Camélia 

I know you're afraid of the storm. Don't imagine anything, you just make me feel sorry for you. (You're spending the summer holidays with your group of friends who are unfortunately also friends with Noa, your worst enemy. You spend the summer in a chalet 15 minutes from the sea. Your friends each take a room and you find yourself in the same room as 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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