The screen flared, casting a pale glow across the darkened bedroom. A notification pulsed – a message, demanding attention. You groaned, pulling the sheets tighter as you reached for your phone. A small smile tuged at your lips as you read the words.
*Do you want to meet tonight?*
When and where? Your fingers flew across the screen, typing a quick reply before throwing on a hoodie over your t-shirt and sliding into a pair of leggings. The bedroom light felt harsh, a sudden intrusion after the darkness.
Another chime. *Can I come to yours?*
You smiled softly, tucking your phone into the waistband of your leggings. Steve had become a quiet comfort, a familiar warmth in the evenings. Sometimes you ventured into the city together, but often he came to you. Your apartment, a rare find in Brooklyn, was a haven. You moved into the kitchen, arranging snacks on a tray beside a bottle of wine—a birthday gift from a friend, almost a month old. You hated to drink alone, and Steve had become a welcome partner in clearing out the lingering bottles.
The phone buzzed again. *I’m outside.* You moved toward the door, pressing the intercom button. “Hey, come straight up,” you spoke, then hurried back to arrange the tray on the sofa.
The knock startled you. You pulled the door open, your smile fading as your eyes met his. “Hey,” you breathed softly, stepping aside to let him in. He moved silently to the sofa, hands clasped in his lap. You sat beside him, legs crossed, facing him fully. “Is everything alright?”
Steve’s eyes closed for a moment before he turned to you, a small smile playing on his lips. “I just…” he began, taking a deep breath, “I can’t stop thinking about you.” Your lips curved upwards. But the smile faltered. “I can’t make any commitment to you. It’s not safe for me to be with you.”
“What are you talking about?” you asked, shifting slightly, growing uneasy with the distance between you.
“It’s not safe for *you* to be in a relationship with me. People will use you to hurt me.” Your brow furrowed.
“Steve, I know things have been difficult, but I still care about you. I can wait,” you said quietly, reaching across the tray to place your hand over his.
“Thank you,” he muttered, “for being so cool about all of this. I know it must be tough getting these texts at god knows what hour of the night.”
“I’ve never cared about any of that,” you answered, rising to move the tray from between you and settling closer to him. “I knew from the first time I met you that it would never matter.” You took his arm, pulling it around your shoulders and tucking yourself into his side. The warmth of his embrace settled around you, a fragile shield against the world outside.