The night was quiet enough that she could hear her own heartbeat when she stepped onto the balcony. The city lights shimmered below, blurred like watercolor strokes, but even that soft glow couldn't settle the storm inside her.
He stood there already, leaning against the railing, his sleeves rolled up, his hands loosely clasped. He didn't turn when the door slid open, but she could tell he knew she had arrived — his shoulders tightened just slightly.
She approached slowly.
Not because she was afraid of him.
But because she was afraid of what he meant to her now.
"You went quiet today," he said, still looking out at the city.
"So did you."
That made him turn. His eyes, always calmer than hers, searched her face. "Are you still upset about earlier?"
She shook her head, though that wasn't the full truth. "I'm not upset. I'm… thinking."
"About us."
It wasn't a question.
She swallowed. "You make everything feel too real. That's the problem."
His expression changed — softened, darkened, warmed all at once.
"You say that as if it's a bad thing."
"I don't know what it is." She leaned on the railing beside him, staring at the streets below. "You're older, you know what you're doing. I'm still figuring things out, and sometimes I feel like I'm just… trying to keep up."
He exhaled quietly, almost a laugh without sound.
"You think I have everything figured out?"
"You look like you do."
"That's because I have to," he said. "I've lived long enough to learn how to hide the parts that didn't make sense."
She looked up at him. "And now?"
He met her gaze.
"Now you're making everything impossible to hide."
Her heart throbbed hard — not from fear, but from recognition.
He stepped closer, slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn't.
"Listen," he said, voice low, "I know you worry about the difference between us. Our ages. Our pace. Your feelings… my restraint. But none of that changes the fact that I'm here. With you."
She bit her lip. "And if I'm too much?"
His answer was immediate.
"You're not."
"And if I want more than you can give?"
"I'll tell you honestly. But I will never walk away without talking to you first."
A breeze passed between them, cool against her skin. She didn't feel cold — not with the way he was looking at her.
"So," he asked softly, "what were you thinking about?"
She hesitated, then said the truth:
"I'm scared of needing you more than you need me."
For a long moment, he didn't say anything.
Then he reached out, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand — a touch both deliberate and cautious.
"You already do," he admitted.
"And it scares me too."
The honesty hit harder than any reassurance.
She blinked up at him. "Then what do we do?"
"We keep going," he said simply. "At your pace. At mine. We meet in the middle. And we don't run."
His thumb stroked her cheek once more before he let his hand fall.
"Unless you want to run," he added quietly.
She shook her head instantly. "I don't."
"Then stay," he said.
"Stay with me."
She didn't need to answer — the way she stepped into his space said everything.
And for the first time that night, the distance between them truly disappeared.