The silence between us grew longer every day, stretching until it felt like the only thing we had in common anymore was the air we breathed.
We coexisted in the apartment—close, but never too close. I filled my days with work, with errands, with anything that kept my mind occupied. Evan did the same. We didn't talk about the tension that crackled in the spaces between our conversations. We didn't acknowledge the way we lingered just a second too long, the accidental touches that made my pulse race. We didn't talk about the things we both refused to admit.
But I felt it. Every moment.
He moved through the apartment like a ghost of my past, so familiar, yet so foreign. I caught myself watching him more than once—how he ran his hands through his hair when he was frustrated, how his jaw tightened when he was deep in thought. I was learning the small things about him all over again, but they weren't the same as before. Nothing was the same.
I could feel the cracks forming beneath the surface of my calm exterior. The desire was there, raw and unrelenting, clawing at me every time we were close. The memory of his hands on my waist, of his lips just inches from mine, haunted me.
We had made rules to protect ourselves. But those rules were starting to feel more like chains.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the apartment around me. The soft hum of the refrigerator, the occasional creak of the floorboards—everything was too quiet. Too still. It reminded me too much of the moments when we had been together, when silence had meant something else.
I turned onto my side, pressing my face into the pillow, trying to block out the memories, but they flooded back anyway. The way his hand had felt on my waist. The way he had kissed me the last time we were together.
The longing was unbearable.
I was tired of pretending I didn't want him. Tired of pretending we were strangers.
And then, I heard him.
The softest sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. His shadow appeared beneath the crack in my door. I knew what he wanted. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
I sat up in bed, heart pounding, unsure of what to do. But before I could make a move, there was a soft knock on my door.
"Lena?" His voice was quiet, but the intensity behind it was impossible to miss.
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to steady. "Yeah?"
There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Can we talk?"
I hesitated. This was it—the moment where everything could change. Where the rules we had been pretending to follow could either hold us together or shatter completely.
I nodded, though he couldn't see it. "Okay."
He stepped into the room a moment later, standing just inside the door. His presence filled the space, making the already small room feel even smaller. He didn't sit. Didn't move closer. He just stood there, waiting for me to make the next move.
I couldn't look at him for a moment. I focused on the floor, on anything but the way my body reacted to his presence.
"I hate this," he said softly.
I finally lifted my gaze to meet his. The vulnerability in his eyes caught me off guard. "I know," I whispered.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he continued. "I never wanted to leave you like I did. But now..." His voice trailed off. He was fighting for control, and I could see it in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his hands balled into fists at his sides.
"But now what?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
He shook his head, stepping closer to the bed but stopping just short of sitting next to me. "But now I can't pretend anymore."
The air between us crackled with the force of his words. I felt my heart race, but I couldn't bring myself to speak. I was too afraid to hear what he might say next.
He sat on the edge of the bed, still too far to touch, but close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. "I want you, Lena," he said, his voice a rough whisper. "I've always wanted you."
It was too much. The words, the raw honesty of it—they shattered whatever semblance of control I had left. I wanted to touch him, to reach out and let the desire that had been building between us consume everything.
But the rules. The rules were supposed to keep us safe. Keep us from falling into the same trap again.
"You can't," I whispered, voice trembling. "We can't."
He looked at me, eyes filled with something I couldn't quite name. "Why not?" he asked, his voice low but filled with a quiet desperation.
I closed my eyes, fighting back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. "Because if we do this again, there's no going back," I said, barely above a whisper.
For a moment, we just stared at each other, the weight of everything hanging between us. I didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to do. All I knew was that the space between us was no longer enough.
And that terrified me.