He didn't argue. He crossed to the kitchen, pulled out more candles, and lit them with efficient movements. The apartment brightened. Shadows retreated. The walls stopped pressing in.
Then he came to stand in front of the couch, looking down at me with an unreadable expression.
"What happened?"
"Nothing. Just..." I shook my head. "It got dark. That's all."
"Tobias."
The way he said my name. Like it mattered. Like I mattered.
I felt something give way inside me.
"I kept thinking you weren't coming back."
The words spilled out before I could stop them. Too honest. Too vulnerable. The kind of thing I'd learned never to say, because saying it gave people power.
Vance was quiet for a moment. Then he sat beside me on the couch, not touching but close enough that I could feel his warmth. His knee was inches from mine. The space between us felt charged.
"I'll always come back," he said. "You know that."
I nodded, even though I didn't know that. I couldn't know that. People made promises they couldn't keep. People left, and they didn't always mean to, and it didn't matter because they were still gone.
"Hey." His voice was softer now. Closer. "Look at me."
I did.
His gray eyes were steady in the candlelight. Serious. Intent.
"I'll always come back," he said again. "As long as you want me to."
Something shifted in my chest. The ice cracked. The fear loosened its grip, just a little.
"Okay," I whispered.
We sat like that for a while. Not touching, but close. The storm raged outside, but it felt distant now. Less threatening.
"You need a drink," Vance said finally. He stood, crossed to the kitchen, and returned with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. Cheap stuff, the kind you buy in bulk and don't think about.
He poured a generous three fingers into each glass and handed me one.
We ended up on the floor, backs against the couch, shoulders almost touching. The candles flickered on the coffee table, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
"Hotel was chaos," Vance said, breaking the silence. "Backup generators kicked in, but the main system took two hours to reset. Guests panicked. Staff ran around in the dark."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It's the job." He took a long sip. "I wanted to leave earlier. Couldn't."
Warmth spread through me at the admission. He'd wanted to come back. He'd been thinking about it.
"Were there injuries?"
"Nothing serious. One twisted ankle. A lot of complaining."
I took a sip of bourbon. It burned going down, warm and sharp, settling in my stomach like a small fire.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here," he said after a while.
