If This Is What Falling Feels Like
633 Words
The house was too quiet.
Not the scary kind of quiet — the thoughtful kind. The kind that lingered after something shifted.
Ava sat in the living room, wrapped in a throw blanket, knees tucked to her chest. She stared at the empty mug in her hands, but her mind was far from tea.
She kept replaying it in her head — Jace in the garden, eyes blazing, voice shaking when he said:
> “I protect what matters to me.”
He didn’t say who.
He didn’t need to.
Because somehow… she already knew.
The front door opened and closed softly.
She looked up. Jace stepped in, a coat slung over one arm, the other hand carrying a small bag.
“I went to get something,” he said, walking over.
“You didn’t have to,” she said quietly.
“I know. But I wanted to.”
He handed her the bag.
Inside was a tiny first aid kit, hot chocolate mix, and a small plush fox.
Her eyes widened. “What is this?”
“You were shaking earlier,” he said. “I wasn’t sure how to help. So… I got everything I thought might help.”
Ava blinked — then started laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” he asked, clearly confused.
“Because you’re a billionaire CEO who bought me a stuffed animal,” she said between giggles.
His mouth twitched. “Is it too much?”
“No,” she said, hugging it gently. “It’s perfect.”
He sat down beside her, not touching, just close. Close enough to feel like safety.
“You make it hard not to care,” she said softly, surprising even herself.
He looked at her. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” she whispered. “That’s the scary part.”
---
They didn’t talk much after that.
He helped her cook dinner — really cook, not just eggs. They laughed when the rice boiled over. She teased him about measuring salt like a child. He rolled his eyes and watched her like she was art.
After dinner, she went to shower. When she stepped out, she found a single hoodie of his laid across her bed.
She slipped into it without thinking.
It was soft. And it smelled like him.
Like something familiar she didn’t realize she missed.
---
Later, they ended up on the same couch again. Close, but not touching. A movie played, but neither really watched it.
At one point, Ava shifted — her knee brushing his.
She froze. He didn’t move away.
So she didn’t either.
Instead, she whispered, “Can I ask you something?”
He turned his head, eyes steady. “Anything.”
“Why haven’t you kissed me?”
The silence stretched.
Then, softly, he said: “Because if I do… I won’t stop.”
Her breath caught.
He looked down at her, voice low. “And I want to make sure you’re not just here because of a contract… but because you choose to be.”
Her heart was racing now.
“I don’t want this to feel like a transaction,” he added. “I want it to feel like truth.”
Ava didn’t reply.
She just looked at him, really looked at him. The way his jaw tensed, the way his eyes looked afraid for once — not of losing power, but of losing her.
So she reached for his hand. Slowly. Like she was testing fate.
And he let her take it.
---
They didn’t kiss that night.
But they fell asleep on the couch together — her head on his shoulder, his fingers gently tangled in hers.
And if this was what falling felt like…
She didn’t want to hit the ground just yet.
- Writer
