Bastian?" Anastasia's breath hitched the moment she stepped into her room and found him standing there, looking almost lost. "W-What are you doing in here? How did you know this was my room?"
He turned at the sound of her voice, his face unreadable. "I don't really know. It just felt… familiar. I found myself here." His gaze flickered to the walls, the bed, the window. "I didn't know it was yours. I apologize. I'll leave."
He moved toward the door, but before he could slip past her, she reached out, fingers curling around his wrist. "No, wait. Please."
Bastian froze. His head tilted down, staring at where her hand touched him, almost like it burned. When he looked up, their eyes locked, and a flicker of something—recognition?—crossed his face.
"Why are you so familiar to me?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Anastasia's heart clenched. She smiled, warm and gentle, hoping to ease the turmoil she saw in his expression. "Because we knew each other since we were kids. We were inseparable. And this room—" she gestured around them, as if that would spark his memory, "—you used to come here all the time after school. Other days, we'd go to Billy's."
At the mention of Billy, Bastian stiffened. His brows furrowed. "Billy?" He repeated the name like it was foreign and yet oddly familiar. "Why does that name sound like it should mean something? Who is he?"
"He's your best friend," she said, hopeful. "He always has been."
Bastian's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "Oh. I have new good friends now. So I probably won't have missed much."
Anastasia frowned, hands flying to her hips. "Bastian Webber!" she snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. "Billy is your best friend. And you will see him. He'll be thrilled to—"
"I DON'T WANT TO SEE HIM!" Bastian suddenly roared, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.
Anastasia flinched, stunned by the venom in his tone.
Bastian's nostrils flared as he sucked in a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "I don't know him! I don't know you! Any of you!" His hands shot through his hair as if trying to rip apart the confusion swirling inside him. His whole body trembled with barely restrained frustration.
Then he turned on his heel and stormed toward the door.
Anastasia's pulse spiked. She couldn't let him leave like this. Not angry. Not lost.
She lunged forward, slammed her hand against the door, and blocked his path.
"Move," Bastian growled, his voice dangerously low. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but he didn't touch her.
"No," she said firmly, her back pressed against the door, staring up at him with unwavering determination. "I won't let you walk out of here like this. Not when you're this upset and confused."
His breathing was ragged, his entire body tense, like a caged animal ready to snap. But he didn't push her aside. Didn't shove past her.
Anastasia swallowed hard. "Bastian, I know you don't remember. And I know how much that must scare you. But I'm not going to let you shut yourself off from people who love you. Who have always loved you."
His eyes flickered with something—pain, confusion, anger, all tangled into one. But he stayed silent.
Slowly, she reached up, fingers brushing against his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "You don't have to remember everything all at once. But please, don't shut me out."
Bastian swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, his shoulders sagged slightly, the fire in his eyes dimming just a fraction.
Then, without another word, he stepped back.
Anastasia exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Fine," Bastian muttered. He turned away, running a hand through his messy hair. "But don't expect me to pretend everything is fine."
She nodded, her chest aching. "I wont."
Silence stretched between them before Bastian let out a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm tired."
Anastasia took a step back, giving him space. "you can rest here if you want if it feels familiar to you. We can talk more in the morning."
He didn't answer. Just nodded once before heading toward the bed and sitting down at the edge, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
Anastasia lingered for a moment, watching him, before finally slipping out of the room and as she was about to close the door behind her, she heard him say 'wait' or at least she thought she heard it..
Anastasia hesitated before carefully peeking around the door. "Did you say something?"
Bastian's eyes flicked to hers, uncertain, hesitant. "Can you stay?"
Something inside her cracked open. He wasn't shouting anymore, wasn't bristling with anger. He looked… lost.
She softened. "Of course. If that's what you want."
He swallowed hard. "I'll sleep on the floor."
"You don't have to—"
"Out of respect for you, I will," he mumbled, glancing away.
She nodded, understanding. "Okay. If that's what you want. I'm going to take a shower. Make yourself comfortable."
Grabbing her pajamas from the cupboard, Anastasia headed to the bathroom. Out of habit, she left the door slightly ajar, steam soon curling out the door. Bastian, now sitting on the bed, caught an unintended glimpse through the mirror on the wall. He meant to look away—he did—but something held him there.
She peeled off her clothes, the soft curve of her back catching the dim light. Her hair tumbled loose, falling over her shoulders in a cascade. Then, she turned, and for a moment, his breath hitched. A dull ache spread in his chest. She was… beautiful.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Jaw tightening, he yanked his gaze away, pressing his palms into his temples. Why did she stir something in him? Why did everything about her feel so achingly familiar yet so distant?
20 Minutes later, Anastasia emerged in soft pajamas, her face glowing from the heat of the shower. "Would you like to bathe or shower?"
Bastian cleared his throat. "I… I'd like to bathe. If that's okay."
She smiled at his sudden timidity. "Of course. I even kept some of your old clothes. I couldn't bear to throw them away."
She pulled out an old football jersey—the same one he had given her when they declared their love on the football stands. Bastian took it, running his fingers over the fabric as if trying to recall a long-lost dream.
He said nothing, only nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. The warmth of the bath soothed him, but his thoughts were relentless. He shouldn't be affected by temperature, shouldn't feel human needs. But somehow, Earth was affecting him strangely. Two hours passed before the water grew cold, and he emerged into the dimly lit bedroom.
Anastasia was already asleep, curled beneath the blankets, her breathing soft and steady. He hesitated at the foot of the bed, drawn to her in ways he couldn't explain.
"I don't know you… but you're special. That much I know."
He crouched beside her, watching the way her lashes fluttered slightly in sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. His fingers twitched as a lock of hair fell across her face. Without thinking, he reached out, tucking it behind her ear. His lips curved into the faintest of smiles—until reality crashed down on him.
What was he doing?
Jerking his hand back as if burned, he stood and forced himself onto the floor, lying down stiffly, staring at the ceiling, trying to drown out the hurricane inside him.
But later, as the night deepened and silence wrapped around them, Anastasia stirred. Half-conscious, she blinked into the darkness, shifting slightly. And then—
She felt it.
An arm. Wrapping slowly around her waist from behind.