The apartment had never felt so loud in its silence.
By 9:47 a.m., the city outside the windows moved on without us, but inside, every breath felt measured. Shawn stood at the far end of the living room, exactly three feet from the invisible line he had drawn earlier. Arms crossed. Shoulders tight. Eyes locked on me like I was both salvation and threat.
I sat at the desk in his shirt, legs bare, thesis draft open but untouched. The fabric still carried his scent. Every time I shifted, it brushed my skin like a reminder of what we were trying not to do.
Testing distance.
Testing autonomy.
Testing whether anything between us had ever been fully ours.
“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.
I wasn’t. Not visibly.
But he noticed anyway.
“I’m thinking,” I replied.
His jaw flexed. The same
