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"Night, Nate."

He enters the elevator. I wait for Kira. My heart is pounding like I ran a sprint.

It was just a study room setup.

Just pizza, pasta, books and borrowed space.

So why does it feel like I just cracked open something I won’t be able to close?

Chapter nine

Nate

Thursday night. Late. The kind of late that hums quiet and low through the city, where even the streetlights feel sleepy and the cold outside tries to bully you into staying home.

Mandy’s here.

She let herself in with the key I gave her last week. It’s something I did without thinking, but can’t stop thinking about now. She’s tucked away in the guest room, her little lamp glowing through the cracked door like a firefly. I passed her earlier on the way to the elevator. She had her hair tied up, sweater sleeves shoved to her elbows, glasses on, and a look of pure determination.

She didn’t even say hi. Just grunted, “Torts tonight,” and waved me off with a highlighter.

I went downstairs to the gym for a light workout. Got in a few sets, some cardio, cleared my head.

When I get back an hour later, I don’t make a sound. She’s still studying, and something about her being here makes my place feel less... stark. Warmer. Like I came home to something instead of just returning to a box with a decent view.

I take my phone into my office-slash-storage room and keep the TV volume low. I give her quiet. Space. Peace. She deserves that. And if she keeps choosing this place over her chaotic apartment, I’ll do everything I can to make it feel like a damn sanctuary.

Around eleven, I hear her shuffle down the hallway.

I’m now in the kitchen, eating cereal like a grown man with no shame, standing up, because I like to eat standing up at the counter. Doesn't everyone?

"You know," she says behind me, "standing while eating cereal feels very divorced dad of you."

I turn and smile. She’s wrapped in one of those oversized cardigans that somehow still manage to look cute instead of frumpy. There’s a pink streak on her cheek from where she must’ve leaned into a notebook.

"I’m auditioning for the part," I reply, raising my spoon. "You caught me mid-performance. Want some cereal?"

She laughs, "Sure, I’m starving."

I grab her a bowl, spoon, and the milk while she joins me at the bar counter, perched on the leather-wrapped stool.

For a minute, we eat in silence. The good kind. The comfortable kind.

"Thanks again for letting me use your space," she says eventually, scooping a spoonful of Cheerios. "It’s seriously saving me. My apartment’s become a revolving door of wine, lip gloss, and whatever whirlwind Kira’s latest Tinder match brings."

"You’re welcome here anytime," I say. And I mean it more than I should.

She’s quiet again, then, “It’s weird, but this is the first time in a long time I’ve felt like I can breathe while studying.”

I glance over. "That bad?"

She nods slowly. "It’s not just the noise. It’s the pressure. I’ve been trying so hard to be perfect. To control everything. My schedule. My future. My life."

I listen.

"I even waited to move in with Kira because I wanted to be in the perfect headspace. I didn’t even kiss a guy all through law school because I didn’t want distractions. Like, I needed to prove to myself that I could stay in control. Over my grades. Over my body. Everything."

She stirs her food like it might respond.