The house was already quieter. Outside, the rain fell slowly, dripping rhythmically on the balcony.
You were in the room, sitting on the floor leaning against the bed, with your eyes burning and your chest hurting in a place that no tear seemed to reach. Hughie had cheated on you with Lizzie.
The hoodie you wore wasn’t even yours. It was one of Feely’s - old, huge, smelling like cigarettes and mint.
You didn’t even know if he had left it on purpose. But he knew you used it.
And now, he was there.
At the door.
Shut up.
Watching you with an expression so full of unsaid things, that it hurt more than cheap consolation.
“Can I... come in?” He asked, softly, as if he didn’t want to invade his space.
You nodded.
And he entered, with careful steps, sitting next to him without knocking. Without forcing.
Just staying.
For a while, none of you said anything.
The silence was comfortable, until you broke with a low voice, almost drowned up:
“You should be with him, you know?”
Feely looked forward, resting his arms on his knees.
“I should,” he replied. “But... I’m not.”
You turned your face slowly.
“Why?”
He took a long time. And then he said, with a hoarse voice:
“Because he fucked you. And you didn’t deserve it.”
A tear fell without warning.
You lowered your eyes.
“He was everything I thought I wanted.”
“And now?”
“Now... I just wanted someone to stay.”
Feely took a deep breath, and then turned to you. His eyes - that warm, vulnerable, crooked and so Feely brown - found you.
“I’m here.”
You blinked, and the tears really began to fall.
He approached slowly, carefully pulling you up to his shoulder.
You fit in there.
In his chest.
In his smell.
In his slow heartbeat.
Feely ran his fingers through his hair, the slow, smooth movements. And then he said, quietly, almost as if he was afraid of breaking the moment:
“You always wanted someone to stay... but you never saw that I never left.”
You held the fabric of his sweatshirt tightly.
“Stay, Feely.”
He leaned his head against yours.
“I’m already here, love.”
And it stayed.