sixteen
1209 Words
The house felt different after Victoria left.
Quieter.
But not in the calm way it had before.
Now it felt like something had been stirred beneath the surface—and was waiting.
I didn’t follow Max inside straight away.
I stayed out on the patio, letting the cool air settle my thoughts, trying to slow everything down.
But it wouldn’t slow.
Because now I knew.
Or at least… I knew enough to understand that I didn’t know enough.
And that was worse.
“You’re still out here.”
Max’s voice came from behind me.
I turned.
He’d changed—his jacket gone, sleeves rolled slightly, like he was trying to step out of whatever that conversation had been.
But it hadn’t worked.
Not completely.
“Just thinking,” I said.
“That can be dangerous.”
“So I’m starting to realise.”
A small pause.
Then he stepped closer.
Not too close.
But closer than before.
“Are you going to keep pushing?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I don’t like being in the dark,” I said. “Especially when it feels like something could go wrong.”
“Nothing is going to go wrong.”
“You don’t know that.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“I do.”
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
Silence settled between us.
Not sharp this time.
Just… heavy.
Then—
“I didn’t bring you into this to put you at risk,” he said.
“I know.”
“Then trust that.”
“I’m trying.”
That seemed to catch him off guard slightly.
“Trying?” he repeated.
“Yes,” I said. “Because despite everything, I don’t think you’d deliberately put me in danger.”
His gaze softened—just slightly.
“I wouldn’t.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
The honesty of it surprised both of us.
Because it was true.
Somehow, even with everything I didn’t understand—
I trusted him.
Not completely.
Not blindly.
But enough.
And that was dangerous.
⸻
We moved back inside together.
This time, the silence felt different.
Less tense.
More… aware.
Like we were both adjusting to something new.
Something unspoken.
I followed him into the kitchen again, leaning against the counter as he poured two drinks.
“You drink?” he asked.
“Sometimes.”
He handed me a glass.
I took it.
Our fingers brushed again.
That same spark.
Stronger this time.
I pulled my hand back slightly.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn’t comment.
⸻
“Sit,” he said, nodding toward the living room.
I did.
This time, I didn’t sit as far away.
Not close.
But closer.
A small shift.
But it mattered.
We sat in silence for a moment.
Then—
“Why me?” I asked again.
His head turned slightly toward me.
“You’ve asked that before.”
“I still don’t feel like I’ve had a real answer.”
He studied me for a second.
Then said—
“Because you’re not like the people in my world.”
“That’s not a compliment,” I said.
“It is.”
“How?”
“Because you’re real,” he replied. “You don’t calculate every move. You don’t pretend to be something you’re not.”
I frowned slightly. “You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
“That’s what you keep saying.”
“And it hasn’t been wrong so far.”
I looked down at my glass.
Because again—
He wasn’t wrong.
“You could have anyone,” I said quietly. “Someone who already fits into your life. Someone who understands all of this.”
“I don’t want that.”
“Why not?”
“Because they come with expectations.”
“And I don’t?”
“You come with honesty.”
The words settled between us.
Unexpected.
Uncomfortable.
Real.
“That’s a risky choice,” I said.
“I’m aware.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Yes.”
I looked at him properly then.
At the way he said it.
Like it wasn’t even a question.
Like he’d already decided.
And that was that.
“You didn’t hesitate,” I said.
“About what?”
“This,” I gestured slightly between us. “The agreement. Me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
A small pause.
Then—
“Because I don’t second-guess decisions I’ve already made.”
“That sounds… confident.”
“It’s practical.”
“Or stubborn.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “That too.”
I smiled slightly.
Then—
“What happens if this stops being just an agreement?” I asked.
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
His expression changed.
Subtle.
But there.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You know what I mean.”
Silence.
Then—
“It won’t,” he said.
The answer was immediate.
Controlled.
Clear.
And for some reason—
That stung.
“Oh,” I said quietly.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
“That’s not—” he started.
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “That’s what we agreed.”
“Yes.”
“Boundaries.”
“Yes.”
“Right.”
I took a sip of my drink, even though I didn’t need it.
Because suddenly—
I felt something shift.
Not big.
Not obvious.
Just… there.
And I didn’t like it.
“You’re thinking too much again,” he said.
“I warned you that was dangerous.”
“That doesn’t mean you should stop.”
“It means I should be careful.”
“With what?”
“Expectations.”
The word hung in the air.
Heavy.
Real.
I nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s probably a good idea.”
The evening softened after that.
Not tense.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… quieter.
We talked about smaller things again.
Easier things.
Like he’d deliberately shifted us away from the edge of something neither of us wanted to fall into.
And I let him.
Because it was easier.
Safer.
Less complicated.
Later, as I stood outside my room, I hesitated.
My hand resting lightly on the door.
I could hear faint movement down the hall.
Max.
In his space.
Separate.
Clear.
Boundaries.
I should go inside.
Close the door.
Keep things simple.
That’s what this was supposed to be.
But for some reason—
I didn’t move straight away.
Because something had changed tonight.
Something small.
Something quiet.
But something real.
And I didn’t know what to do with it.
Inside my room, I sat on the edge of the bed again.
The same place as last night.
But it felt different.
Less foreign.
More… mine.
I leaned back slowly, staring at the ceiling.
“What are you doing?” I whispered to myself.
Because this wasn’t part of the plan.
This—
Whatever this was—
Wasn’t supposed to happen.
It was supposed to be simple.
A deal.
A solution.
Nothing more.
And yet…
It didn’t feel like nothing anymore.
Down the hall, a door closed softly.
And this time—
I noticed.
- Writer
