I clean.
Which is how I know this is serious.
My apartment is never this clean.
Amelia practically dances around my living room while reorganizing my shelves.
"You're spiraling," she says cheerfully.
"I'm not."
"You invited him over."
"That's not spiraling."
"That's escalation."
She tosses a pillow at me and then lowers her voice dramatically.
"Don't forget protection."
"AMELIA."
She laughs so hard she nearly drops a stack of magazines.
When she leaves, she winks at me like she knows something I don't.
I hate that she probably does.
—
When Zane knocks, my heart is already racing.
I open the door.
He looks calm.
Too calm.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hey."
He steps inside.
Glances around.
"You cleaned."
I cross my arms. "I always clean."
He smirks slightly.
We sit on the couch.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Silence stretches.
"I talked to Axel," I say finally.
Zane nods once.
"I figured."
"He's worried."
"I know."
"And you're staying away because of that."
He exhales slowly.
"I don't want to mess up what you have."
The words land heavier in my apartment than they did in rehearsal.
"What I have?" I repeat.
"You've got stability. Family. A system that works." He looks at me carefully. "I don't want to be the thing that destabilizes it."
Something in my chest twists.
"You think I'm that fragile?"
He frowns slightly. "That's not what I said."
"It's what you mean."
I shift closer before I can overthink it.
"My life doesn't collapse because I like someone."
His eyes flick down briefly—then back up.
"You don't do things halfway," he says quietly.
"No," I agree. "I don't."
My hand moves before my brain can stop it.
I lace my fingers through his.
He freezes for half a second.
Then squeezes gently.
"I want this," I say softly.
The honesty in my voice surprises even me.
"I don't need you to protect me from my own choices."
His jaw tightens slightly.
"I'm not scared of you getting hurt," he admits. "I'm scared of being the one who hurts you."
The vulnerability in that makes my breath hitch.
"You won't," I whisper.
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you."
Silence.
Close.
Charged.
His free hand comes up slowly—brushing a strand of hair away from my face.
This time, no interruption.
No distance.
I lean in first.
The kiss is soft.
Careful.
Like both of us are testing something fragile.
Then he deepens it slightly.
And something shifts.
Not explosive.
Not reckless.
Just—
Real.
He pulls back first.
Forehead resting lightly against mine.
"We don't have to rush," he murmurs.
"I'm not rushing."
"You sure?"
I nod.
And this time, when he kisses me again—
There's no hesitation.
—
The lights stay on.
The city hums outside.
The world doesn't tilt or explode.
It just narrows.
To warmth.To closeness.To choosing.
—
Later—
We're lying on the couch beneath a blanket I definitely didn't plan on sharing.
The room is quiet now.
The kind of quiet that feels earned.
My head rests against his chest.
His arm is wrapped around me, steady and warm.
The blanket is slightly twisted around our legs.
The couch is definitely crooked.
Neither of us comments on it.
He brushes his thumb slowly over the back of my hand.
Absentminded.
Gentle.
"You're not small," he says softly, like it's something he's decided.
I tilt my head slightly so I can look at him.
"And I'm not going anywhere," he adds.
Not dramatic.Not grand.Just certain.
The city lights flicker faintly through the window.
For the first time since he pulled back—
The distance is gone.
There's no tension.
No careful stepping.
No watching over shoulders.
He's here.
And he chose to stay.
And I chose him back.