Anton
The morning began with rain. Not a light drizzle, not the kind that dances playfully against glass, but a heavy downpour that seemed to want to swallow the city whole.
Anton stood by the window of the serviced apartment, his hands tucked in the pockets of his sweatpants, watching how the streets below drowned in gray. His thoughts were not on the weather. They were on her—Krystel.
Six days. Six days of pretending they had known each other for years. Six days of acting like lovers who shared an entire lifetime of laughter, arguments, silences, and promises. He thought he would grow tired of it, that the pact would turn into a game too shallow to matter. But instead, he found himself sinking deeper, unable to tell where the play ended and where reality began.
Behind him, he heard the soft rustle of sheets.
"Morning," Krystel murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.
He turned. She sat up, hair tousled, the strap of her camisole sliding off her shoulder. For a second, Anton forgot to breathe. She looked like someone who belonged in that bed—his bed—every day.
"Morning," he answered softly.
She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried warmth but also distance, as if she were letting him see only a part of her.
Krystel
Krystel wrapped her arms around her knees, watching Anton pour coffee. His movements were precise, controlled, almost ritualistic. She had noticed it in the days they had been together—he hated wasted gestures. He did everything with intention.
And she was breaking every one of her own intentions.
This was supposed to be temporary. A pact. A fleeting connection with no strings. She told herself she wanted the illusion of closeness without the weight of forever. But somewhere between his dry humor, the way he listened more than he spoke, and how he looked at her like she was the only person in the room, she had begun to want more.
And she couldn't. She must not.
Because tomorrow, it ends.
She lowered her gaze as he handed her a mug of coffee. His fingers brushed hers. Too brief. Too dangerous.
Anton
They decided to stay in. The storm gave them the excuse, but truthfully, Anton didn't want to share her with the outside world. They sprawled on the couch, watching an old movie neither of them really paid attention to.
At one point, Krystel laughed—a full, unrestrained laugh at some ridiculous line. Anton turned, watching her instead of the screen.
"You laugh like it's the first time," he murmured.
She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"Like you don't care who hears you. Like the world hasn't managed to teach you to hold it back."
Her smile faltered just a little. "Maybe I just learned that laughter is worth it, even if it hurts afterward."
Anton frowned. He wanted to ask what she meant, but she reached over, tucked a blanket around him, and leaned against his shoulder. The unspoken words burned in his chest.
Krystel
The hours passed in strange stillness, the storm outside and another storm inside her.
By late afternoon, the silence was too loud. She sat at the edge of the bed, staring at her hands. She had rehearsed this moment in her head, but when the words came, they still felt jagged.
"Anton..."
He looked up from his phone, instantly alert. "Yes?"
She swallowed. "Tomorrow, it ends."
The words fell like shards of glass between them.
Anton
For a moment, Anton thought he misheard. "What?"
Krystel's eyes were steady, but he saw the tremor in her fingers. "The pact. It ends tomorrow. That was always the deal."
Anton's jaw tightened. He put the phone down slowly. "You're reminding me, or warning me?"
"Both."
The sharp edge of panic cut through him. He leaned forward, searching her face. "Krystel, we don't have to stop. This doesn't have to end."
She shook her head. "It does."
"Why?" His voice rose despite his effort to keep calm. "Tell me why. You think I want this to just vanish? You think I can walk out after seven days and pretend none of it mattered?"
Her eyes glistened. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"Don't," Anton pressed, voice rough. "Don't shut me out. You've been holding back since day one. I feel it every time you laugh and then look away. Every time you touch me but pull back like it burns. What are you hiding from me?"
She flinched. "Anton—"
"Say it," he demanded. "What are you so afraid of?"
The room was silent except for the rain slamming against glass. Krystel's lips trembled. For a heartbeat, Anton thought she would finally tell him.
But she didn't.
Krystel
Her chest ached. She wanted to spill everything—the truth, the secret she had carried like a chain around her heart. But if she told him, she would destroy him. She couldn't bear that.
"I can't," she whispered.
Anton's expression hardened. "You won't."
Tears pricked her eyes. "Please don't make this harder."
"Harder?" His laugh was bitter. "You think pretending we can just end this is easy for me? You think I can erase you in twenty-four hours like a—like a project deadline?"
Her tears slipped free. "You promised, Anton. Seven days. No strings."
"And what if I want the strings?" His voice cracked. "What if I want all of it?"
She broke then. She covered her mouth with her hand, choking on a sob, shaking her head violently. "Don't," she begged. "Don't love me. Please."
Celestine
From across the street, hidden by shadows, Celestine Pontanares watched the lit window. The storm cloaked her presence, the sound of thunder covering her footsteps as she leaned against the cold, wet wall.
She saw them—two silhouettes inside the room, moving like they were tearing themselves apart. She could almost hear the echo of their voices through glass.
Krystel was slipping. The mask was breaking. And Anton—poor, stubborn Anton—had no idea what waited for him once the seventh day was over.
Celestine's lips curled into something between pity and cruelty. "Hold on to her, Anton," she whispered into the rain. "Because tomorrow, she will be gone."
Anton
The fight exhausted them. Words ran in circles until silence became the only option.
Later that night, Anton found himself lying beside her in the dark. The storm had softened outside, but inside him, the tempest only grew.
He reached for her hand. To his surprise, she let him.
"Krystel," he said softly, "stay."
Her breath hitched.
"I don't care about the pact," he continued. "I don't care what rule we're breaking. I just... I need you."
She turned to him, eyes shimmering in the faint light. For a moment, she looked as if she would run. But then she leaned forward and kissed him.
The kiss was desperate, aching, the kind that burned away boundaries. Clothes fell away, silence filled with the sound of whispered names and trembling hands. They clung to each other as though the world outside had ceased to exist.
Krystel
She should not have let it happen. She knew that. But as Anton's arms wrapped around her, as his heartbeat thundered against her skin, she couldn't stop.
For one night, she let herself forget. For one night, she allowed herself to believe she could stay.
Afterward, he slept—peaceful, his face softened in dreams. She lay beside him, awake, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
She touched his hair, his jaw, memorizing every line.
"I'm sorry," she whispered into the dark. "I'm so sorry."
Because tomorrow, it ends.
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