Khloe's POV
The moment I sent "Don't get me out then," I stared at my phone like it had suddenly become heavier in my hands.
The room was quiet — the kind of quiet that makes every small sound feel louder than it should be. The faint hum of the ceiling fan. The distant sound of a car passing outside. The soft clink of dishes from the kitchen where my mother was finishing up.
But all I could hear was my own heartbeat.
I hadn't planned to say that.
It just… slipped out. Like something that had been sitting just beneath the surface finally found a way through before I could stop it.
I watched the screen, waiting for his reply, a strange mix of nervousness and anticipation tightening in my chest. Part of me wanted to take it back, to send another message to soften it, to pretend I didn't mean it the way it sounded.
But another part of me — quieter, braver — stayed still.
Then his message came through.
"Have no plans of doing that, not now, not ever."
My breath caught slightly.
I read it once. Then again, slower this time, letting the certainty in his words settle somewhere deep inside me where I didn't usually let things reach.
Not now.
Not ever.
It should have scared me.
Instead, it felt… steady.
I typed back.
"Okay….."
Five dots.
Even I noticed it, my thumb hovering for a second before I hit send. It looked unsure — because I was unsure. Because there was so much I wanted to say that I didn't know how to fit into one sentence.
The typing bubble appeared again almost immediately, and I felt a small warmth spread through my chest knowing he hadn't walked away from the conversation.
But instead of waiting, I kept typing.
"That's what I thought."
I paused after sending it, staring at the screen as the cursor blinked in the empty text box.
I wasn't done.
Not even close.
My fingers hovered above the keyboard, my thoughts moving faster than I could organize them. I could feel the walls I'd carefully built around myself shifting slightly, not collapsing — just… adjusting.
I started typing again, slower this time, letting honesty lead instead of caution.
"Honestly I like as I'm there in your head, your thoughts, how in deep I am in there… yeah it makes it hard for you because not too long ago I told you we should take it slow, that it's wrong… but is it really it…."
I stopped, rereading it, my heart beating faster with every word.
Was I really saying this?
I exhaled softly and kept going before I could overthink it.
"Because I don't want to let my guard down and end up not having it in full… the affections, the promises, the time, everything… and about the apartment I'll take it, thanks for looking out."
I hit send before fear could catch up with me.
For a moment, I just sat there, phone resting in my hands, staring at nothing in particular as the weight of what I'd just said settled over me.
It felt like stepping out onto a narrow bridge — not falling, not safe, just suspended somewhere in between.
The typing bubble didn't appear right away, and I let out a slow breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Maybe I'd said too much. Maybe I'd crossed into territory we weren't ready for.
Then his reply came.
I read it slowly, my chest tightening with every line.
"I hear you. I understand you, where you're coming from. But if I say I'm not thinking of taking things further, I'd be lying to you…"
By the time I reached the end, my throat felt tight, my fingers curling slightly around the phone like I needed something to hold onto.
It wasn't just what he said.
It was how sure he sounded.
Late nights.
Dates.
Talks.
Little arguments.
Every single thing.
I felt warmth spread through my chest, soft and unfamiliar, mixed with a quiet fear that refused to disappear completely.
And then —
NEVER.
I blinked, a small breath leaving my lips as I stared at the word.
It should have felt overwhelming.
Instead, it felt grounding.
I didn't know what to say back — not because I didn't feel anything, but because I felt too much.
So instead, I tapped the heart reaction, watching it turn red beneath his message.
A small, silent acknowledgment.
Then I typed the only thing that felt safe enough to say without unraveling everything we'd just opened.
"Goodnight."
Simple. Soft. Final enough to let us both breathe.
His reply came a moment later.
"Goodnight, sweet dreams."
I smiled before I could stop myself, a small, quiet smile that stayed even after I locked my phone and set it on the bedside table.
I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as the conversation replayed in my mind — the way he didn't dismiss my fears, the way he didn't rush me, the way he still made his intentions clear without pushing.
It didn't feel like pressure.
It felt like patience.
My room felt warmer than usual, the night softer somehow, like the world had shifted just slightly without making a sound.
I thought about the apartment — the safety it represented, the independence it could give me, the quiet way he offered it without expectation.
And I thought about his words.
Not now.
Not ever.
I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket closer as a slow calm settled over me, not certainty — just a gentle sense that whatever this was, it didn't feel as impossible as it once did.
There were still lines. Still questions. Still fears I wasn't ready to face yet.
But tonight felt like the first time we weren't standing on opposite sides of the same wall.
My eyes grew heavier, my thoughts softer, the steady rhythm of the fan blending with the quiet of the night as sleep slowly pulled me under.
And just before I drifted off completely, one thought lingered — quiet but undeniable.
Maybe taking it slow didn't mean walking away.
Maybe it just meant learning how to stay… carefully.