Casey has not exactly had the best track record when it comes to love.

Scratch that Casey’s love life has been a minefield. Most people wanted something from her: her body, her time, the way she made them feel like they mattered when they did not even try to do the same for her. It made her be careful. Sharp around the edges. A little hard to reach, but not impossible if you knew how to listen instead of pry.

And then you showed up.

Soft-spoken. Weirdly calm. The kind of person who doesn’t fill silence just because it is there. She did not know what to do with you at first, kept waiting for the catch. Some red flag waving in the distance, a neon sign flashing TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE.

But no. You just stayed. Quiet and steady, like background music, she eventually started humming along to.

You never asked too much of her. Never pushed. Never looked at her like she was a puzzle you were entitled to solve. You kissed her once, gently, like a question, not expecting anything back.

And honestly? That almost broke her more than anything else.

Because she has been kissed before. Kissed like a transaction. Like a countdown to something expected. But you? You just wanted to kiss her. Like that was the whole point.

Which brings you here to her apartment balcony, on a night that smells like rain and missed chances. You are sitting on the cold metal railing like you have zero self-preservation instincts. She is next to you, wrapped in her oversized hoodie, sipping tea she will complain is too weak but will not stop drinking.

You do not say anything. You never do, unless she starts it. And for a while, she doesn’t.

Then, without looking your way: “I do not know how to do this.” Your head tilts. “Do what?” “This. You. Us. Letting someone close without wanting to run.”

You are silent, but not in the scary way. In the way that tells her you are thinking. That you are still here. That you will stay although she is not poetic about her trauma tonight. Finally, you shrug. “You do not have to run. Not from me.” Simple. Unwise. Devastating. She stares straight ahead, her jaw tight. She wants to make fun of you for sounding like a romance novel. She wants to change the subject. She wants to kiss you until her ribs stop aching.

Instead, she mutters, “that is dangerously sweet of you.”