Beneath the Ashes

IRA

The car is too quiet.

The hum of the engine, the rhythmic sound of rain against the windshield—it all fades beneath the weight of his presence.

Ronan doesn't speak.

He just drives.

Like he already knows I'm not going to jump out. Like he knows me better than I know myself.

Like he always has.

I press my forehead against the window, watching the city blur past, my breath fogging up the glass.

"You're quiet." His voice cuts through the silence, low and smooth.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"That's a lie."

I grit my teeth. "I hate you, Ronan."

"I know." He exhales, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "I hate you too."

I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing the lump in my throat. He's lying.

Ronan has never hated me.

And that's the fucking problem.

Because hating him would be so much easier if I didn't still feel him—if my body didn't still hum with the memory of his hands, his lips, his voice whispering my name like a prayer.

"This doesn't change anything," I say, my voice steady.

"You think that because you left," he murmurs. "Because you put an ocean between us and convinced yourself it was enough. But it wasn't, was it?"

I close my eyes. Don't do this.

"Tell me, Ira." His voice is softer now. Dangerous. "Did it work? Did you forget me ?"

My nails bite into my palms. I don't answer.

I can't.

But Ronan doesn't need an answer. He already knows.

Of course, he does.

Because he's the only boy I've ever loved.

And the only boy I've ever hated.

---

RONAN

She doesn't answer.

She doesn't need to.

Her silence is enough.

Because I know Ira better than she knows herself. I know the way she feels things too deeply, the way she fights her own emotions like they're something to be ashamed of.

Like she didn't fall apart for me once.

Like she didn't belong to me first.

"How long are you staying? " I ask, even though I already know.

"Not long."

"Shame."

Her head whips toward me, eyes flashing. "Why do you even care?"

I smirk, shifting gears. "What do you think?"

She lets out a sharp breath, shaking her head. "You're such an asshole."

"I'm aware."

She turns back to the window, fists clenched in her lap.

"I won't let you do this to me again," she whispers.

Too late, little flame.

I let my eyes drag over her profile—the slope of her neck, the way her dress clings to her curves. The weight she used to be ashamed of, the weight I used to destroy anyone for commenting on.

I remember the boys at school. The way they whispered. The way they laughed.

They don't laugh anymore.

Not after what I did.

Not after I made sure every single one of them regretted ever speaking her name.

Ira never knew.

She never realized that every bruise on my knuckles was for her.

That she was never just another girl.

That she was the only one.

And now she's back.

Which means she's mine again.

Even if she doesn't know it yet.

Even if she fights it.

Because I let her go once.

I won't make that mistake again.

---

THEN

"Ronan."

Ira's voice was breathless, half-lost in the shadows of my bedroom.

"You sure about this?" I murmured, my fingers tracing the curve of her waist, my body caging hers against the mattress.

Her pulse fluttered beneath my lips, her body soft and warm beneath mine.

"I… I don't know. "

She was nervous.

I could feel it in the way her fingers trembled against my chest, in the way her breathing quickened.

I should have stopped.

I should have let her go.

But she was staring at me like I was the only boy in the world.

And I was selfish.

So I kissed her instead.

Slowly.

Deeply.

Like she already belonged to me.

Because she did.

Even if she didn't realize it.

Even if she still thought she was just another girl to me.

She wasn't.

She never was.

And now she never would be.