There’s nothing there. Not even the thread from before. No name. No number. Nothing to suggest it ever existed. Nothing to suggestIexist at all.
Something settles in my chest. This isn’t coincidence. It’s not bad timing. Not a glitch.
It’s gone. Removed.
I set the phone back down slowly, my fingers lingering before I pull away.
The apartment feels different now. Not smaller, exactly. More contained. Like everything inside it has been decided. Like nothing unexpected can happen here.
It feels like my life has been reduced. Some parts are better, of course, but it’s almost like the outside world doesn’t need to exist. And it keeps going without me. Not wondering where I’ve been and why I don’t show up anymore.
My gaze drifts to the door. Closed. Still. I don’t go to it. I don’t need to check it again. I already know.
Footsteps sound behind me. I don’t tense, just wait for him to arrive.
He comes up behind me, close enough that I feel the shift in the air before his hand settles at my waist.
My body reacts instantly. Heat, low and immediate, pulls tight through me before I can think. I exhale slowly and my shoulders loosen.
His hand slides, drawing me back into him.
I let it happen. I don’t even question it.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs.
I don’t answer because there’s no need. My body leans back into him, closing the space.
His other arm comes around me, settling like it belongs. Like I do. “There’s nothing out there for you.” The words land softly. He’s confident, and there’s no edge behind them because he doesn’t need one.
My gaze drops, unfocused. I think about the phone. The silence. The way everything outside of this space has just stopped.
He’s right. Or it feels like he is.
“You’re already mine. And I’m all you need.”
My breath catches slightly. That should feel heavier. It should push something in me to react. To argue. To reject it. Instead, it settles. Like something circling finally found a place to land.
I shift slightly in his arms, turning just enough that I can look at him. “What if I need space? This is a lot to deal with, being here. I’m grateful, but I feel like I’m shrinking.” I pause, then look up at him. “What if I leave? Even if it’s just for a while?” The question comes out quieter than I expect.
His gaze holds mine. Unmoving. “You won’t.”
My chest tightens. Because I believe him. Not completely, but enough that the question doesn’t go anywhere else. Enough that I don’t try to prove him wrong.
My eyes drift from his, back to the room. Everything is the same. Unchanged. Contained. Just like me. My body stays where it is, held against him, fitting into the space he’s made without resistance.
I could step away. Nothing is physically stopping me. No hand forcing me. No pressure holding me in place—although I wouldn’t put it past him if I did try. He’s shown what he’s capable of.
And still, I don’t move. I stay exactly where I am. Not because I have to, but because something in me has already settled.
His hand moves at my waist—slow, absent—like he’s not thinking about it. Like this is normal. How it’s supposed to be.
I close my eyes for a second. Not to block anything out. Just to feel it. The quiet. The stillness. Him.
When I open them again, nothing has changed.
I’m still here. Still in his arms. Still not leaving.
Because he’s the only thing that feels solid.