"Alright," he says."But I'm here.If you need to tell me anything."He cups my face, thumb stroking my cheek, and just as he's about to kiss me, guilt hits me like a brick.
"I've been having nightmares again," I blurt out."About the accident."
He pulls back to look at me properly, concern spreading across his face.Then he takes my hand in both of his like it's something precious.
"How bad?"he asks, and I can hear he gets it.
"Not as bad as they were when I started seeing..."I pause, realizing I never told him about therapy."My therapist.But being back here, it's like my brain can't tell what's real and what's memory."
"I don't know what it's like for you after the accident," he says, tracing circles on my hand with his thumb.We both watch him do it, hypnotized."But I know what it's like when your own head feels like the enemy."
"How do you make it stop?"I ask quietly.
He's quiet for ages, still doing those circles.
"I don't know that you can," he says finally."You just learn to live with it.Your mind thinks it's protecting you, even when it's doing a shit job.Eventually you find ways to make the noise a little less loud."
We sit in this different kind of silence.Heavier but somehow lighter too.
"Can I ask you something?"he says."Because it's been doing my head in."
"Yeah."
"What do you want?"he asks."For us.For after."
Instead of words, I look at him, lean in, and kiss him.
That's my answer.
When I pull back, he's smiling—not his usual smirk, but something real.
"I want this," I say, gesturing between us."I know we need to figure stuff out?—"
He cuts me off with another kiss, cupping my face.This one's different—deeper, like a promise.When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
"I want that too," he says.
The sun's almost gone now, the sky is amber and pink.Something about how still it is, feels like what we're doing—learning to wait, to trust that the right moment will come.
"What?"Nate asks with that smirk, because I'm obviously staring at him like an idiot.
"You ever have those moments where everything feels like..."I search for words."Like you're in the eye of a storm.Like the world's holding its breath."
He pulls me close so my head's on his shoulder, arm tight around me.I can feel his cheek against my hair, and for a second everything else disappears.
"We're going to make it this time," I whisper into his shoulder.
Nate doesn't answer, just holds me tighter.
Something about his silence doesn't feel like agreement, and I don't know what to do with that.I try to let it go, focus on his arms around me and the water lapping against the dock, but doubt's already there.
Some conversations end with words.
Others end with what you don't say.
As the sun disappears, I close my eyes and try to believe that silence doesn't always mean something's wrong.
Sometimes it just means the story isn't ready yet.
