After the tiring hospital work, Andrew offered Mia to give her a ride back to her apartment, which she gladly accepted.
They listened to the soft songs play in background while the rain poured outside. After reaching, Andrew like a gentleman he was opened the door for Mia, while holding an umbrella for her. They reached inside and
Mia almost walked past the notice displayed on there for the residents.
It was Andrew who stopped first.
"Wait," he said, stepping back. "Is that… about your building?"
She turned, eyes scanning the paper. Her expression shifted—not panic, not fear—just disbelief.
"They're doing pest control," she said slowly. "For two days."
Andrew read it himself. "Everyone was notified?"
She nodded, frowning. "Apparently. I wasn't."
She stood there for a second longer than necessary, as if expecting the paper to change its mind.
"Do you have somewhere else?" Andrew asked.
Mia shook her head. "Not this late."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward—just thoughtful.
"You can stay at my place," he said, like it was the most obvious solution in the world.
She looked at him then. Really looked.
"You sure?"
"It's temporary," he replied. "So is everything else, apparently."
That made her smile.
His apartment was quiet in a comforting way. No buzzing lights. No echoing corridors. Just the sound of a fan humming somewhere and the city breathing outside the window.
Mia set her bag down carefully, as if the room might be fragile.
"This doesn't feel like a hospital," she said.
Andrew glanced around. "Good."
They didn't decide to cook together—it just happened. She reached for a knife while he filled a pot with water. Their movements synced without discussion.
At one point, she brushed past him to grab salt, her shoulder grazing his arm.
Neither commented on it.
"You cook like you're thinking," she said eventually.
"You think like you're cooking," he replied.
She laughed, surprised. "What does that even mean?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But it feels accurate."
They ate sitting closer than necessary, knees almost touching. The TV murmured in the background, ignored.
"This feels unreal," Mia said after a while. "Like we stepped out of something."
Andrew didn't answer immediately. Then, "Maybe we needed to."
She turned toward him.
Their hands rested near each other on the couch cushion—not touching, but aware.
Andrew shifted slightly, his fingers brushing hers by accident.
Neither moved away.
The moment stretched—not heavy, not rushed—just full.
He leaned in a fraction. Enough that she noticed. Enough that she didn't.
Her breath caught anyway.
For a second, the world narrowed to the space between them.
Then her phone buzzed.
Mia exhaled softly, almost laughing at herself. She checked the screen but didn't read it.
"Timing," she said.
Andrew leaned back, rubbing his neck. "Yeah."
But something had already changed.
Later, when she lay awake on the far side of his bed—him on the couch, pretending sleep—Mia realized something unsettling.
The danger hadn't followed her here.
And somehow… that scared her more.