Routine Comfort
1403 Words
The smell hit her first—salt air and espresso. Cassian’s place always smelled like that, even in the middle of the day. The balcony doors were open, letting in the breeze from the beach, and the Miami sunlight spilled across the wooden floors in sharp, golden lines.
Eva didn’t knock. She never did. He left the door unlocked when he expected her, and he always expected her after days like today.
She slipped her shoes off by the door and padded into the living room, dropping her tote bag onto the plush, sand-colored couch. He was in the kitchen, shirtless, barefoot, holding a mug that steamed in one hand while he stared into nothing.
“You’re home early,” she said softly.
Cassian turned his head slightly. No smile. No witty comeback. Just a small nod. “Didn’t feel like staying on campus.”
Eva crossed the room and leaned against the counter. He didn’t offer her coffee. He didn’t need to. She grabbed a mug from the shelf, poured some from the French press he always had going, and took a slow sip.
“You okay?” she asked, though the answer sat heavy in the air already.
He rubbed the back of his neck and sat down on one of the stools by the island. “She cried.”
Eva leaned back against the counter. “You mean... the girl?”
“Yeah.” He looked down at the dark swirl of coffee in his mug. “She told me she loved me.”
A beat of silence.
Eva kept her voice light, but there was a quiet edge to it. “And you said?”
He gave a humorless chuckle. “Told her, ‘Of course you do.’”
Eva looked at him, long and hard. Then shook her head. “You’re a disaster, Cassian Vale.”
“I know.”
He didn’t argue it, didn’t try to defend himself. He didn’t even look guilty. Just tired.
She moved around the counter and sank onto the stool beside him. “You could’ve said something better. You didn’t have to be cruel.”
“I wasn’t trying to be cruel,” he muttered. “I just... don’t see the point in pretending.”
His fingers drummed against the ceramic. Restless. Quiet. Eva watched his hand, how tightly he held onto the mug, like it was anchoring him.
“I don’t get it, Eva,” he said after a pause. “I do everything right. I make them feel good. I listen when I need to. I never ask for anything. I give and give and they still end up broken.”
“Because you don’t give them you,” she said gently.
He looked at her then. Really looked at her. His eyes weren’t cold, but confused, like someone trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.
“I try,” he said. “But I don’t... feel things the way they do. I don’t get why love has to be a condition for everything. Why it can’t just be... simple.”
“Because for most people, it’s not.”
Cassian was quiet. The waves outside curled and crashed, steady as a heartbeat.
Then, barely above a whisper, “Is something wrong with me?”
The words hung in the air, heavier than they should’ve been.
Eva’s throat tightened. She reached out, her hand resting lightly over his. His knuckles were cold, tense beneath her palm.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said. “You’ve been through things most people couldn’t even begin to understand. You learned to survive, not to feel. That’s not your fault.”
He didn’t pull away. But he didn’t squeeze her hand back either.
“She said I used her,” he continued, voice low, distant. “That I made her feel wanted just for the sake of it. But I did want her. I just didn’t want... more. Isn’t that enough?”
“For some people? Maybe,” Eva said. “But not for the ones looking for love.”
He exhaled slowly, setting the mug down. “Every time I get close, it falls apart. And I don’t even feel bad when it does. I should, right? But I don’t. Not really. I just move on.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re broken, Cass.”
He ran a hand through his hair. It was slightly damp again—he’d probably showered after class, trying to wash away something he couldn’t name.
“I think I’ve been numb for so long I forgot what it’s like to care,” he said. “And every time I think I might feel something, it slips.”
Eva didn’t speak for a long moment. Then she said, “You cared when your mom died.”
He flinched, just slightly. “That was different.”
“You cared when you stopped coming over to my house because your dad got married and everything changed.”
He looked at her now, eyes searching hers.
“You cared,” she repeated, softer. “You just forgot how to hold onto it.”
Cassian swallowed hard. “Sometimes I think... maybe I’m not meant to be loved. Maybe I only know how to give pieces, but not the whole thing.”
“Or maybe,” Eva said carefully, “you’re just waiting for the right person to ask for the whole thing.”
Silence fell again. But this time it didn’t feel cold. It was full, waiting.
She stood slowly. “I’ll heat up some leftovers.”
He didn’t stop her. Just watched her walk to the fridge, like he always did—like he needed to see her moving around in his space to believe she was really there.
That was their rhythm. Unspoken. She came over when he didn’t have words. She stayed even when he didn’t ask. She filled the silence without trying to fix it.
And he let her.
When she set a plate down in front of him, he looked up.
“Thanks,” he said.
Eva smiled, but it felt more like a reflex than genuine warmth. She turned to grab her own plate from the kitchen, her mind still trying to piece together the conversation they’d just had. But when she returned, Cassian had already moved, standing near the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone.
She placed her plate beside his and looked up at him.
“I’m going to throw a party tonight,” he said, his voice flat but decisive. “Something big. Something loud. Get some people over here, set up a few drinks, let the music do its thing. I think it’s about the right way to deal with all this shit.”
Eva paused, brows knitting together in confusion. "A party?"
Cassian didn’t look up from his phone. He swiped a few more times, before dropping the phone on the counter and looking at her. “Yeah. I’ve already sent out the invites. It's already on my IG story—should be fun.”
Eva's stomach twisted. A party. It wasn’t what she expected. Not after the conversation they'd just had. She’d been expecting more silence, more of him pulling away. Not this.
“You’re just going to... pretend everything’s fine?” Her voice was quieter than she meant it to be.
Cassian shrugged; his expression unreadable. "It's easier that way."
She wasn’t sure whether it was the desperation in his words or the cold finality of his tone that unsettled her.
“So, you want me to help?” she asked, unsure if she was asking out of obligation or something deeper, something she didn’t have the words for yet.
Cassian’s lips twisted into something close to a grin, though it was more of a mask than a smile. "Of course I do. You’re the only one who actually knows where the good bottles are hidden."
Eva let out a small laugh, though it didn’t reach her eyes. She tried to make sense of it—Cassian, this chaotic, self-destructive storm, trying to drown out everything with noise. It wasn’t unusual for him to turn to distractions, but she didn’t think it would happen this soon. She thought—hoped—he might lean into the silence, even if just for a little while.
But that was Cassian. He was always running, always hiding from something.
- Writer
