The city lights glittered outside Ava's windows, casting soft reflections across the hardwood floor. She sat curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, a blanket draped loosely over her shoulders.
Julian sat on the other end, his posture easy, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingertips almost brushing her hair. He hadn't said much since they came in. He hadn't needed to.
The weight of his presence filled the room.
Not heavy.
Just... there.
For the first time in a long time, Ava didn't feel like she had to perform.
Didn't feel like she had to be sharp, ready, armored.
She could just exist.
And that scared her a little.
Because being seen this clearly meant she could also be hurt.
They watched an old movie in silence, the kind they both knew by heart but never tired of. The kind her father used to put on during long Sunday afternoons, back when weekends were simple.
Halfway through, Julian leaned forward, reaching for the coffee mug on the table.
His arm brushed against her shoulder, light and unintentional.
Ava didn't pull away.
He handed her the mug first before taking his own.
She smiled, a real one.
"Thanks."
He shrugged, eyes warm. "You're easy to take care of."
She raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
Julian laughed softly. "Easiest thing I've ever done."
There was a pause between them.
Not awkward.
Just full.
She looked away first, pretending to focus on the screen.
But her heart wasn't on the movie anymore.
It was on him.
On the way he looked at her — not like she was fragile.
But like she was worth choosing again and again.
After the movie ended, neither of them moved to turn the lights back on.
Ava tucked the blanket tighter around herself, and Julian shifted closer, until his knee brushed hers.
He hesitated—giving her the space to stop him if she wanted.
She didn't.
She let him stay close.
Let herself lean a little into the warmth he offered.
"Tell me something you've never told anyone," she said suddenly.
Julian blinked, surprised. Then smiled.
"You first."
She thought about it.
About all the little things she carried.
She could have chosen something easy. Something harmless.
Instead, she said, "When I was sixteen, I used to dream about running away. Not because I hated my family. But because I hated who I was when I was around them."
Julian's face softened. "Why?"
"Because everyone expected me to be perfect. Smart. Strong. Put together."
She sipped her coffee. "But I wasn't."
"You were a kid," he said gently.
"Yeah. But when you're raised in a family like mine, being a kid isn't really allowed."
He nodded slowly.
"I get that."
She smiled at him over the rim of her mug. "Your turn."
Julian set his coffee down.
"When I first started working for Easton," he said, "I thought about quitting every single day for the first month."
She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
He laughed. "Yeah. I felt like I didn't belong. Like I was just waiting for someone to figure out I didn't deserve to be there."
"And now?"
He shrugged. "Now I realize nobody belongs anywhere, really. You just... stay long enough to build your own place."
Ava's heart pulled tight.
Not from sadness.
But from understanding.
"You built your place next to me," she said quietly.
Julian looked at her, steady and sure.
"I built my place around you."
The night grew deeper.
The city sounds softened to a dull hum.
Neither of them made a move to leave.
Eventually, Ava shifted closer, laying her head lightly against Julian's shoulder.
He froze for half a second—like he didn't want to startle her—then relaxed, letting his arm fall naturally around her back.
They sat like that for a long time.
No expectations.
No promises.
Just two people holding onto the small peace they'd found.
Somewhere between midnight and dawn, Ava woke to find herself stretched out on the couch, Julian asleep beside her, their legs tangled loosely.
She smiled at the sight.
At the way his hair fell across his forehead.
At the way he snored softly, not caring how unpolished he looked.
This was a kind of intimacy she hadn't let herself imagine in years.
Simple.
Safe.
Human.
She brushed a strand of hair off his forehead gently, careful not to wake him.
And for a moment, she let herself believe that maybe... maybe this wasn't broken beyond repair.
Maybe some things, if tended carefully, could be new again.
By morning, the mood had shifted slightly.
Not colder.
Just more aware.
Julian woke first, murmuring a sleepy apology for crowding her, but she waved him off with a smile.
They made coffee together again, working easily around each other in the small kitchen.
Like partners.
Like friends.
Like something more carefully forming between the cracks.
Later, Julian got a call and had to leave — something about helping Emily with a project. He kissed the top of her head before he left, casual but tender.
Ava stood by the window after he was gone, watching the street fill with people rushing to places they thought mattered more than anything.
She hugged the mug to her chest and thought about how many versions of herself she had lived through.
The daughter.
The survivor.
The fighter.
And now… maybe, just maybe, the woman who got to choose what her heart looked like when she wasn't at war anymore.
Her phone buzzed around noon.
A message from Tyler Cain.
Short.
Careful.
"Would love to grab coffee sometime. I have a few stories you might want to hear."
Ava stared at the screen.
Part of her wanted to ignore it.
Part of her knew she couldn't.
She wasn't done with the past.
Not yet.
But maybe she didn't have to face it alone this time.
Maybe she could walk toward it on her own terms — slower, smarter, stronger.
She set the phone down without answering.
Not yet.
Today, she chose herself first.
And tonight?
Maybe she'd choose Julian too.
But only because she wanted to.
Not because she needed to.