The next morning, Liam acted like nothing had changed.
That was his talent — carrying yesterday like it hadn't tried to break me.
He called while I was still in bed, his voice easy, familiar.
"Morning. Did you sleep?"
"Yeah," I said. "You?"
"Like a rock."
Of course he did.
"You coming over later?" he asked. "I made too much coffee already."
I smiled even though he couldn't see it. "That's not how coffee works."
"Don't ruin this for me."
I went anyway.
His apartment smelled the same — coffee, laundry detergent, something warm and lived-in. I slipped off my shoes like muscle memory, like I hadn't spent half the night wondering how I fit into his life now.
"You're early," he said, handing me a mug.
"You said you already made coffee."
"That doesn't mean you had to take it seriously."
We sat at the counter, knees almost touching. Almost always. That was our space — the almost.
He watched me take a sip. "Too bitter?"
"It's fine."
"You say that a lot."
I shrugged. "It's usually true."
He didn't push. He never did. That was another thing he didn't know — how much I depended on his silence.
His phone buzzed on the counter.
Claire.
He glanced at it, then at me. Just for a second.
"She's asking if I'm free tonight."
"And are you?" I asked.
"Yeah. I think so."
I nodded. "That's good."
He tilted his head. "You're being weird."
"I'm being normal."
"You're quieter than normal."
There it was again.
I forced a laugh. "You keep saying that like it means something."
"Doesn't it?"
I met his eyes, held them longer than was safe.
"Not everything means something, Liam."
He studied me, like he was trying to decide whether to believe that.
Then he smiled. Let it go.
We always let things go.
Later, as we walked outside, a girl waved at him from across the street. He waved back.
"Friend?" I asked.
"Yeah. From work."
I nodded again. Always nodding. Always making space.
"You jealous?" he teased.
The word landed wrong.
I stopped walking. "Why would I be?"
"I don't know," he said lightly. "You just looked… intense."
"I wasn't."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You know you're my person, right?"
My chest tightened.
"I know," I said.
But what I didn't say was: I don't know what that means anymore.
He smiled like that settled it, like nothing could touch us.
As he turned away, his phone buzzed again.
Claire.
And I followed him, one step behind, wondering how long I could keep pretending that was enough.