Nicole had always believed feelings were manageable.
You noticed them.
You named them.
You kept them at a safe distance.
At least, that's what he told himself—until Sara walked away that night with his jacket wrapped around her like it belonged there.
He stood alone for a while after she left.
Long enough to realize something terrifying.
This wasn't relief.
This was attachment.
He thought about her the entire walk home.
The way her fingers had hesitated before touching his.
The way she listened—like his words mattered even when they were unfinished.
The way she smiled when she felt safe, not when she was trying to be polite.
This is bad, he told himself.
This is very bad.
Because for the first time, he wasn't wondering if she liked him.
He was wondering how much losing her would hurt.
At home, he tossed his keys onto the table and collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. His phone buzzed beside him.
A message.
~Sara:
"Your jacket smells like you."
His heart did something stupid.
He stared at the screen like it had just confessed something dangerous.
~Nicole:
"That's… not very reassuring."
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
~Sara:
"I meant it in a good way."
He laughed softly, covering his face with his hand.
This—this easy comfort—felt more intimate than anything he'd expected.
~Nicole:
"Keep it. I'll get it back next time."
There was a pause.
~Sara:
"Next time?"
His thumb hovered.
~Nicole:
"If you want there to be one."
The reply came almost instantly.
~Sara:
"I do."
Nicole closed his eyes.
That single sentence settled something inside him.
Later that night, he realized he was smiling at nothing.
That his chest felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with fear.
Because now he cared.
Deeply.
Dangerously.
He replayed every moment—every missed chance, every almost confession—and understood something clearly for the first time.
He hadn't been protecting himself before.
He had been delaying the inevitable.
And now that Sara had stepped into his life so quietly, so naturally—
he didn't want an exit plan.
He wanted continuity.
He wanted mornings that started with her name on his phone.
Evenings that ended with her laughter in his ears.
A future that didn't require him to pretend he felt less than he did.
That realization scared him.
But it also grounded him.
Because falling wasn't the terrifying part anymore.
Losing her was.
And this time, Nicole promised himself—
he wouldn't let that happen without a fight.