I think about the rehearsal.
About how fast her color drained.
I recognized that look.
It’s the same one players use when they pretend a hit didn’t rattle them. When they insist they’re good and wave off the trainer while their hands shake.
The body keeps its own score.
Hers just happens to be louder when it decides it’s done pretending.
I don’t blame her for it. I don’t think she’s weak.
But I know she does.
I heard it in the song. In the way her voice tightened around certain words, like she was angry at herself for needing anything at all.
That… sits wrong with me.
I straighten, roll my shoulders, try to shake it off. This isn’t my place. This isn’t my damage. Getting emotionally invested is how you lose control of the situation.
And control is the only thing keeping this from getting messy.
Footsteps sound softly behind me.
I turn just as she steps into the kitchen.
Her hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, a few strands already slipping free. No makeup. No armor. She looks smaller like this. Not fragile. Just unguarded.
She startles slightly when she sees me, then relaxes when she realizes it’s just me.
“Oh,” she says. “Hey.” Her voice is normal again. Controlled. Like she didn’t just leave pieces of herself in the studio.
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
I don’t know how to acknowledge what I heard without crossing a line. I don’t know how to pretend I didn’t without lying.
So I split the difference.
“Hey,” I say back. Neutral. Steady.
She moves toward the kettle, hands busy, eyes down. Normal behavior. Safe behavior. I can see the effort it takes.
There’s a pause. Thick. Weighted.
I want to tell her she doesn’t have to explain herself. That her body didn’t fail her today. That she doesn’t owe anyone strength on demand.
I don’t.
Because saying any of that would mean admitting how much I heard.
So I stay where I am. Grounded. Present. Quiet.
And for the first time since this arrangement started, I realize something uncomfortable.
Being her protector is easy.
Seeing her like this—and still telling myself I can keep my distance—
