“It makes perfect sense,” I say. “Because it’s not about the place. It’s about the feeling.”
She looks up at me then—big eyes, vulnerable in a way she rarely lets me see.
Something in me gives up resisting.
I step closer.
Not touching yet. Just inhabiting the air between us.
Her breath catches.
“Tony…” she whispers.
I brush a knuckle along her jawline, slow, deliberate. Her skin warms under my touch. She leans in instinctively.
“You don’t have to be afraid here,” I say.
“I’m not afraid of here,” she says. “I’m afraid of… this.”
She gestures between us.
Yeah. Me too.
But I won’t say it.
I take her hand, intertwining our fingers. “You’re staying in here tonight.”
Her eyes widen.
“Nothing’s happening,” I add, thumb stroking her palm. “Unless you want it to. This is about safety. You understand?”
She nods slowly, eyes never leaving mine.
I let go of her hand only long enough to pull back the blankets. She climbs in hesitantly, as if she’s not sure she’s allowed, and that alone squeezes something painful in my chest.
I circle to the other side and lie beside her, leaving space.
Enough space to keep a promise.
Not enough to feel distant.
The lamp clicks off.
Darkness settles.
Silence stretches.
Then—
“Tony?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me be here.”
