"Like marrying Elizabeth." He paused. "I used to think I was being strategic. Playing the long game. But really, I was just scared. Scared of what would happen if I actually fought for something I wanted."
I understood that fear. I'd lived inside it for years, building walls so high I couldn't see over them.
"You fought yesterday," I said. "When you told me you were leaving."
"That wasn't fighting. That was surrendering."
"It was both." I tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "You stood up for yourself. Drew a line. Said what you needed."
"And then you almost let me walk out the door."
"I almost did." I didn't look away from the truth of it. "I was terrified. Of wanting you, of needing you, of what it would mean if I let myself have this."
"And now?"
"Now I'm still terrified." I pulled him closer. "But I'm more afraid of losing you than of wanting you. So I guess that's progress."
He kissed me softly. "It's progress."
Eventually, we had to get up.
Tobias claimed the shower first, and I lay in bed listening to the water run, marveling at how different the apartment felt. The same four walls, the same worn furniture, the same view out the window. But everything had shifted. The silence that used to feel empty now felt full. Waiting. Like the space itself was holding its breath for whatever came next.
When Tobias emerged, wrapped in a towel and trailing steam, I had to forcibly remind myself that we couldn't spend all day in bed.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're considering dragging me back to bed."
"I'm always considering that."
He laughed. A real laugh, bright and unguarded. Something in my chest expanded a little wider.
"Coffee first," he said. "Then you can think about it."
Over coffee, we discussed what came next.
"Your family's going to keep looking for you," I said. "The longer you stay hidden, the more desperate they'll become."
"I know." He wrapped his hands around his mug, watching the steam rise. "I've been thinking about that. I can't hide forever."
"No."
"But I'm not ready to face them yet. I need..." He paused, searching for words. "I need to figure out who I am first. Outside of them. Outside of what they wanted me to be."
"And what do you want to be?"
He looked at me. "I don't know yet. But I want to find out." A small smile. "With you, if you'll let me."
"I'll let you." I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine. "Whatever you need."
"Even if it's messy?"
"Especially then."
He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through mine. We sat like that for a long moment, not speaking, just existing together in the space we'd created.
