[Narrated: 3rd omniscient]
Sunday night fell upon their shared apartment, heavy and dense. The living room breathed in shadow and amber light, a sanctuary of worn leather and quiet intimacy. Bells curled into the corner of their sofa, laptop balanced on her knees. Her hoodie hung loose around her frame, legs bare. Her dark hair in a careless knot, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck, screen light painting her striking features in silver and blue.
Theo's voice floated in from the kitchen, casual.
"Want a tea?"
"Mhm. Peppermint?"
"Already brewing."
The familiar sounds unfolded. Water poured into ceramic, the gentle thud of a cupboard closing. Theo appeared beside her, offering warmth cupped in porcelain. Their knees brushed as he sat beside her, and she felt the weight of his attention before his voice cut through the quiet, threaded now with something sharp.
"So... Who do you call when I'm not here?"
Her fingers continued their mechanical dance across the keys, half her mind still swimming in proposals and projections.
"Huh?"
Theo's body shifted beside her, the subtle tightening of muscle, a held breath.
"When I'm away. Who's the number on speed dial?"
Her fingers stumbled, the rhythm of productivity dying mid-breath. She turned, confusion creasing her brow.
"What's this about?"
"I went to see Larssen."
She froze, fingers suspended above the keyboard, her skin turning just a shade paler. Larssen. The name alone a crack in the foundation of everything she'd been building with Theo - their Sunday mornings, their shared silences, the tender predictability.
"When you were with your mum. I was worried."
"You went to my office?"
"I went to his office."
She closed the laptop slowly. Tense.
"And?"
"Asked him to back off. To let you go."
Her jaw clenched slightly.
"That's not your place."
The words came out cooler than intended. Part of her meant them. Resented being discussed like some possession to be negotiated over. But another part, the part that made her stomach clench with guilt, knew exactly why Theo had felt compelled to act.
"Maybe not. But I did it anyway. And he said something I can't shake."
Bells looked at him, puzzled, worry creeping in.
"He said you call him when you're drunk. When I'm away. Is it true?"
The statement hung between them, sharp and accusing. She swallowed, panic threading through her chest. She did not answer for a beat. Her thumb started tracing a restless circle along the mug's rim, the heat blooming into her skin.
"It's not like that..."
"Then what is it like?"
He leaned forward, hope and fear warring in his voice - wanting reassurance, dreading confirmation. Yet, her gaze drifted to the window, where the city lights blurred against the night, then she spoke.
"It's... mostly about work."
"And the rest?"
The question arrived quietly pointed. For a split second, she wanted to turn it back on him, to ask why he was interrogating her, why he couldn't just trust her. The impulse felt ugly and defensive, making her hate herself even as she entertained it.
Instead, she'd weighted her words carefully.
"Sometimes it's just habit. We talk. Really, mostly me. It's nothing."
Mostly her talking? The thought circled his mind like a vulture. What secrets does she spill into the night when I'm not there to catch them?
"He said you only say my name to tell him you shouldn't."
Her neck flushed, heat crawling upwards. Jude… I will have words with him, she thought. Then said.
"Don't let him rattle you… He's exaggerating. Trying to provoke you."
"Why don't you call him when I'm here then? How about now?"
"Don't be like that."
"If it were me calling my ex when I'm drunk, how would you feel?"
"He's not my ex, and you know that."
"Well, he did ask you out."
"And I chose you..."
Her words fell like silk against bare skin - soothing, seductive, yet somehow futile against the storm building between his ribs.
"Then help me understand?"
"You're making it sound worse than it is..."
"Then tell me what it is exactly."
Silence stretched between them, filled with all the things she couldn't say and everything he feared to hear.
"He's familiar. We worked closely for years. I know him longer than I know you. Sometimes it feels easier to talk to someone who... gets it."
"Gets what?"
"The pressure. The rhythm of it. How I think. That part of me."
"So he gets you in a way I don't?"
"No. Just... differently."
Theo shifted back, muscles tense beneath his T-shirt.
"Bells, I don't want to be your consolation prize."
She looked up, the words landing squarely in her chest, heavy, unavoidable. Her breath caught, trapped between honesty and self-preservation.
"You're not..."
"Then tell me the truth."
It might cut deep enough to leave scars, he thought, but the not-knowing was already bleeding him dry.
"I have."
Yet even as the words left her lips, she knew they were thin and transparent. She had only danced around the edges of truth, never diving into its unforgiving depths.
------
On Monday morning the office held its breath. A few staff drifted between desks, switching on lights, unlocking drawers with metallic whispers. Bells cut through the quiet like a blade. Hair loose around her shoulders, coat still buttoned, cheeks bright with cold - or something fiercer. She pushed the door wide.
"Got a minute?"
Jude looked up from his screen. Expectant, but something shifted behind his eyes.
"Not really."
"You told Theo I call you when I'm drunk."
He leaned back in his chair, the movement was liquid grace - all that height unfolding, broad shoulders shifting under white cotton that fit him like a sin. Six-foot-three of lean, controlled power that she'd stood beside at a thousand meetings and felt humming through the air between them.
"Did I lie?"
"You told him just enough truth to hurt him."
"What do you expect from me? When your lover barges into my office with accusations he should have known better not to throw."
Lover. The word sounded twisted yet intimate coming from him in this setting, an indictment wrapped in cashmere.
"What accusations?"
"Ostensibly I'm pining for you, making your life a misery"
He looked at her pointedly, making her exhale. Something heavy escaping her chest.
Then his laptop chimed, he looked down and clicked. Then added, eyes still low.
"I didn't say anything you haven't already said. Sometimes quite vividly."
"That was between us."
He glanced up at that.
"So was the cab."
A beat. The words landed like a stone through glass. She faltered for half a second. Was that his warning shot? That there was more he could have revealed?
"Don't show up here looking for moral high ground."
"The cab was a mistake. You think I'm proud of any of this? You think I haven't tried to stop?"
"Haven't noticed much effort," he retorted with a smirk.
She stared at him. He looked away first. Started typing something up.
"You entertain it. The way I talk, the things I say. You don't shut it down."
His fingers paused over the keys for just a moment.
"You're the one about to get married."
Silence fell. She stood there, unsure where to take this. After a while, Jude finally said.
"Shouldn't you be prepping for your 9 a.m.?"
Still not looking up from his screen. Bells said nothing, just watched him. The rigid line of his shoulders. The careful way he avoided her gaze.
Weight hung in the air between them, dense and unspoken. She finally turned. Hand on the door. Her mouth opened, like there was more. I miss talking to you. The words hovered there at the tip of her tongue, dangerous and true. She swallowed them whole.
Then left. He did not try to stop her.