Sadie hums thoughtfully. “That’s a good thing, though, right?”
“I thought so, but now it feels weird,” I admit quietly. “Like, I’m not sure what the correct move is anymore. I mean, it’s too soon for me to consider something permanent with him, right?”
“You don’t have to decide everything right now.”
I chew my lip, staring at my desk, confusion about Mikey swirling around in my brain.
“Have you been by the studio today?” The question slips out casually, but I hear the slight edge of curiosity in my own voice.
Sadie pauses, and I know she catches it. “Yeah. I was there for a little while around lunchtime. He seemed normal. They were all really busy working on a new song.”
I nod slowly. “I don’t even know what this is yet,” I whisper. “I don’t want to rush or assume anything.”
“Then don’t,” her voice gentle. “Just let it be what it is. And Quinn, talk to him.”
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.” I exhale, tension easing slightly. “But I know I don’t want to mess it up.”
“You won’t.” Her confidence steadies me more than she knows. Until I get home. The apartment feels too quiet when he’s not here. I change clothes, make something simple to eat when Mikey’s not home by seven, and keep glancing at my phone.
Nothing. The silence stretches. Until a message finally comes from him around nine. It’s short and to the point:
Don’t wait up. Late night at the studio.
I stare at the screen longer than I should. Because that doesn’t sound like him. Relief flickers, because he texted. But something about the brevity makes my chest tighten. I set the phone down and wander through the apartment, turning off lights, straightening things that don’t need straightening. The quiet feels heavier tonight.
Eventually I stand at the end of the hallway. Two doors. My room. His room. I stare at them longer than I mean to, fingers tightening around my phone. If I sleep in his bed, what does that mean? If I don’t what does that mean? The apartment hums softly around me, the city distant outside the windows.
I take a slow breath and walk down the hallway.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mikey
Cliche
MGK
The apartment isdark when I finally get home. It’s after midnight and my shoulders ache from hours behind the kit, the steady thrum of bass still vibrating somewhere in my bones. I close the door quietly behind me, dropping my keys onto the counter, letting the silence settle.
It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that makes me immediately aware of her impending absence. I kick off my shoes and run a hand through my hair, glancing toward the hallway. A soft glow spills from one of the rooms. It’s faint, warm, almost hesitant.
My chest tightens. I didn’t think about this all day. Okay, that’s a lie. I thought about it constantly. The apartment. The call. The way she looked at me when I told her.
I tell myself staying late at the studio made sense. But standing here now, I know I wasn’t just working. I was over thinking. Definitely avoiding. The floor creaks under my weight as I move down the hallway, slowing instinctively.
Two doors. One slightly open. The other closed. My breath catches before I even realize why. The door to my room is open. I step closer, peering inside. She’s there. Curled up in the middle under the blankets, hair spread across my pillow, breathing slow and even. One arm tucked beneath her cheek like she fell asleep waiting for something she won’t admit she was waiting for.
Something inside me eases. I don’t even realize I was holding tension until it melts.
She chose this room. My bed. She chose us. I lean against the doorframe, just watching her for a long moment. The soft rise and fall of her breathing. The way she’s tangled in my sheets like she belongs there. The thought hits quiet but hard. I want this.
I step inside carefully, moving slow so I don’t wake her. The mattress dips when I sit on the edge, and she shifts, a sleepy sound slipping from her lips. Her eyes blink open. Confused at first, then soft.
“You’re home,” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
“Yeah.” I brush a strand of hair from her face, fingers lingering longer than they need to.
“Sorry I woke you. It’s late.”
