A studio apartment.
A two-bedroom apartment.
I’ve attached the floor plans for both options for your review. I know you mentioned wanting immediate availability, so we’d be happy to add you to a waiting list in case something opens up before February.
If you have any questions or need further information, feel free to reach out. I’m available to chat anytime between 8:00 AM and 5:00 PM this week.
Looking forward to hearing from you!
Best regards,
Peter
February 1st. That was in mere weeks.
He’d applied for a new apartment… when did he do it? Why? Would he have told me? Oh god. My stomach rolled, my biggest fear actually happening. He’d move out. He didn’t want to be with me. We’d fade, and he’d leave my life.
My chest tightened, a familiar weight pressing down on me. He was already planning to leave—had probably been planning it for weeks. How long had he been thinking about this without saying a fucking word? Did I miss all the signs?
Was it something I did? Am I too much? Did I scare him off?The questions came fast, too fast, spiraling through my mind until I couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. My palms felt clammy, and I gripped the laptop like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.
The email stared back at me, mocking me. The words blurred together, but one line stood out, bold and sharp: "We can put you on a waiting list between now and February." A waiting list. He’d already thought it through, had already planned for the possibility that he’d move sooner. Did he really want to leave that badly?
My heart sank deeper as fear crawled up my spine, icy and relentless.He’s going to leave. Just like everyone else. It’s happening again, and I can’t stop it.The familiar sting of abandonment burned at the back of my throat.
And yet, beneath the fear, a flicker of anger ignited. Why wouldn’t he tell me? I gritted my teeth, my nails digging into my palms. I was hisbestfriend. Fuck it. If he was looking at apartments, then he made a choice to leave without communicating with me. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t live without him. He made his choice, and I couldn’t take any more hits.
Slowly, painfully, I rearranged the ice around my heart, a fragile, shallow case protecting an already battered organ. This was good. It wasgoodI saw this. It let me prepare for whatever fucking conversation he wanted to have. I knew his plan.
Maybe this is what he wanted to tell me.
Maybe this is why he avoided me all week.
The pieces moved together, clicking like a puzzle, and I fought another urge to throw up. He used to make me feel like I was the only person in his life, that he saw all of me. Hell, a part of me thought he was in love with me, but then when I started opening up, caring for him, he pulled away and wanted to move out.
Brushing my hair behind my ears, I marked the emailunread, shut his laptop, and walked back to his room. I wanted Logan. I wanted to cry. I wanted to hit a fucking wall. The first time I thought about actually trying with someone, and he wanted to leave before we even tried.
Never again.
I never wanted to feel this way again.
“Here’s your laptop,” I said, somehow sounding normal as I walked back into his room. He sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing as he adjusted his position. The bandage on his incision looked fresh, and the pang in my chest fucking ached to be with him.
His gaze landed on me, and he smiled. The lazy, half-grin that made his dimple pop and his eyes sparkle. He looked like he liked me, not like he was moving out. “Thank you for getting that. I feel annoying asking for help.”
“No big deal.” I set the device on the table near him, then moved toward his desk chair to sit. “Do you need anything else?”
He tilted his head, like he sensed the change in my tone. “For you to sit by me.”
I hesitated. “You said you wanted to talk. What did you want to talk about?”
