I don’t ask who.
I don’t need to.
His ex.His father.His dealer.Doesn’t matter.
Whatever the voice on the other end of that call said, it carved something sharp into him.Left him running through the rain, clothes still on in the shower, too full to speak.
I slide my hand up his back, letting it rest at the nape of his neck.“You don’t have to carry it alone,” I murmur.“Not in here.”
He’s silent for a long beat.“You do this often?Offer yourself up to strangers who look like they’re drowning?”
I almost smile.“No.I usually just fold towels and stay invisible.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me.There’s something clearer in his face now.Not joy.Not relief.But recognition.
“You didn’t stay invisible tonight.”
“No,” I say.“You didn’t let me.”
He nods slowly and looks down at my chest, his hand still resting there like it belongs.
“I don’t know if I’m coming back.”
“You don’t have to know,” I say gently.“But if you do… I’ll be here.”
His hand tightens just slightly on my skin, then relaxes again.And he says, almost to himself, “Yeah.Okay.”
The stranger dresses in silence.No hurry.No apology.Just quiet movements, like the storm inside him has finally passed through.His hoodie is still damp, his jeans wrinkled from the floor, but he pulls them on anyway.No one comes here expecting to leave cleaner than they arrived.
He doesn’t look at me when he opens the door.But he lingers.One foot in the hall, one still inside.Then, without turning, he says, “Thanks, Luca.”
Just my name.
He cared enough to search it out.Maybe he saw it on the placard at the front desk.Maybe he asked someone.Or maybe… he’s been watching me longer than I’ve watched him.
The thought slips in gently, like a tide coming back.It doesn’t feel invasive.It feelsintimate.Like somewhere in the silence of his nights, he made space for me, too.
And now, I feel as if we’re not strangers any longer.Even though I still don’t know what to call him.Not his name.Not where he’s from.Not what he’s running from, or toward.
But I know the feel of his breath when he’s close.I know the sound he makes when he lets go.I know the way his body folds into itself and then, slowly, carefully, unfolds again when it’s safe.
I nod even though he can’t see it.The door clicks shut behind him, but I stay in the room a minute longer, letting the silence settle.The air’s still warm, still thick with what happened here, but it doesn’t feel heavy.
Not like the others.This one feelsearned.
When I finally step out, the hallway looks the same.Same dim lights.Same scuffed floors.Same distant sound of someone laughing a little too loudly in a private room two doors down.
But I’m not the same.I go back to the front desk.Wipe down the counter.Restock the towels.And then I sit, lean back in the chair, and stare at the door he walked out of.
I still don’t know his name, but I hope I see him again.Maybe next time, he’ll give me the chance to discover it.
4EPISODE 4
Aguy walks in just after eleven.Hoodie zipped to the neck, ball cap pulled low.His hands are stuffed in his pockets.He stops just inside the door like he’s not sure if he’s too early or too late.
First-timer.I can always tell.
He’s trying to look casual, but his eyes are scanning everything—posters, lockers, the hallway behind me—like he’s trying to memorize the place before someone catches him looking lost.
