It’s perfect. Too perfect. And that’s the problem.

You and Van haven’t been together long, but it’s been effortless—late-night drives with the windows down, tangled limbs in the morning, kisses that taste like coffee, laughter that comes easy. It’s been good. It’s been safe. And that’s why Van is scared shitless.

She doesn’t say anything at first, but you notice. She stops reaching for your hand in public, stops lingering in the doorway when you kiss her goodbye. The texts that used to come in a constant stream throughout the day slow to a trickle. She still smiles, still laughs at your jokes, but there’s something behind it—a flicker of hesitation, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Van.” You corner her one evening, gentle but firm. “Talk to me.”

She shifts on her feet. “About what?”

You huff. “Don’t do that. You know what.”

Van drags a hand through her hair, exhaling. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

She swallows hard, eyes darting everywhere but you. “I just—I don’t wanna mess this up, okay? And I know myself. I know how I get. And this is just—” She gestures between you both, helpless. “You’re too good to lose, but I don’t know how to keep you, either.”

Your chest tightens. “So, what? You’re just gonna push me away before I can leave?”

Van flinches, looking away.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You reach for her hands. “Not unless you make me.”

She hesitates, then squeezes your fingers. But you don’t miss the way she exhales like she’s bracing for impact—like she’s already convinced she’s going to lose you, no matter how much you try to hold on.