I looked at her. At the only person who has ever stood beside me without trying to fix me or fuck me or use me. And I realized for the first time in a long time that maybe I wasn’t doing this alone.
“Thanks,” I said softly.
“Always.”
I stood, stretching, trying to shake the nerves crawling under my skin. “God, I feel like I’m about to walk into an execution.”
Thalia laughed. “No, babe. You’re walking into a new beginning.”
Maybe I was ready for it. Maybe I wasn’t. But I’d spent so long begging him to stop running, to turn around and face me. Now it was my turn to stand still. To stay.
He had done everything I asked—every impossible thing. The only question left was: Was I ready to do the same?
I kissed Thalia on the cheek, murmured a soft thank you and headed to my room, dragging my feet. I didn’t have the strength to talk anymore. Her silence said she understood. She always did. She was the only one who ever had—until Theo.
I shut my door. Let it snick into place like a lid, sealing off a too-full jar. The weight fell from me like a sodden jacket, too heavy to carry any further. I didn’t bother undressing. Didn’t care that my boots were caked in grass and mud, or that I was still wearing the same clothes I wore to work last night. I let myself fall onto the mattress face-first, blackout blinds muting the world in a way even silence couldn’t.
The exhaustion wasn’t just in my muscles. It had rooted itself in my marrow. Wrapped around my lungs like iron chains. I could still feel it—that tight coil of tension pulled taut for years, finally starting to snap.
And last night? It had cut me open. Memories hit like rapid fire as my eyes fell closed. Theo standing in front of his father—hisfather—and a marquee full of people, voice shaking,shoutingmy name. Not caring who heard. Not caring what it cost him.
Theo told his truth. He walked away from power, from prestige, from the legacy that shaped and scarred him. He walked away from everything. And ran straight into me.
Said he lovedme.
Me. The fuck-up. The disappointment. The boy nobody ever wanted to keep. And now? I had everything I ever wanted. And I had no fucking clue how to hold it without breaking it.
The door creaked open. I didn’t move. My body wouldn’t let me. My eyes refused to open. Half-asleep. Half-scared.
“Sin?” Theo’s voice. Low. Barely a whisper. Like he thought even that might scare me off.
I rolled onto my side after a few steadying deep breaths. He was framed by the hall light, looking like a question in human form. One I’d never been brave enough to answer before.
He hovered in the doorway, like he was waiting for permission to be here. But he didn’t need it. He always belonged here. In this room. In my chaos. Inme.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I said hoarsely. “I guess that’s my version of a cry for help.”
Theo stepped in. Closed the door behind him gently, like he grew up in a house where slamming doors meant pain. He crossed the floor in quiet, careful steps and sat at the edge of the bed—but didn’t touch me yet.
“I didn’t want to assume,” he murmured.
“You didn’t,” I whispered. “I’m just… fucked in the head.”
He looked at me then, eyes stripping away the layers of bravado I wore like amour. There was no pity in those green depths. Just heartbreak and understanding—which was somehow worse. Pity you could survive.This… chipped away at something in me.
“I keep thinking this isn’t real,” I said. “That I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. Or worse, still here…but not with me—with her. That I’ll ruin it. That I’ll ruinyou.And maybe that’d be easier than watching you go piece by piece.”
Theo leaned forward. Close enough that I could feel his breath on my lips. “Can I touch you, sweetheart?” he asked.
That question… fuck. It broke me. “Y-yeah,” I rasped. “Please.”
He reached for my hand and laced his fingers through mine. His grip was warm, solid. Real.
“I’ve spent most of my life being told how I felt was wrong,” he said. “That I was broken. Sick. That what I needed—what Iwas—could be cured. Erased.”
I didn’t breathe. Just listened. No matter how many times he told me, it hurt like it was the first. But I’d learned the more you spoke about something the less power it held over you.
“He put me in that place when I was fifteen. Told me it’d make me better,” He started. “It didn’t. It just taught me to smile through pain. To pretend I wasn’t drowning. To fake normal so well, I forgot what it meant tofeelanything.” He swallowed hard. His voice trembled, but he didn’t stop. “Then I met you, Sin.”
