The rain softened into a quiet mist as evening approached, the shop glowing under the warm lights Amelia had turned on.
She and Ethan were still sitting at the small round table, their hands clasped across it—her fingers curled timidly, his steady and warm around hers.
Amelia couldn't look away from their intertwined hands.
Something about the sight made her chest ache in a way that felt… comforting. Healing.
"Your hand is warm," she whispered without thinking.
Ethan smiled softly.
"Yours is trembling."
She started to pull back out of instinct, but Ethan immediately loosened his hold—not letting go, but giving her complete freedom.
"I'm not scared," Amelia whispered quickly.
Ethan lifted their joined hands slightly.
"I know."
His thumb brushed gently across her knuckles.
"Sometimes the body trembles when the heart is opening."
Amelia's breath shivered.
She didn't know feelings could be this gentle.
For a long moment, they just held hands, the kind of silence that made everything around them feel softer.
Amelia finally spoke.
"I used to think… love was supposed to be overwhelming," she admitted.
"Loud. Fast. Tumbling."
"And now?" Ethan asked quietly.
She looked up at him, her eyes warm and searching.
"Now I'm starting to think it's supposed to feel like this," she whispered.
"Like breathing."
Ethan's expression shifted—softened—deepened.
"Amelia," he said, voice low, full of something tender.
"You make it feel like that for me too."
Her heart jumped.
A small laugh escaped her—fragile, breathy, disbelieving.
She pressed her free hand gently against her forehead, overwhelmed by the warmth in her chest.
"It feels unreal sometimes," she said.
"You. This. The way you look at me like I'm… something good."
Ethan leaned forward slowly, elbows on the table, his gaze gentle but unwavering.
"You are something good," he whispered.
> "Something soft. Something brave. Something full of light."
"And you don't need to be more than exactly who you are."
Her eyes shimmered.
She blinked quickly, not wanting tears to fall—but Ethan saw them anyway.
He didn't comment.
Didn't reach to wipe them.
Didn't push her.
Instead, he tightened his fingers slightly around hers—
a grounding warmth, a reminder:
I'm here.
Amelia inhaled shakily.
"Ethan… I'm still learning how to let someone in."
He nodded once.
"I know."
"But I want you to know that today… being close to you… it didn't scare me."
Ethan's breath caught—not loud, just a soft break in his steady calm.
"That means more to me than you know," he murmured.
Amelia exhaled slowly, feeling lighter.
Safer.
"Will you walk me home?" she asked softly.
Ethan's smile was small and warm, the kind that reached his eyes.
"Of course," he said.
"I'll walk with you anywhere."
---
The walk back to Amelia's apartment was slow.
They shared one umbrella, staying close—not pressed together, just near enough for their arms to brush occasionally.
Each touch sent a quiet ripple through Amelia.
A reminder that she wasn't alone.
That she was choosing this closeness.
Choosing him.
At her door, she hesitated—hands at her sides, heart fluttering.
Ethan stepped back half a pace, giving her room, letting her decide how the moment would end.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?" he asked gently.
"For today. For coming back. For staying."
Ethan's voice softened even more.
"I'll keep staying," he murmured.
> "As long as you want me to."
Amelia took a shaky breath.
Then, gathering the courage that had been blooming inside her all day, she stepped closer—
close enough that her forehead almost touched his chest.
"Ethan…"
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I want you to."
Ethan closed his eyes, emotion streaming through him like a quiet wave.
"Then I'm not going anywhere," he said.
And though neither moved forward, or embraced, or crossed any line—
the closeness between them,
the warmth,
the trust,
the gentle promise of something real—
felt deeper than any kiss.