She crossed the threshold like she always did — like she belonged nowhere but here, in this fragile space between us. But tonight, something snapped inside me.

The second she stepped inside, I didn’t hold back. I lunged at her like I’d been starving, like every second apart had left a hole I needed to fill. Her breath hitched, surprise flashing in her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. Not yet.

We fell into each other, rough and desperate — like this was the only place where the noise in my head quieted, where the pressure finally broke and spilled out in shouts and gasps and trembling skin.

After, she usually got dressed, slipping away before dawn like a ghost, leaving me with the cold quiet I was so used to. But this time, when she moved to get up, to vanish like always—

I caught her. Wrapped my arms tight around her, pulling her back against me. Her heart pounded against my chest, frantic, vulnerable.

“Don’t go,” I whispered, voice raw, “I’m done pretending this is just… nothing. It’s never been nothing.”

She froze, and for once, I could see the cracks in her armor—the same cracks I carried.

“I don’t want this to be just sex,” I told her, every word heavy with everything I’d been swallowing. “I want you to stay. Not just tonight. Not just when it’s easy to use each other to drown the noise.”

She looked at me like I was crazy, but I wasn’t backing down.

“I’m tired of pretending that this — you and me — it’s just casual. I want more, even if it scares the hell out of me.”

And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid to say it.

“Stay. Please.”