Sweet Hatred
Chapter 124: memories v (I never stopped thinking about you.)

Chapter 124: memories v (I never stopped thinking about you.)

Ivan’s head snapped up.

His lips parted slightly, eyes narrowing like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. I didn’t give him the time to ask. The words were already clawing their way out.

"That night," I ground out, jaw tight. "The kiss. The look in your eyes. The way you said I made you feel safe. I never forgot a fucking second of it."

"Kael—"

"I thought maybe you had," I said, laughing bitterly, eyes stinging. "All those people you dated. All those years pretending it didn’t happen. Acting like we were just friends—like I was okay with that."

Ivan was still frozen, staring at me like I’d set myself on fire.

I stepped back, trying to breathe through the goddamn heat flooding my chest. "You think I didn’t notice how you stopped looking at me the same? You think I didn’t wonder if I imagined it all? If I made it up like some fucked up dream?"

I turned toward the door.

"I spent years trying to kill whatever the fuck I felt for you, Ivan. I buried it under orders and routines and other people and I still—" I choked, voice cracking. "I still fucking love you, and I hate it. I hate how much I want you. I hate that you never said anything. I hate that I kissed you first and you never let me forget it."

I reached for the door handle. And then, heavy, desperate footsteps. Then I felt it, his hand wrapped around my wrist.

Tight. Shaking.

"Don’t go," he whispered.

I froze. My heart was hammering. That one sentence shattered every last wall I’d put up since that night.

I turned slowly.

Ivan was standing there, eyes wide and glassy, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. He wasn’t smiling now. Not pretending. Not teasing.

"Don’t leave me, Kael," he said again, voice rough. "Please."

Ivan didn’t let go of my wrist.

His grip trembled like he was holding on to the edge of something that’d been breaking inside him for a long time. And when I looked down at him, his lips were moving—no sound at first—just this desperate, silent plea in his eyes that twisted something cruel and raw inside my chest.

Then he breathed, "Please..."

His voice cracked.

And then the tears came.

Not loud. Not messy. Just quiet, broken tears that rolled down his cheeks, as if he’d held them in for years and couldn’t anymore.

"I never forgot that night either," he whispered, voice shaking. "Not a day."

I stood there frozen.

Ivan wiped at his face roughly but it didn’t matter. They kept coming.

"I thought I made you uncomfortable," he said. "I thought I ruined everything. You never said anything afterward. You avoided me for days. You shut down. I thought... I thought I was just a mistake to you. Something shameful."

He was right. I did shut down. Not because I wanted to but because I didn’t know what to do or feel. It was all new to me, the softness, I didn’t know what to do with it.

"Ivan—"

"I tried to let go. I tried dating other people," he went on, stumbling over the words. "I kept thinking if I just kept moving, it’d fade, but it didn’t. It only got worse. Every time I saw you, it felt like a knife in my chest."

His breathing hitched and he squeezed my wrist tighter, like he was afraid I’d disappear.

"And then... I started feeling like I used to again. That same hollow, disgusting feeling I thought I got rid of. It came back Kael." He looked down, ashamed. "The urge. The thoughts. The dreams. The ache in my chest when I was alone too long. The feeling like I was slipping again."

I stepped closer without thinking, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

"I tried so hard to suppress it, Kael," he whispered. "But when I wasn’t near you, I didn’t know who I was anymore. I didn’t want to be anyone."

I reached for his face, hands cradling it with more care than I’d ever given anything in my life.

His tears smeared against my thumbs.

"Say something," he begged, voice barely there.

I looked into his eyes, eyes that held all the agony of his childhood, all the years he’d tried to survive, and all the love he never thought he deserved.

And I whispered, "You’re everything, Ivan. You’ve always been."

Ivan’s eyes widened at my words, like he couldn’t believe if I was real or any of that moment was and neither could I, so—

I kissed him.

Not because it was the right thing to do. Not because it was brave or kind or smart. But because I couldn’t pretend otherwise.

Because after years of pretending it meant nothing, of pretending he meant nothing, I had run out of lies. And I was tired. So fucking tired.

He melted Into me like he’d been holding himself together with string and spit and was finally allowed to fall apart. His fists balled into my jacket, clinging, and I didn’t stop him. I couldn’t. I just pressed my lips to his until I felt him stop shaking.

And then I pulled him in. Arms tight. Chest to chest. Like I needed to memorize the shape of him.

He cried.

God, he cried. Not the quiet kind. Not the dignified kind. He sobbed into my chest like a child—like he was mourning something he could never name. And I just held him there, not saying a fucking word, because I would’ve shattered if I did.

Then, barely above a mumble, I heard it.

"I love you."

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. My throat burned like I’d swallowed gasoline. He loved me. I didn’t even think I could be loved.

My arms tightened around him instinctively, as if my body understood before I did.

"Ivan..." I murmured, but it broke off halfway, like even his name hurt to say.

He shook his head against me, still trembling. "I love you, Kael," he whispered again, more certain this time, even through his sobs. "I’ve always loved you. And I thought maybe—maybe I ruined it. That night. I thought I made you want to forget me. So I tried to forget you too but I couldn’t. I couldn’t—"

"Don’t," I said hoarsely, cutting him off. My voice cracked like dry wood. "Don’t say it unless you mean it."

"I’ve always meant it," he breathed, clinging tighter. "Even when I tried to love someone else. Even when I hated myself for feeling this way. Even when I wanted to die all over again. It was always you."

Something inside me broke wide open.

Like all the pieces I’d hidden away for years had come crawling back, dragging blood and bone and shame with them. And in the middle of it was him—his voice, his breath, his fucking heart in my hands.

I rested my chin on the crown of his head, closing my eyes.

And I whispered, "I never stopped thinking about you."

And that marked the beginning of something different for both of us. Something that didn’t require pretending.