Love Unspoken

Quinn's lips formed two silent words: Don't go.

Alexander cast his gaze down at her, watching as she continued to grapple with the challenge of lip-reading, her efforts awkward yet unerringly accurate. "Please," she begged.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was a low murmur, devoid of the fury that had previously laced his words. "Begging me now, don't you think it's too late?"

Regardless, Quinn shook her head, her arms tightening around him in a desperate embrace. She knew well enough that he didn't harbor any love for her, but this gesture had always served to quell his anger. It might not sway his decision, but it could at least soothe his wrath.

She nuzzled her cheek against his chest, much like a kitten seeking the comfort of its owner. It was a touch so tender that no one could remain unaffected.

He seemed more composed than before, yet he made no move to return her embrace. Quinn tilted her head upwards once more, standing on her tiptoes in an attempt to kiss him. Her clumsy eagerness slowly ignited a spark in his eyes. Suddenly, his hand rose, cradling the back of her head, deepening the kiss. He lifted her into his arms, moving purposefully towards the bed.

Quinn tensed momentarily, but then allowed herself to relax, her eyes fluttering shut as she responded to his kiss. His anger often manifested in rough, almost violent kisses that sometimes left her skin bruised.

It was in these rare, intense moments that she felt truly cherished by him. Fleeting as a blossom that withers at dawn, it was this single thread of hope that had kept her tethered to him all these years. But now, the fervor of her feelings seemed to be ebbing. He had asked her not to love him, and perhaps... just perhaps, she was nearing the point of granting his wish.

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Quinn's eyelids fluttered, and slowly, she allowed them to close as a single tear traced a path down her cheek. Exhausted, she surrendered to the enveloping darkness.

When she stirred awake, her hand instinctively reached out to the space beside her, expecting to encounter nothing more than the cold, empty expanse of the sheets. But this time, her hand brushed against a firm, warm chest. Quinn's eyes snapped open in surprise.

Their gazes locked - his, deep and inscrutable. Her breath hitched, and she reached out tentatively to touch his face, half-convinced that she was hallucinating. His skin was warm to the touch, the sensation undeniably real. And his hand was holding hers. They remained thus, their eyes locked in a silent communion where words were unnecessary.

Alexander's hand traced a path along her brow and eyes, his morning voice husky and raw. "There's something missing in your eyes," he murmured, seemingly to himself.

Quinn merely gazed at him, her silence eloquent.

He didn't wait for a response, continuing on his own, "I don't like the way you look at me."

With a sigh, he turned to lie on his back beside her, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he lost himself in thought.

Quinn's lashes fluttered as she studied his chiseled profile, her eyes eventually lowering in melancholy.

The silence stretched between them.

She couldn't tell how much time had passed when she finally remembered her purpose. Tentatively, she prodded Alexander's shoulder with a finger. He turned his head towards her, his silence inviting her to speak.