❤️🔥Apartment 304 🥵: chapter 8
889 Words
Things He Doesn’t Say Out Loud
Ethan didn’t leave after breakfast.
He stayed.
Not in an obvious way—no dramatic declarations, no sudden decisions.
Just… present.
Sitting on my couch like he belonged there more than I did, flipping through his phone occasionally, answering messages with short, unreadable replies.
And yet, every few minutes, his eyes would drift back to me.
Like he was checking I was still real.
I tried not to notice.
It didn’t work.
“You’re staring again,” I said finally, folding my arms.
Ethan looked up slowly.
“No, I’m not.”
I raised a brow.
That earned the faintest smirk.
“Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe a little.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the small smile creeping in.
It was strange.
How quickly “him” had become part of my space.
My silence.
My thoughts.
“Do you ever actually relax?” I asked, sitting on the arm of the chair across from him.
He leaned back slightly.
“I am relaxed.”
“That’s not relaxed. That’s… controlled.”
His eyes flickered for a second at that word.
Controlled.
Like it meant something more to him than it should.
“You talk a lot,” he said instead.
“I’ve been through a lot in a short time,” I replied.
That made him quiet for a moment.
Not dismissive.
Just listening.
Then he asked something unexpected.
“What happened before you moved here?”
I hesitated.
Because the answer wasn’t simple.
“Bad breakup,” I said lightly. “Bad roommate. Worse timing.”
Ethan studied me carefully.
“That’s not all of it.”
I looked away.
“Why do you care?”
A pause.
Then, softer than before:
“Because I recognize people who are running.”
That hit something too close.
I didn’t respond.
The room went quiet again, but this time it felt heavier.
Ethan stood up slowly.
Walked toward the window.
Hands in his pockets.
Like he was thinking too much.
“You said I was confusing,” he said.
“You are.”
A faint breath of a laugh.
“Fair.”
He stared out at the street for a while before speaking again.
“My life isn’t… simple,” he said.
I didn’t interrupt.
He rarely gave information freely.
“When I was younger,” he continued slowly, “I thought I knew exactly who I wanted to be.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“I was wrong.”
The way he said it wasn’t dramatic.
Just… final.
I stayed quiet, letting him continue at his own pace.
“I built things. Managed things. Controlled things,” he added, glancing back at me briefly. “It worked for a while.”
“And then?”
His silence lasted longer this time.
Then he turned fully to face me.
“And then I realized control doesn’t mean peace.”
Something about his tone made my chest tighten.
Not pity.
Understanding.
“You don’t sleep much,” I said quietly.
That surprised him slightly.
“No.”
“Nightmares?”
A pause.
Then a simple:
“Memories.”
That word felt heavier than anything else he’d said so far.
I stood up slowly.
Walked a little closer, but not too close.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
Ethan looked at me for a long moment.
Like he was deciding whether letting me in was a mistake.
Then—
“No,” he said honestly.
A beat.
Then softer:
“But I don’t want you thinking I’m fine either.”
That honesty landed differently.
Because it wasn’t pushing me away.
It was letting me see the truth without asking me to fix it.
I nodded slightly.
“Okay,” I said.
Ethan studied me again.
“You’re not scared of me,” he repeated quietly.
“I told you that already.”
“I know,” he said.
Then after a pause:
“That’s the problem.”
My brow furrowed.
“What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Slower this time.
Careful.
Like he was choosing every movement.
“When people aren’t scared of me,” he said quietly, “they get too close.”
My heartbeat picked up slightly.
“And that’s bad?” I asked.
His gaze held mine.
“It has been before.”
The air between us tightened again.
Not fear this time.
Something more fragile.
More human.
I lifted my chin slightly.
“I’m not ‘before,’ Ethan.”
That made him stop.
Completely.
For a moment, his expression softened in a way I hadn’t seen yet.
Not guarded.
Not controlled.
Just… real.
“I know,” he said quietly.
A pause.
Then he added, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud:
“That’s what worries me.”
Silence settled between us again.
But it wasn’t empty.
It was full of everything neither of us had figured out how to say yet.
And for the first time…
I realized Ethan wasn’t dangerous to me in the way I first thought.
He was dangerous in a different way.
Because he was starting to feel like someone I could care about.
And he clearly wasn’t used to being cared for at all.
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- Writer
