A thousand years

Breakfast and confessions

Lucas balanced a tray loaded with toast, sliced bread, and steaming mugs. Mila darted beside him, her fingers brushing his as she arranged the jam jars. Her cheeks flushed when their eyes met, quick and hidden.

Estelle stepped out of the bathroom, her work blouse tucked neat, hair pulled back. She paused in the doorway, towel still in hand, wiping her neck. “Smells good in here. You two didn’t burn the kitchen down?”

Lucas grinned, setting the tray on the kitchen table. “Breakfast’s ready. This one’s for you. Me and Mila? We’ll eat in my room.”

Mila shot him a look, half-glare, half-smile, as she placed the butter dish down. Estelle slid into her chair, eyeing them both. Her fork hovered over a piece of toast. “Look at you two. Happy as kids. Thanks to Mila, right? She’s got you smiling again.”

Lucas leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Nah. Thanks to me. Bribed her with a kiss.”

Estelle burst out laughing, nearly spilling her tea. The sound bounced off the stone walls, light in the dim room. Mila’s face went red, her hands twisting the edge of her shirt. She stepped back, bumping the table leg. “Estelle, don’t listen to him. We haven’t settled anything. We’re just pretending till you leave. Keeps the peace.”

Estelle wiped her mouth, still chuckling. “Pretending looks good on you. Mila, please don’t whip my kid brother while I’m gone. He’s all I’ve got.”

Mila crossed her arms, matching Estelle’s tease. “I’ll be gentle. For your sake.”

Estelle pushed her plate away, half-eaten. She grabbed her bag from the hook by the door. “Closing shift today. After, I’m heading to Ivan’s. Might not be back early. You two behave.”

“It’s fine,” Lucas said. He reached for Mila’s hand without thinking, fingers lacing tight. Her palm was warm, pulse quick against his skin. He tugged her toward the hallway. “Door’s open if you need us.”

Estelle waved from the doorway, keys jingling. The front door clicked shut behind her. A second later, her voice echoed from the hall. “Lucas! Lock the damn door after me!”

He released Mila’s hand just long enough to twist the bolt, the metal scraping loud in the quiet. Back in his room, the curtains were thicker here, drawn almost shut. A sliver of Adriatic light hit the bed, where their trays waited. Plates clinked as he set his down. Mila sat on the edge, picking at her toast, eyes on the floor.

Lucas dropped beside her. He took both her hands in his, thumbs rubbing her knuckles. Her skin was soft, nails bitten short. “Mila... I’m sorry. For pushing you away. All that crap I said.”

She pulled one hand free, but not to leave. Her fingers traced his wrist, then stopped. “When were you gonna tell me?”

Lucas frowned. “Tell you what?”

Her voice was quiet but steady. “About your condition.”

His breath caught. Chest tightened, that familiar squeeze. “What condition?”

“Don’t.” Her eyes locked on his, sharp. “Don’t dodge it. I know. Advanced heart disease.”

The room spun a little. He stared at the rug, threads frayed from his pacing nights. How? His mouth went dry. “How do you...?”

“Question’s why you hid it.” She squeezed his other hand harder. “From me.”

He swallowed, tasting tea gone bitter. “I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s why I said stay away. Push you out. Easier if...”

Mila yanked her hands back, standing up. She paced to the window, shoving the curtain aside an inch. Harbor lights twinkled faint in the day haze, boats bobbing like toys. “Easier? What if I wake up one morning, and you’re just... gone? Cold in bed. What does that do to me, Lucas?”

He rose slow, legs heavy. Crossed to her. The air between them hummed, thick with unsaid things. His hand found her shoulder, tentative. She didn’t shrug it off. “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.”

She turned, eyes wet but fierce. “You’re sorry, but I know now, and I’m still here.”

“Because you’re crazy.” He tried a smile, but it cracked.

“Because I love you.” Her voice dropped, raw. “I mean it. This... heart thing? Doesn’t change shit.”

Lucas’s knees buckled. He sank onto the bed, pulling her down with him. He pressed a palm to his chest, feeling the uneven thump. “I’m scared, Mila. Every day. What if I just... drop? While we’re walking Diocletian’s streets, or laughing over stupid coffee? What if I die and leave you picking up the pieces?”

She cupped his face, thumbs on his cheeks. Forced him to meet her gaze. “Stop. You won’t die. Not like that.”

“You don’t know.” His voice broke. Sweat beaded his forehead, room too warm.

“I know enough.” She leaned closer, breath on his lips. “There’s help. Doctors, meds, whatever. Even if not... we figure it. Together.”

Mila’s fingers slid to his neck, pulse point. “Feel that? Still beating. For me.”

He nodded, throat tight. Pulled her into his arms. She fit perfect, head on his shoulder. They sat like that, trays forgotten, bread cooling. Minutes stretched. His heart stuttered once, twice—then steadied under her touch.