“Van, this is getting ridiculous.”

You stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching as she laces up her boots like she has somewhere to be—like she isn’t actively avoiding the conversation.

“Babe, it’s not a big deal,” she mutters, tugging the laces tighter. “We’ll do it another time.”

You scoff. “You’ve been saying that for months.”

Van sighs, still not looking at you. That damn half-smirk flickers across her face—like this is something you’ll just let go, like she can charm her way out of it again. “And we’re still good, aren’t we?”

No.

“Why don’t you want to meet them?”

“I didn’t say I don’t want to.” She stands up, finally meeting your eyes, but there’s something guarded in them. “I just don’t think it’s necessary.”

Your stomach tightens. “It’s necessary to me.”

That lands. You see the way her jaw shifts, the way her fingers twitch at her sides. “I just… I don’t want them to think I’m some—” She stops, exhales sharply. “I don’t want them to look at me and think I’m holding you back.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re not.”

“Maybe not now,” she says, quieter this time. “But eventually.”

Her words hit like a punch to the ribs. Because you’ve been here before—feeling like you’re fighting for something Van has already decided the outcome of. She exhales through her nose, looking past you, jaw shifting. She does that when she’s uncomfortable, when she’s trying to find the right words to keep you from seeing what’s actually going on in her head.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Van hesitates. And that’s all you need to see.

The silence stretches between you, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like reaching for her.