Night changes everything.
It gives people permission to say the things they've been rehearsing all day. Or worse—do the things they pretend they wouldn't.
Maddie leaves first.
Of course she does.
She always leaves with an excuse that sounds reasonable enough to be polite and flimsy enough to be insulting. Something about an early morning. Something about a headache. Something about needing space—as if space was ever hers to claim.
I watch her from the doorway as she slips her shoes on, fingers trembling just a little too much to be normal.
"Text me when you get home," Arrow says automatically.
She smiles at him. Too wide. Too eager.
"I always do."
She glances at me last.
There's a question in her eyes. A silent what are you doing? mixed with something uglier. Fear, maybe. Or the realization that the ground she's been standing on her whole life has shifted a few inches to the left.
I tilt my head and smile back.
She leaves.
The door clicks shut.
The apartment exhales.
Arrow doesn't speak immediately.
He moves instead—slow, deliberate—loosening his cuffs, rolling his shoulders like he's shedding the version of himself meant for public consumption. He walks deeper into the living room, stops near the window, and looks out at the city like he's checking for snipers.
Finally, he says, "She's nervous around you."
I pour myself a drink. Something Ria would've chosen. Something expensive and unnecessary.
"She always has been."
"That's not true," he replies calmly.
I glance at him over the rim of the glass. "Isn't it?"
He turns. Studies me. Really studies me now. No Maddie. No audience. Just me and him and the weight of everything unsaid.
"You used to soften around her," he says. "Even when she annoyed you."
Used to.
There it is.
I take a slow sip. Let the silence stretch. Make him uncomfortable first.
"People change."
"You don't," he says.
Not accusing. Not yet.
Observing.
I set the glass down and walk toward him, stopping just close enough to invade his space without touching. His eyes flicker down automatically, like muscle memory.
I notice.
"I almost died," I say lightly. "That tends to… rearrange priorities."
He watches my face like he's trying to catch a glitch.
"You never talk about it."
"I don't romanticize pain," I shrug. "I survive it."
That's when his hand moves.
Not to grab. Not to restrain.
To hover.
Close to my wrist. Close enough that I feel the heat of him without the contact. A question disguised as instinct.
"May I?" he asks.
Interesting.
I let him.
His fingers close around my wrist gently. Too gently for someone like him. His thumb presses against my pulse, deliberate.
He frowns.
"Your heartbeat's different."
I smile.
"So is yours."
That earns me a sharp look.
"You're deflecting."
"Am I?" I lean closer. "Or are you just noticing me for the first time?"
That lands.
He releases my wrist slowly, like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go too fast.
"You scared me," he admits.
Good.
"I still might," I say.
That earns me a breathless laugh. Low. Unsettled.
"There you are."
I arch a brow. "There who is?"
"The Ria I fell in love with," he says. "The one who doesn't ask permission."
Careful.
I step past him and reclaim my drink. Sit. Cross my legs. Take up space.
"That Ria," I say softly, "is dead."
His jaw tightens.
"And the one standing here?" he asks.
I meet his gaze. Hold it.
"She's better."
Silence again.
This one stretches differently. Charged. Curious. Dangerous.
He finally sits across from me, elbows on his knees, fingers laced.
"Maddie doesn't like change," he says.
I hum. "Maddie doesn't like not being central."
A pause.
Then—very carefully—
"She's been loyal to you."
I tilt my head.
"Has she?"
His eyes sharpen.
"What are you implying?"
Nothing. Everything.
I smile into my glass.
"Just an observation."
He doesn't press. Not yet.
Smart man.
We talk after that, but not about anything important. Travel. Business. Nothing that requires vulnerability. He watches me the whole time, like he's cataloguing micro-expressions, recalibrating expectations.
At some point, his knee brushes mine.
He doesn't move it away.
Neither do I.
When the night grows heavier, he stands.
"I'm staying."
Not a question.
"Of course you are," I reply.
He hesitates at the doorway to the bedroom. Turns back.
"You really don't remember anything?"
I consider lying.
Then decide not to.
"I remember enough," I say. "To know that whatever this is… it's complicated."
His lips curve faintly.
"It always was."
He leaves me alone after that.
I sit in the quiet apartment, the city humming below, and let myself think about Maddie.
How her smile slipped tonight.
How her hands shook.
How she noticed everything and understood nothing.
Good.
Tomorrow, I'll forget her birthday.
Next week, I'll cancel plans last minute.
Soon, I'll praise someone else for something she prides herself on.
Nothing cruel.
Nothing obvious.
Just enough to make her doubt her footing.
Little by little.
I finish my drink and stand, walking to the mirror once more.
The girl staring back at me looks like Ria.
But her eyes?
They look like someone who knows exactly what she's doing.
I smile.
The game isn't loud.
It's precise.
And it's only just begun
Ps: This is a third person pov and I'm gonna write a bunch of letters so it'll be a thousand words,you can skip to the next chapter, I'm blank.
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