it's such a shitty feeling, knowing you're only wanted for your body, believe me, I would know.

Because i'm standing out of my boyfriend's room, five months without having seen him, and all i can hear is the thump thump of the bed hitting the wall acompained by its springs creak along with their moans.

That's when he walks in the apartment, his older brother.

The moment he sees me, and hears the sounds his expression goes stormy.

His gaze snaps from my face to the closed bedroom door, and something dark flickers across his features—anger, disappointment, maybe even a hint of protectiveness.

He steps closer, lowering his voice so it doesn’t have to compete with the noise in the room.

“You shouldn’t be hearing that,” he mutters, jaw tight.

I swallow hard, forcing your spine straight even though my heart is doing its best impression of the bed-thumps. “I didn’t plan on it.”

He glances at me again—really looks at me—and the storm in his eyes shifts. Not pity. Not shock. Something steadier. Warmer. But still fierce.

“They’re not worth your time,” he says, voice low but certain. “He isn’t.”

My throat tightens. “I came here after five months. Five.” I try to hold onto anger, but it trembles into my words. “He said he missed me.”

His brother exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to steady himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it. “You deserve better than being ambushed by… that.”

A louder moan echoes through the apartment. I flinch. His jaw flexes.

“Come on,” he says, gently placing a hand at my elbow—not pulling, just offering a way out. “You don’t need to stand here listening to this.”

I hesitate, torn between humiliation and numbness. But the warmth of his touch, the steadiness in his voice, gives me something to hold onto.

He guides me toward the living room, away from the door, away from the noise.

Once we're far enough, he releases a long breath. “For what it’s worth… anyone with eyes can see you’re worth a hell of a lot more than being someone’s afterthought.”

I blink at him, surprised by the intensity in his tone.

His eyes stay on me, steady and searching, like he’s trying to figure out how much I’m holding together and how much I’m faking.

I clear my throat. “You can say whatever you’re thinking. I’m kind of past the point of being fragile right now.”

He huffs a quiet breath at that—almost a laugh, but not quite. More like he’s impressed I can still make a joke while my world is cracking in the next room.

“I’m thinking,” he says slowly, “that you didn’t deserve to walk into this. And I’m thinking he’s an idiot.”

I wrap my arms around myself. “That makes two of us.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The apartment feels too still, like everything is paused except for the distant sounds behind that closed door. I hate that I can still hear them. I hate that part of me is listening, even when I don’t want to.

His brother must notice the way my shoulders tense, because he suddenly steps in front of me, blocking my line of sight to the hallway. It’s subtle—but it’s protective. Intentional.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Look at me.”

I do. Slowly.

His expression isn’t stormy anymore. It’s something else—something anchored, grounded, like he’s offering me a safe place to land without touching me.

“You’re here hurting,” he says, “and I can’t fix that. But I’m not gonna let you stand there feeling small because of him.”

My eyes sting again. I swallow, hard. “I’m trying not to fall apart.”

“You don’t have to try with me.”

That lands somewhere deep in my chest, unexpected and frighteningly gentle.

I let out a shaky breath. “I don’t even know what to do right now.”

“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he says. “Just… sit with me for a bit. Catch your breath. You’ve been through enough for one day.”

He gestures toward the couch—not pushing, just giving me the option. And somehow that small gesture, that quiet respect, feels like the first solid ground I’ve had since I walked through the door.

I nod, barely.