Samuel doesn't leave after I ask him to stay.
He sits beside me until the silence becomes less painful, until the tightness in my chest loosens enough for me to breathe without feeling like every inhale might break something. He doesn't ask more questions. He doesn't force me to explain what I don't understand myself.
He simply stays.
And somehow, that is what makes me want to cry.
I don't.
I keep my eyes lowered, my hand still resting inside his, pretending I don't notice the warmth of his palm or the steadiness of his grip. Pretending this moment doesn't feel like a line being crossed.
But it does.
A quiet line.
A dangerous one.
"You should eat something," Samuel says after a while.
I let out a small breath. "I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten properly today."
I glance at him. "How do you know?"
His expression doesn't change. "Because I know you."
The words are simple.
Too simple.
But they sink into me anyway.
I look away first.
Samuel releases my hand only to stand, and for a strange second, I feel the absence of him immediately. My fingers curl against the bedsheet, still holding the shape of his touch.
"I'll make you something light," he says.
"You don't have to."
"I know."
Then he walks out.
I sit there for a moment, staring at the empty space beside me.
I should feel relieved.
Instead, I feel colder.
A few minutes later, I hear movement from the kitchen. The soft clatter of dishes. The sound of water running. The low hum of the stove.
Normal sounds.
Safe sounds.
I close my eyes and press a hand gently against my stomach.
Everything inside me feels uncertain.
My body doesn't feel like mine anymore. My emotions shift too quickly. One moment, I feel numb. The next, everything hurts so much I can barely sit still. And beneath all of it, there is one truth I can't escape.
I'm pregnant.
Harley's child.
The thought sends another ache through me.
Harley.
I haven't seen him properly since everything fell apart. Not really. There have been messages I didn't answer. Calls I let ring until the screen went dark. I know he is waiting. I know he is probably going mad with silence.
But I can't face him.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
My phone lights up beside me.
For one breath, my heart jumps.
Then I see his name.
Harley.
I freeze.
The screen glows in the dim room, his name sharp and painful against the darkness.
I don't pick it up.
I don't even touch it.
I just stare until the call ends.
A second later, a message appears.
Please talk to me.
My throat tightens so quickly it hurts.
I turn the phone face down.
Almost immediately, guilt crawls through me.
But then I remember the fear. The confusion. The way everything between us now feels built on something I don't fully understand.
I can't talk to him yet.
I'm not ready.
When Samuel returns, he carries a small tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of warm water. His eyes flick briefly to my phone, then back to me.
He saw.
Of course he saw.
But he doesn't mention it.
He places the tray on the bedside table and sits beside me again.
"Just a few spoonfuls," he says.
I stare at the soup. "You sound like a doctor."
"I am a doctor."
Despite myself, a tiny laugh escapes.
It surprises both of us.
Samuel's gaze softens, and something about that expression makes my chest ache again, but differently this time.
He picks up the spoon and offers it to me.
I stare at him. "I can feed myself."
"I know."
"Then why are you doing that?"
"Because you look like you might argue with the soup if I leave you alone."
This time, I really do laugh, though it's quiet and tired.
The sound feels unfamiliar.
Like something from another life.
I take the spoon from him, my fingers brushing his. "Fine."
He watches as I eat a little. Not in a controlling way. Not in a way that makes me feel weak. Just… carefully. Like he's making sure I stay here with him.
After a few bites, my stomach turns slightly, and I pause.
Samuel notices immediately.
"Enough?"
I nod.
He takes the bowl without comment and sets it aside. Then he reaches for the glass of water and hands it to me.
I drink slowly.
The warmth settles through me.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then Samuel says, "You don't have to answer him until you're ready."
I lower the glass.
There it is.
Harley.
Even when no one says his name, he is still in the room.
"I know," I whisper.
"But don't disappear inside your own head either," Samuel adds gently. "That's what I'm worried about."
I swallow hard.
"I'm not disappearing."
Samuel looks at me.
I sigh. "Okay. Maybe a little."
His mouth lifts faintly, but the sadness in his eyes remains.
"Sophie," he says softly, "what are you afraid will happen if you talk to him?"
I grip the glass with both hands.
That question should be easy.
It isn't.
"I don't know," I say.
Samuel waits.
I stare down at the water.
"I'm afraid he'll explain everything in a way that makes me want to forgive him," I admit, my voice trembling slightly. "And I'm afraid he won't."
