APARTMENT 304

🥵Apartment 304 ❤️‍🔥: chapter 10

Close Enough to Stay

Ethan didn’t leave my side that night.

Not officially.

Not dramatically.

He just… stayed.

We ended up back in my apartment without really deciding to.

One moment we were standing in the hallway outside the café, still caught in that quiet tension from earlier, and the next we were walking side by side upstairs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

No questions.

No pressure.

Just him.

Just me.

Now it was late.

The city outside my window glowed softly—streetlights stretching across wet roads, distant horns fading into silence.

My apartment felt warmer than usual.

Or maybe it was just him inside it.

Ethan sat on my couch again, this time more relaxed. One arm resting along the backrest, the other holding a glass of water I’d given him earlier.

He looked different in low light.

Less guarded.

Less distant.

Still Ethan… but softer around the edges.

“You’re staring again,” he said quietly without looking up.

“I’m not.”

A faint smirk.

“You are.”

I sighed, walking over and sitting on the armchair opposite him.

“Maybe I just like your face,” I said.

That made him actually look at me properly.

For a second, something unreadable passed through his eyes.

Then—

“Careful,” he said.

“Of what?”

“Of saying things you don’t mean.”

My smile faded slightly.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Silence.

Not tense.

Just thoughtful.

Ethan set the glass down slowly on the table.

“You make this place feel… different,” he said after a moment.

I raised a brow.

“Different how?”

He hesitated.

Like he didn’t use words like this often.

“Less empty.”

That surprised me.

I didn’t respond right away.

Because I understood that kind of emptiness.

More than I wanted to admit.

“You know,” I said softly, “I used to think moving here would fix everything.”

Ethan looked at me.

“It didn’t?”

I let out a small breath.

“It just gave me something new to get used to.”

He nodded slowly, like he understood more than he was saying.

Then the room went quiet again.

But it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was… close.

Too close in a different way.

Like the space between us had shrunk without either of us moving.

Ethan leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees now.

“You should sleep properly tonight,” he said.

I smiled faintly.

“You sound like you care.”

“I do.”

The answer came too quickly.

Too honest.

It made both of us pause.

Ethan looked down for a second, like he was adjusting something inside himself.

Then he looked back up.

“I shouldn’t,” he added quietly.

That word again.

Shouldn’t.

I stood up slowly and walked toward the window instead of him.

Because if I stayed seated, I might’ve moved closer without thinking.

“You say that a lot,” I said.

“It’s usually true.”

I turned back to him.

“And this time?”

A pause.

Long enough that my heartbeat started paying attention.

Then he said it quietly.

“I don’t know anymore.”

That changed everything.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just enough to feel real.

I walked back toward him, slower this time.

Not rushing.

Not forcing.

Just choosing.

Ethan watched me the entire time.

When I stopped in front of him, he didn’t move away.

Neither did I.

“You’re always so controlled,” I said softly.

“I try to be.”

“Why?”

A flicker in his expression.

Because this question mattered.

“Because if I’m not,” he said carefully, “I don’t stop.”

My breath caught slightly.

“That sounds lonely.”

His eyes lifted to mine.

“It is.”

Silence.

Different again now.

More fragile.

Less distance between us than ever.

I sat down beside him this time.

Not across.

Not away.

Beside him.

Ethan didn’t immediately react, but I felt it—the shift in him.

Small.

Sharp.

Aware.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” I said quietly.

A pause.

Then, softer than anything before:

“I always have.”

I turned slightly toward him.

“Then maybe you don’t have to anymore.”

That hit something.

I could see it in his face.

The hesitation.

The pull.

The fear of letting go of control vs the pull of something softer.

His hand rested on his knee, close enough that I could’ve reached it.

But I didn’t.

Not yet.

Ethan exhaled slowly.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured.

I smiled faintly.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

A beat.

“Because I keep thinking,” he continued quietly, “that if I stay like this… sitting here with you… I won’t want to leave.”

My chest tightened.

“That sounds like a problem,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he said.

Then he looked at me properly.

“And I don’t want to solve it.”

That was the moment everything went still.

No more jokes.

No more distance.

Just him choosing not to run from what he was feeling anymore.

I shifted slightly closer—not touching yet, but close enough that our shoulders almost met.

“You can stay,” I said softly.

Ethan’s gaze dropped briefly to the space between us.

Then back up.

“You mean tonight?” he asked.

I shook my head slightly.

“No,” I said. “I mean… you don’t have to keep disappearing from me.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Soft.

Real.

Then Ethan moved—just slightly—closing the final bit of space between us until our shoulders finally touched.

Barely.

But enough.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did I.

“Then don’t make me regret it,” he said quietly.

My voice came out softer than I expected.

“I won’t.”

And for the first time since Apartment 304 entered my life…

it didn’t feel like a place I moved into.

It felt like a place I might be building something inside.

With him.

Side by side.

Not falling yet.

But close enough to.