With Lucy, it felt like a different city.
She wanted to walk everywhere. Wanted to stop and look and taste and linger. She dragged me into bakeries because of the smell, into bookstores because of the feeling, onto quiet bridges just to stand and watch the river move.
She looked at the world like it was still capable of surprising her.
I watched her watch it, feeling like she was sharing her magic with me in these moments.
That night, when the city pressed in around us, she pressed into me just as easily. Like closeness wasn’t something she had to negotiate. Like my arms were where she wanted to be.
We didn’t talk about the contract.
We didn’t need to.
Everything about us felt… chosen.
On the drive home from the airport, she was curled into my side, half-asleep. I buried my face in her hair and breathed her in, and a heavy and unfamiliar feeling settled deep.
I thought it was gratitude.And maybe that was part of it.
I murmured it without thinking.
“Thank you for saying yes,” I said quietly. “Thank you for letting me live my life by your side.”
She shifted slightly and sighed into my jacket... and then she said it.“I love you, Julian.”
The words swallowed me whole, pulling me under.
Not because I didn’t believe her.
Not because I didn’t feel it.
But because something in me… froze.
My body reacted before my mind did. Muscles locking. Breath catching. A sharp, disorienting sense of being exposed in a way I had never experienced before.
Love was not something that hadeverbeen spoken to me.
Not as a declaration.
Not as something I was allowed to hold.
I didn’t know what to do with it.
So, I did what I’ve always done when something threatens to dismantle me.
I pulled away.
I told myself I needed perspective. Space. Control.
I convinced myself distance was responsible.
I convinced myselfwrong.
Theo knew it before I did.
We fought about it two days later, voices sharp, tempers shorter than usual.
“When was the last time you were home with her?” he demanded.