Samuel goes still.
My chest tightens as the words leave me.
"I'm afraid of hearing the truth," I continue. "Because once I know everything, I can't hide behind confusion anymore."
Samuel's gaze doesn't leave my face.
"And right now?" he asks quietly.
I close my eyes for a second.
"Right now, confusion is the only thing protecting me."
The room falls silent.
Samuel doesn't try to soften it with empty words.
That's one thing I've always liked about him. He doesn't lie just because the truth is painful.
After a while, he says, "Then I'll stay until you're ready."
My eyes open.
"You can't keep doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Staying."
His expression shifts, something deeper moving behind his calm.
"Yes," he says. "I can."
My heart gives a painful beat.
"Samuel…"
He looks down for a moment, then exhales slowly.
When he looks back at me, there is no hesitation in his eyes.
"I know you're not ready to hear this," he says. "And I'm not saying it to pressure you."
My breath catches.
"But I can't keep pretending I'm only here as your friend."
The words land between us with quiet force.
I don't move.
I don't breathe properly.
Samuel's voice remains steady, but there is a rawness underneath it now.
"I tried," he continues. "For a long time, I tried. In England. When you came back to Seoul. Even after I realized Harley was still inside every part of your life." He gives a faint, pained smile. "I told myself that being beside you was enough."
My eyes sting.
"Samuel…"
"No, let me finish." His voice is gentle, but firm. "Because I need you to know where I stand."
I nod once, unable to speak.
He shifts closer—not too close, but enough that I can feel the weight of him beside me.
"I care about you, Sophie. Not because you're hurt. Not because you're confused. Not because Harley made mistakes." His eyes hold mine. "I care about you because it's you."
My throat burns.
"I know your heart is complicated right now," he says. "I know part of it still belongs to him. Maybe most of it does."
I flinch slightly.
Samuel notices, but he doesn't stop.
"But I also know I can give you peace," he says. "I can give you something steady. Something honest. Something that doesn't keep tearing you apart."
Tears blur my vision before I can stop them.
Because he isn't wrong.
Samuel is steady.
Samuel is honest.
Samuel is here.
And Harley…
Harley is the storm I keep walking back into.
"I don't want to use you," I whisper.
His expression softens.
"You're not."
"I am," I say, shaking my head. "Maybe not on purpose, but I am. I'm scared, and you're here, and I don't know if what I feel is real or if I just need someone who doesn't hurt."
Samuel's face tightens, but not with anger.
With pain.
Still, he reaches out and gently wipes a tear from my cheek.
"You thinking that is exactly why I trust you," he says quietly.
I stare at him.
"Because you're still trying to be fair," he continues. "Even when you're the one falling apart."
Something inside me trembles.
His hand lingers near my cheek for one second too long.
And I don't move away.
The air changes.
Not suddenly.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like both of us know what could happen if either of us leans in too far.
Samuel's gaze drops briefly to my lips, then returns to my eyes.
My heart pounds.
I should pull back.
I should say something.
I should remind him—remind myself—that everything is too complicated.
But instead, I sit there.
Still.
Breathless.
Caught between safety and longing, between what hurts and what heals.
Samuel leans closer, just slightly.
Then he stops.
He closes his eyes for a brief moment, as if restraining himself, before pulling back.
"No," he murmurs.
My voice comes out barely audible. "No?"
He opens his eyes.
"Not like this," he says. "Not when you're hurting."
The tears fall then.
Not because he rejected me.
Because he didn't.
Because he cared enough not to take something from me when I was too broken to know what I was offering.
And that kind of love feels almost impossible to bear.
Samuel gently pulls me into his arms.
I go willingly.
My forehead rests against his shoulder, and for the first time in days, I let myself fall apart without trying to hide it.
He holds me through it.
No questions.
No demands.
No promises I'm too afraid to believe.
Just warmth.
Just presence.
Just Samuel.
And for one terrifying, fragile moment, I wonder if this is what love is supposed to feel like.
Not burning.
Not aching.
Not chasing.
Just… safe.
But even as I cry into his shoulder, even as his hand moves gently over my back, even as my body relaxes into him—
my heart betrays me.
Because somewhere beneath all the fear, beneath the comfort, beneath Samuel's steady arms—
I still hear Harley's voice.
Please talk to me.
And I hate myself a little for missing him.