The fire had burned low and everyone else had gone to bed.

You were sitting curled up on the edge of the sofa, knees drawn up to your chest. Barty was sitting in the armchair nearest the fire, with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together.

He hadn’t spoken in a while. Neither had you.

You watched the firelight casting shadows across his face, revealing his sharp jaw, tired eyes, and the furrow in his brow that appeared only when he was hiding something. He looked like he hadn’t slept.

You asked quietly, “What was plan A?”

Without looking at you, he murmured, “Don’t fall in love with you.”

The words hung heavily between you, and you just whispered, “And plan B?”

Barty exhaled through his nose and a faint smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t f/ck up plan A,” he said softly.

“And what did you do?” you asked, your voice barely a breath.

He finally looked at you. “F/cked up plan A,” he said. “Completely.”

You remained silent for a moment while he rubbed his palms against his knees as though trying to shake something off. Then he said something, more quietly this time. “I tried not to. You know that, right?”

You nodded. “I know.”

“I had it all mapped out.” His voice was soft now. “Keep it simple. Keep you safe. Keep me—distant.”

“And?”

Barty gave a hollow laugh. “Turns out I’m bad at maps.”

You leaned forward just a little. “So what now?”

“I don’t know.” A pause. “I didn’t plan for this part.”

You smiled. “You should’ve.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Yeah,” he said, almost a whisper. “I know.”

You shifted over on the couch, just enough space for him if he wanted it.

He hesitated. Then he slowly stood up and crossed the room to sit down beside you. Neither of you said anything.

You just leaned into him, and he didn’t pull away.

For once, there were no plans. No rules. Just this.

And that was enough.