, the lights flickered back on—someone must’ve gotten ahold of the landlord.

The apartment hummed to life, the ceiling light chasing away the last of the shadows. I let out a shaky breath.

Rachel came out after her shower, face beet red, her hair still damp. She bit her lip and asked, "Did you... see everything?"

She wouldn’t meet my gaze, cheeks blazing. I tried to find the right words.

"It was pitch black—just a glimpse. I didn’t really see anything," I stammered, hoping she’d believe me.

I scratched the back of my neck, praying she’d let it go. My voice cracked a little.

"Ugh..." She grabbed her hair, hiding her face. "This is so embarrassing."

She let out a groan, half laughing, half crying. I wanted to say something comforting, but my brain was fried.

I don’t know what possessed me, but I blurted, "Hey, you’ve seen me too. I guess we’re even now."

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I braced for impact.

Rachel froze, then raised her toiletries like she might chuck them at my head. Instead, she burst out, "You’re the worst! I’m never using your bathroom again."

She stomped her foot, but I could see the corner of her mouth twitching with a smile.

I thought, Well, maybe I’ll finally get some peace around here.

I exhaled, feeling half relieved, half disappointed. Was this really the end of our weird little routine?

Rachel bit her lip and glared. "Dylan, if you tell anyone about this, I’ll never forgive you."

She jabbed a finger at me, her tone dead serious. I held up my hands. "Hey, I’m not nuts. Why would I tell anyone? Besides, it’s not exactly the kind of story you want making the rounds."

I flashed a crooked grin, hoping to lighten the mood. She shot me a look that said, You’re not off the hook, but maybe I’ll let you live.

"You must forget about this!"

Rachel stomped over, grabbed my collar, her face blazing, arms shaking with frustration.

Her grip was surprisingly strong. I could feel her embarrassment and anger radiating off her.

"Uh... what just happened?" I asked, feigning confusion. "Did I just black out for a second?"

I tried to play dumb, hoping she’d drop it. She stared at me, torn between laughing and crying.

Her grip loosened, and she crouched down, hiding her face in her arms, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

Seeing her like that, so vulnerable, made my chest ache. I knelt beside her, awkwardly unsure.

"Hey, it was just a joke—why are you crying?"

I reached out, then thought better of it, letting my hand drop to my side. I didn’t want to push her.

"I hate you," she muttered, voice muffled, shoulders trembling.

Her words were thick with emotion. I felt a pang of guilt—maybe I’d gone too far.

I squatted down in front of her, trying to catch her eye.

She was curled up, knees hugged to her chest, hair falling around her face. She wouldn’t look up, and I didn’t blame her.

She wore a loose pajama top and denim shorts, and I could see bruises forming on her knees and calves from the fall.

The bruises looked nasty, dark against her fair skin. I winced in sympathy.

"You’ve bruised your leg. You should put some medicine on it."