Morning is quiet.
Too quiet.
Mary hears the hallway before she sees it the soft echo of someone stepping out of an apartment, then stopping. Not walking away. Just… standing there.
Her chest tightens.
It's him.
She knows it.
She feels it.
She freezes halfway through tying her hair, fingers tangled in the strands. She shouldn't open the door. She isn't ready. She'll say something wrong or stare too long or look too anxious, and he'll realize what everyone eventually realizes.
She's too much work
and not enough reward.
Her breath hitches.
She takes a step backward, toward safety.
Then—
A gentle, hesitant knock.
Three soft taps.
Not loud.
Not demanding.
Just… hopeful.
It rattles straight through her bones.
Her heart slams against her ribs. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the doorknob, then pulls back. She wipes her palms against her sweater. She tries to breathe, but it feels like swallowing glass.
Another knock.
Even softer.
Almost like he's apologizing for needing anything at all.
And that-
that breaks her.
She opens the door.
Adrian stands there, holding the soup container with both hands like it's something fragile.
His hair is messy from running his fingers through it too many times. His eyes look tired but clearer than the night she found him breaking in the dark. His clothes are clean mostly. His shoulders are tense, like he's bracing for a reaction he isn't sure he can handle.
And the moment he sees her, something gentle flickers through him. Relief. Warm, raw, honest relief.
"Hey," he says quietly.
His voice is soft gravel rough, but trying.
Mary swallows. "Hi."
He holds out the container like a peace offering.
Or maybe like an excuse to see her.
Maybe both.
"I, um… brought this back. And I-"
He clears his throat, words tangling.
"I wanted to say thank you. For yesterday. For the soup. For… everything."
His eyes lower, as if the words are embarrassing to speak.
Mary takes the container with careful hands. "You don't have to thank me."
"I do," he replies, almost stubborn.
"Because nobody else… does that. Not like you."
Mary's lips part, surprise flickering in her eyes. She doesn't know how to hold that kind of gratitude. It feels too big for her hands.
She steps aside without thinking.
"You can come in. If you want."
Adrian's eyes widen slightly he didn't expect the invitation.
He hesitates.
Not because he doesn't want to go in.
But because he's terrified she'll see the real him again.
Still… he nods.
"Yeah. I'd like that."
He enters her apartment slowly, like someone stepping into a sacred place.
And Mary… Mary stiffens the moment the door closes. Because this is it. The moment she always fears. The moment someone steps too close. The moment her perfectly controlled world becomes vulnerable.
Her apartment is neat almost unnervingly neat. Not a single object out of place. Not a single dish in the sink. Every pillow aligned. Every surface spotless.
Adrian notices but not in the way she dreads.
"Your place is… calming," he says softly.
Not weird.
Not obsessive.
Not too much.
Calming.
Her breath loosens.
He walks deeper inside, slow and thoughtful, giving her space to breathe. He doesn't touch anything. He doesn't comment on the tidiness. He just… exists. Quietly.
She finds she can breathe again.
Then, without looking at her, he says something that unravels her completely.
"I wasn't sure if you'd open the door."
Mary freezes.
Adrian's hands shove into his pockets nervously.
"I thought maybe I overwhelmed you. Or said too much. Or… I don't know. Scared you off."
She stares at him like the words don't make sense.
"You didn't scare me," she whispers.
"You didn't overwhelm me."
He lifts his head slowly.
Their eyes meet.
Something warm.
Something wounded.
Something hungry for connection.
"You sure?" he asks quietly.
Mary nods but it's not enough. Her throat tightens. Words crawl out before she can stop them.
"I was scared you didn't want to see me."
Adrian's breath catches.
Not in shock.
But in relief so deep it almost hurts.
And then-
He smiles.
Barely.
Softly.
Brokenly.
But real.
"I did," he says.
"I do."
The room feels smaller suddenly.
Warmer.
Charged with something neither of them is ready to name.
They stand there two damaged souls trying to trust the closeness they're terrified to want.
Adrian clears his throat, lightly shifting the tension.
"Um… would it be weird if I asked if you wanted to… talk? For a bit?"
Mary's fingers curl at her sides.
Fear twists in her stomach.
Talking is dangerous.
Talking means revealing more than she wants.
Talking means risking being known.
But his voice is gentle.
Not demanding.
Not prying.
Just hopeful.
And she remembers the storm.
His broken breathing.
Her whispered plea for him to stay alive.
She nods slowly.
"No," she says.
"It wouldn't be weird."
He exhales like he's been holding that breath all morning.
"Okay," he murmurs.
They sit across from each other.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Two quiet hearts learning how to beat with someone else in the room.