The silence between them didn't feel empty.
It felt loaded—like a door half-open, waiting for someone to finally push it.
She stood by the window, fingers grazing the cold glass, trying to calm the restless beat in her chest. The lights of the city reflected faintly on her skin, softening the edge of her expression. But he could still see the uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
He walked toward her slowly, as if approaching something fragile.
"Why are you standing all the way over here?" he asked quietly.
She hesitated. "I needed air."
"You're not avoiding me?"
It was meant to be light, but the crack in his voice betrayed him.
Her shoulders made the smallest movement—something between a shrug and a confession.
"You said things earlier," she murmured. "Things that sounded like you were scared."
He exhaled, the truth catching up with him.
"I was."
She turned, finally meeting his gaze. "You're never scared. You're older. You know everything. You always have control."
"That's exactly why I'm scared," he said simply.
She blinked.
He stepped closer, closing the distance until only a hand's width remained.
"When you look at me like I'm the only thing you want," he continued, "it makes me forget every rule I set for myself. I'm not used to feeling that… helpless."
Her heart twisted—because that was the most honest thing he had ever told her.
"And you think I'm not scared?" she whispered. "You think I don't lie awake wondering if I'm too young for you? Too emotional? Too easy to break?"
His expression shifted—sharp, protective, as if her words had cut him somewhere deep.
"Don't say that," he murmured.
"But it's true," she insisted. "You're composed. Experienced. Stable. I'm just—"
"You," he interrupted firmly. "You are the one thing in my life that doesn't feel forced or expected or planned. You make me feel… alive. Do you understand that?"
Her breath hitched.
He reached out, hesitated for a second, then touched her hand lightly—just enough to let her pull away if she wanted.
She didn't.
His fingers slowly intertwined with hers.
"I'm scared," he repeated, softer this time. "But losing you scares me more."
The room felt warmer, closer. She felt it too—the slow, inevitable pull toward each other.
"So what do we do?" she asked.
"We stay," he said without missing a beat. "We try. We take the risk."
Her eyes softened, melting all at once.
"And if I mess up?" she whispered.
"You will."
He gave a small, genuine smile.
"And so will I. That's how this works."
She looked down at their hands, at the way his thumb brushed the back of hers so gently it almost hurt.
"Come here," he said quietly.
He pulled her into his chest—not forcefully, but with a certainty that made her knees weaken. She sank against him, breathing in the familiar warmth of him, the safety she couldn't deny even when she wanted to.
"You don't need to be perfect for me."
His voice rumbled against her temple.
"You just need to stay."
Her grip tightened, her face buried against him.
"Then don't let go," she whispered.
He closed his eyes.
"I won't."
The promise hung between them—heavy, real, and terrifying in the best possible way.
Outside, the city kept moving.
Inside, the world felt like it had finally stopped running long enough to let them breathe.
And somewhere in the quiet, she realized it wasn't just him who was changing.
She was, too.
Not for him—but with him.
And that difference meant everything.