She hasn’t noticed me yet, and for a moment I let myself see it the way it is—her in this room, the one place in the house that’s unapologetically me.
The big screen is dark. The pool table untouched. One of the recliners angled open like someone left it mid-argument about whose turn it was. The snack cabinet still ajar from two nights ago..
She’s noticed the Jordan pieces. I can tell by the way her gaze moves—slow, deliberate, respectful. Not impressed. Interested.
When she laughs softly at the high-score list, I almost smile.
Of course she clocked that.
She doesn’t touch anything. She never would without asking. She just takes it in—the worn leather, the scuffed footrests, the photographs that never made it anywhere else in the house.
The ones with Mark and Alex.
The ones with no women.
That matters more than I want to admit. Her seeing me.
I step fully into the room then. Not quietly. Not loud. Just enough.
She turns, surprise flickering briefly before easing into something warmer.
“Oh,” she says. “I was just?—”
“Exploring,” I finish easily.
She adjusts the blanket, a small, instinctive movement, then nods. “Your house tells stories.”
I glance around. “Some of them.”
She looks back at the Pac-Man machine. “You crushed them.”
I huff. “Alex never learns.”
Her smile lingers, thoughtful now. Curious in a way that doesn’t feel invasive—just honest.
“I didn’t realize,” she says slowly, gesturing to the room, “that this was… you.”
“It is,” I say. No qualifiers. No defenses. "Not many know this guy."
She meets my gaze, really meets it, and something unspoken passes between us. Not flirtation. Not tension.
Understanding.
For the first time since last night, I don’t feel like I’m managing a situation.
I feel like I’m standing in one.
She exhales, the fog catching up to her again, and her shoulders dip slightly.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “Just… tired.”
“Come sit,” I say leading her back to the living room, already moving to grab the blanket that slipped. I don’t touch her unless she sways—and even then, it’s just enough.
She sinks into the couch, the cushions giving way like they were waiting for her. I grab a pillow from the chair and slide it behind her back, adjust it once when she shifts.
She’s asleep within minutes.
