The wind howled against the door in my balcony, rattling the glass in its frame. Despite the storm, the city felt eerily quiet — no cars, no voices, just the steady, relentless downpour.
I had barely slept. Tequila had spent the night trying to squeeze under the couch, desperate for a safe spot. But that wasn't what kept me up.
Then, footsteps.
At first, I thought I imagined them, just the wind playing tricks. But then — her voice.
"Lucky, Cleo..." A shaky breath. "Almost home. Just a few more steps."
My breath caught in my throat. My muscles tensed, my heart slammed against my ribs, louder than the storm.
Kz. She's here.
Relief crashed over me, tainted with nervous energy. I stayed still, listening. My fingers curled into fists, nails pressing against my palms, as if that could steady me. I didn't dare move, like if I made a sound, she'd disappear.
Then — a scream. Raw, sharp, laced with pain.
I didn't think — I just moved. My legs carried me on instinct, the cold floor barely registering beneath my feet. My chest tightened, heart hammering as I rushed out the door.
I was in front of her apartment door in seconds.
Something wasn't right.
I raised my fist to knock but hesitated. The door was slightly ajar. A faint, ragged breath came from the other side, unsteady, like she was struggling to stay upright.
"Kz!—"
The door swung open, and there she was. My heart pounded harder, echoing in my ears.
Kz stood before me, partially drenched from the storm, strands of wet hair clinging to her face. Behind her, her apartment was a mess — the balcony door thrown open, the wind howling through the space.
My breath caught. My eyes darted over her in alarm. Why had she been shouting? What was wrong?
Then I saw it.
Her knees. Blood soaked through the fabric of her pants, dark against the wet fabric.
"Let me help."
I reached for her without thinking, guiding her toward the couch. She winced with every step, half-hopping, half-stumbling. I kept my grip steady, my mind racing.
What the hell happened?
Her dogs rushed toward her, tails wagging anxiously as they nuzzled against her. I barely spared them a glance before moving, crossing the room in quick strides to shut the balcony door. The wind fought me, howling as I pushed it closed and bolted it shut.
The apartment was a mess — papers scattered, a few toppled picture frames on the floor. I picked up what I could, setting things back in place with quick, distracted motions before turning back to her.
She had sunk into the couch, Lucky and Cleo pressed close to her, their small bodies trembling. I crouched down, running a hand over their heads in reassurance. "It's okay," I murmured, though I wasn't sure if I was saying it for them or for her.
I reached out, my fingers hovering just above the wound. I shifted, lowering myself onto one knee in front of her, "I need to clean this. Is that okay?"
The moment my hand brushed against her knee, she flinched, shrinking back with a sharp inhale. Her hesitation was written all over her face, her eyes glassy, uncertain. She gave a small nod.
The air between us felt heavy, thick with unspoken words. When I glanced up, I caught her watching me. Her expression vulnerable and guarded — made something tighten in my chest. My gaze softened for a fleeting moment before I quickly looked away, focusing back on the injury.
"This is going to sting," I warned, voice low and steady.
She clenched her jaw as the alcohol-soaked cotton swab made contact with the raw skin. A sharp breath escaped her lips as she squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers gripping the edge of the couch.
"I know it hurts. Just bear with it for a while," I murmured, working quickly but carefully.
She exhaled slowly, leaning in slightly as if bracing herself. Her breath fanned against me, warm and uneven.
I pressed a gauze pad over her wound and secured it carefully around her knee. My fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary before I finally looked up. Our gazes met.
A weight settled in my chest. My breath hitched. I couldn't move, couldn't speak — words sat heavy in my throat, aching to be said but refusing to come out.
Then she shifted, clearing her throat. "Thanks, Tyler," she murmured, her voice soft, almost hesitant.
The sound snapped me out of it. I quickly stood, rubbing the back of my neck as warmth crept up my skin. "I... Right. You're all good, so I should probably—" I turned to leave, needing space to steady myself.
But before I could take a step, I felt a light tug on my shirt.
I froze.
Her head remained bowed, fingers curled into my shirt just enough to stop me. A silent plea. And suddenly, leaving didn't feel like an option anymore.
I sat beside her, but neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. A knot formed in my chest, tightening with each passing second. I knew I needed to say something. I needed to apologize.
My fingers tangled together, restless, as I tried to gather the courage to speak.
"Kz, I—"
"Tyler—"
We spoke at the same time, our voices overlapping. Her eyes widened slightly, almost apologetic.
"Sorry, Tyler. You go first," she said softly.
I hesitated. My hands clasped together tighter, my head bowing as I struggled to meet her gaze.
"Kz, look, I..." I swallowed hard.
Damn it. Just apologize.
"I'm sorry."
The words felt small, inadequate, but they were all I could manage.
She didn't respond right away. But somehow, I could tell she understood.
It all came rushing back... the way she stood there that day, ready to leave, choosing to move somewhere else just so she wouldn't be a burden to me. The way her eyes held a quiet pain. And the way I turned my back on her.
I don't know why, but instead of relief, all I felt was... disappointment.
I told myself I was fine when she left and that her choice had nothing to do with me. But sitting here, seeing the exhaustion in her eyes, I realized how much of a lie that was. I pretended I didn't care. But deep down, maybe I had wanted her to stay.
I took a slow breath and pushed forward. "I'm sorry for how I acted the last time we saw each other. I was rude. You weren't imposing on me, but... you said you had things figured out, and it felt so final. I should have asked you to sta—"
Before I could finish, I felt the gentle weight of her hand on my arm. The warmth of her touch sent a wave of relief through me, unraveling some of the tension I hadn't realized I was holding.
"Tyler," she murmured, her voice calm, grounding. "It's okay. I'm sorry too for not thinking about how you felt. I just didn't want to be a burden. It didn't feel right to keep relying on your kindness, even though I truly appreciated your help."
She offered me a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Now that my bathroom is fixed, we won't be having that problem anymore."
She said it like it was supposed to be a good thing. Like it was supposed to be closure.
So why did it taste so bitter?
Another silence settled between us.
Then, without warning — the lights went out. Darkness. Swallowing the room. Swallowing the words we still hadn't said.