Eric stepped into his apartment and closed the door with a soft click.
The air was still. The scent of old paint, dust, and something faintly herbal hung in the room. His eyes adjusted to the morning light filtering through the blinds—and that's when he saw her.
Lia.
Curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies, steam rising from the ceramic mug in her hands.
For a moment, he didn't move.
His mind had been chaos for hours—days, maybe. But she sat there like she had never left, like no time had passed. Like the world hadn't just torn him open from the inside.
"...Lia?"
She looked up and offered a tired smile, the kind you give someone after staying up all night thinking about them.
"You're home," she said simply.
Eric blinked, mouth half-open. "Why are you… I mean, what are you doing here?"
She took a sip, then set the mug on the coffee table, her fingers lingering on the handle.
"I couldn't sleep," she said. "Didn't feel like being alone last night. And I still had your keys."
He exhaled, half-laughing. "So you just… came back?"
"I didn't think you'd mind." She looked up at him gently. "Was I wrong?"
He shook his head. "No. I just—didn't expect you."
There was a pause. Quiet, but not cold. Just two people breathing in the distance that used to sit between them.
Eric stepped closer. His voice came out slower, more fragile than he intended.
"Lia… can we talk?"
She nodded, eyes watching him carefully. "Of course."
He sat across from her, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly. "I've been thinking. A lot. And I—I know I messed up before. With you. With everything. I got… caught in myself. In trying to become something that meant something to someone."
His throat tightened. "And I never asked if the people who mattered needed me to be something else entirely."
Lia didn't interrupt. She just listened.
"I don't know if I'm better now. But I want to be. I want to try." He looked up, meeting her eyes with his own, glassy and red. "Can we try again? And—can you help me change?"
She was quiet for a long second. Not in hesitation. In gravity.
Then she reached over and placed her hand over his.
"I was waiting for you to say that," she whispered.
His shoulders slumped as if he'd been holding up a dam that had finally cracked. Tears slipped down his cheeks, silent and trembling. She moved to him, wrapped her arms around his trembling frame, and he collapsed into her—no pride, no masks, no distance. Just Eric, broken and trying.
She stroked his hair as he wept. "It's okay," she murmured. "You're here now. We'll figure it out together."
And for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, Eric didn't feel like a man on the verge of drowning.
He felt like he was finally reaching the shore.