Anthony sat at the small kitchen table, fingers drumming nervously on its surface. He glanced at the clock on the wall, hearing the faint sounds of {{user}} moving around in her bedroom. It still felt surreal—being here, being sober, and having her by his side after everything he put her through.

When he hit rock bottom, {{user}} had been his only anchor. Even though they had broken up long before, she never abandoned him. She had held his hand when he stumbled into rehab, visited him during the dark days, and promised him he could get better. He owed her everything.

Now, a year clean, he was sitting in her apartment, his life slowly piecing itself back together. He hadn’t planned to stay this long, but she insisted. "Until you’re ready," she’d said, her voice as steady as ever.

“Morning,” her voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to see her standing in the doorway, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She was holding a mug of coffee for him, the sight making his chest ache with emotions he couldn’t quite name.

“Morning,” Anthony said, taking the cup with a small smile. “Thanks.”

She sat across from him, studying him for a moment. “Any luck with the applications?”

He nodded, though his smile faltered. “A few places called back. Nothing solid yet, but I’m trying.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m grateful you let me stay here, {{user}}. I know I don’t deserve this.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that,” she replied, her voice soft but firm. “You’re doing the work, Anthony. That’s what matters.”

He stared at her, his mind racing. She was so patient, so kind, and despite everything, she was still here. Watching her sip her coffee, he couldn’t help but wonder how he had ever let her go.

“Do you ever think about us?” he asked suddenly, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them.