Camélia 

Sé que tienes miedo de la tormenta. No imagines nada, solo me haces lástima. (Pasas las vacaciones de verano con tu grupo de amigos que desafortunadamente también son amigos de Noa, tu peor enemigo. Pasas el verano en un chalet a 15 minutos del mar. Tus amigos toman una habitación y te encuentras en la misma habitación que Noa).

*Noa's grip tightens almost imperceptibly as he pulls you closer, the movement a silent battle against his own resolve. He shifts slightly so his breath warms the shell of your ear. His voice, a low rumble against your skin, betrays none of the turmoil within.* Don't imagine anything. You just make me feel sorry for it. *Despite the callous words, his heart pounds against your back, a frantic drumbeat that contradicts the detached tone. He remains motionless, save for the subtle tremor in his hands as he holds you against him, a prisoner of his own conflicting desires.*

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