I never wanted to be his burden. But I was…
The laundry basket sat between her feet, warm and full.
Liana folded shirts one by one on the couch, methodically, like it was a ritual she didn't want to rush.
Some were hers. Most were his.
Elias always did the washing. She didn't mind folding.
They never talked about it—it just happened like that.
She picked up one of his black t-shirts.
It was soft from wear. A little frayed at the collar.
She held it for a second.
Then brought it to her face.
Inhaled.
It didn't smell like detergent. Not really. It smelled like Elias.
Like safety. Like home.
"Is it that clean?" his voice came from behind.
She flinched.
He was standing in the hallway, towel slung around his neck, hair still damp from the shower. T-shirt clinging to his chest. Barefoot.
She blinked fast. "Mm—yes…"
He raised an eyebrow. Didn't move.
Then his gaze dropped to the shirt in her hands.
She panicked. "It's really soft," she blurted. "Can I… wear this one?"
There was a long pause.
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. More like disbelief filtered through restraint.
"If you want it, take it," he said.
Then he walked to the kitchen.
She stared after him, heart tapping like a skipped beat.
She didn't know why asking had made her feel weird.
Or why his answer had sounded so... careful.
It was two nights later.
He had just come back from a late debrief. Bruised. Tired. Distant.
She waited until he'd taken off his vest and tossed his jacket onto the hook by the door.
"You're hurt," she said softly.
He glanced over his shoulder. "No big deal. Got clipped going over a fence."
"There's blood," she said, moving toward him. "Near your neck."
He touched the spot. Red smudge on his fingers. Shrugged.
"Scraped it. Didn't even notice."
"Let me see."
"It's fine, Liana—"
But she was already close.
Too close.
She reached up.
Fingers brushed his skin.
Warm.
Real.
He grabbed her wrist.
Not harsh. But firm.
Time froze.
Her skin was soft. Cold. Barely there.
Her eyes were wide, confused.
His pulse jumped.
She wasn't doing anything wrong.
But everything about it felt wrong.
"Don't," he said. Quiet. Low. Controlled.
Her breath caught.
She stepped back immediately. "I—I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to…"
"I know," he said, voice still too even. "I just… don't think you should touch people like that."
She looked down.
Embarrassed. Ashamed.
"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"You didn't," he said quickly.
Then added, "Not in a bad way."
What am I saying?
She looked up.
And that made it worse.
Because he saw something in her face that wasn't just guilt.
It was hurt.
Like she didn't understand why it mattered so much.
And the truth was—neither did he.
But it did.
Because that hand, that closeness—it wasn't innocent anymore.
She was growing.
Changing.
And he was still standing in the same place.
"You're better now," he said after a long pause. "Stronger. You've come a long way."
She nodded, slowly.
"So maybe… it's time you started thinking about what you want."
"I don't want anything," she said.
Just you.
The thought popped into her mind and scared her.
"I know," he said. "But you should still try other things."
She blinked.
"What kind of things?"
"I don't know. School. Work. Something outside this house."
"You mean like... college?"
"Maybe."
She didn't answer.
Just stared at him.
He shifted. "You're smart, Liana. You've been teaching yourself for years. You're more than ready."
Silence stretched.
Then she said, "You think I should leave."
"No," he said instantly. "That's not what I meant."
But she'd already looked away.
"It's okay," she said. "I get it."
"No, you don't."
His voice was sharper than he wanted it to be.
"I'm not trying to get rid of you. I just think... you deserve a chance to find out who you are."
Outside of me.
She flinched.
Who was she?
She didn't know.
She'd never really thought about it.
Because this house was her whole world.
He was her whole world.
Her everything.
She nodded.
"Okay."
Then walked to her room.
She closed the door quietly behind her.
Sat on the edge of her bed.
Stared at her hands.
Her chest felt tight, but she didn't cry.
Not yet.
She thought back to the way he'd looked at her when she reached out.
The way he'd said, "Don't."
She shouldn't have done that.
She was stupid.
Too much.
Too close.
She whispered into the dark:
"He wants me to go."
Not because he said so.
But because he didn't stop her.
And that...
That hurt in a way she didn't know how to explain.
Not even to herself.