The evening settled more fully into the apartment, the soft dimness blending into a warm quiet that wrapped around them like a comforter. Amelia's breathing had grown steadier, more relaxed, and Ethan could feel the difference in the way she leaned into him—less cautious, more trusting, more present.
She lifted her head just slightly, her cheek brushing his jaw.
"Are you tired of holding me yet?" she whispered.
Ethan's breath softened in a way that almost made her heart flutter.
"Not even close," he murmured.
Her lips curved in a small, shy smile.
Amelia shifted, curling one leg beneath herself so she could face him more directly. Ethan adjusted too, moving slowly, giving her all the space she needed without breaking their closeness.
His hand stayed at her side, warm and steady.
"How do you stay so patient?" she asked quietly.
Ethan's gaze softened, his fingers brushing gently along her arm.
"Because I know how much it matters. To you. To us."
"Most people rush," she murmured.
"I'm not rushing something this important," he said softly.
"You're worth taking time with."
Her breath hitched.
"Ethan…"
"Yes?"
She swallowed lightly, searching for the right words.
"I don't usually open up. To anyone. Not like this."
"I know," he whispered.
"And you haven't pushed me," she added.
"You just… waited."
Ethan tilted his head a little, watching her with quiet warmth.
"You're opening on your own. That's always better."
Amelia lowered her gaze to their hands—hers resting lightly near his, close enough to touch, close enough to feel the warmth radiating between them.
"Can I be honest?" she asked softly.
"Always."
"This feels… new to me. Not just the closeness. But the peace."
Her voice softened further.
"I didn't expect to be this comfortable with you."
Ethan's voice dropped into something deep and tender.
"And I didn't expect someone to trust me like this."
She looked up at him then—really looked—her eyes soft and vulnerable.
"Does it scare you?" she asked.
He took a slow breath.
"No. It makes me careful. It makes me want to show up better. For you."
Amelia felt her chest tighten in the warmest way.
"Ethan," she whispered, "I don't want this connection to fade."
"It won't," he said simply.
"You sound so sure."
"I'm sure of you," he murmured.
"And of what I feel."
Her cheeks warmed.
"And what do you feel?" she asked quietly.
Ethan reached for her hand—slowly, giving her time to pull back.
She didn't.
He laced their fingers together, his touch gentle, grounding.
"I feel… drawn," he said softly.
"I feel protective. I feel calm when you're near me. And…"
He paused, lifting her hand slightly, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
"…I feel something growing. Something I don't want to let go of."
Her breath stilled.
"That's… a lot," she whispered.
"It's honest," he said.
"And it's slow. Just like you need."
Amelia felt a soft shiver glide through her chest—not fear, but an awareness she couldn't ignore.
"Ethan?"
"Mm?"
"If I open up more… if I let myself fall even a little…"
Her voice trembled.
"Will you be right here?"
He squeezed her hand gently.
"I'll be here," he whispered.
"For every step. Every pause. Every fear. Every moment."
Her eyes glistened—not with tears, but with something warm and hopeful.
She moved closer—so close that her forehead rested softly against his. Ethan's breath deepened, but he stayed perfectly still, letting her guide the closeness.
"I'm trying," she whispered.
"You don't have to try alone," he murmured.
"I know," she breathed.
Ethan brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his touch soft enough to make her eyes flutter.
"Stay close," he whispered.
"I want to," she answered, her voice barely a breath.
She leaned into him again, resting her head beneath his jaw, her hand sliding to rest over his heartbeat again.
Ethan wrapped his arms around her slowly, holding her with a tenderness that felt like safety itself.
And as she let herself melt into him, Amelia realized:
She wasn't just learning him.
She was learning what it felt like to be genuinely cared for.
And Ethan held her as if he intended to show her that feeling again and again.