The apartment was quiet in the way it only gets past midnight.
I had changed out of the emerald dress, reluctantly, like letting go of the evening itself, and was sitting curled by the window in my midnight blue robe, bare feet tucked beneath me.
The city below had gentled into its late night version of itself. Fewer cars. Softer lights. The particular stillness that makes you feel both small and strangely held.
I wasn't ready to sleep.
I kept replaying the evening in pieces, not in order, just in feeling. The way his hand had found the small of my back in the crowd.
The balcony and the city spread out below us and his voice saying the things that matter are the ones that can hurt. The dance. His forehead against my temple. The kiss he pressed there so softly it almost didn't happen and somehow was all I could think about.
I feel safe with you.
I had said it without planning to. It had just, come out. True and quiet and entirely exposed.
You always will.
I pressed my fingers to my lips and stared at the city lights.
My phone lit up again.
Joe: I know it's late. But I just needed to hear your voice.
I stared at the message for one breath. Two.
Then I called him.
He picked up on the second ring. His voice came through low and slightly rough, the voice of someone lying still in a dark room, not yet asleep, not quite ready to be.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," I said back.
Just that. For a moment just that, and it was enough.
"Can't sleep either?" he asked.
"Not really." I pulled my robe tighter. "Tonight felt like a lot."
"Loaded," he said.
"Exactly." I smiled at the window. "You felt it too."
"The whole night." A pause. "Every time you looked at me I forgot what I was supposed to be doing."
I hugged my knees. "You weren't the only one forgetting."
Silence stretched between us, not awkward, just full.
The kind of silence that happens between two people who have stopped needing to fill every gap.
"I kept thinking," Joe said quietly, "about what it would have been like if we weren't surrounded by people.
If I could have just, pulled you aside somewhere. Kissed you slowly until we both forgot where we were."
My breath caught. "Joe."
"I know," he said. "I'm not pushing. I just, I keep thinking about you. I haven't stopped since I dropped you off."
"I haven't stopped either," I admitted. "About your hand on my back. The way you stayed close all night without making it a thing.
The way you said my name on the balcony."
"You noticed that," he said softly. It wasn't a question.
"I notice everything when it comes to you," I said.
"I just wasn't letting myself feel it. Until recently."
A quiet exhale on his end. "And now?"
I looked out at the city. "Now I feel all of it. Which is terrifying."
"Yeah," he said. "Me too."
"You don't seem terrified."
"Ella." His voice was gentle. "I'm lying in the dark at midnight calling a woman because I needed to hear her voice. I'm absolutely terrified."
I laughed, soft and a little unsteady. "When you put it like that."
"I'm scared of how much this matters," he said. "Because the things that matter are the things that can take something from you.
And I'm already," he paused. "I'm already in this. More than I planned."
My throat tightened. "How far in?"
A beat. Then quietly: "Far enough that the thought of you pulling back keeps me up at night."
I closed my eyes. No one had ever said it like that, not with that kind of honesty, that kind of quiet courage.
"I'm not pulling back," I said. "I'm scared. But I'm not running."
"That's all I need," he said.
The silence returned, softer this time. I could hear him breathing on the other end of the line, steady and slow, and something about that alone settled me. Just knowing he was there. Just voices in the dark.
"What are you wearing?" he asked after a while.
I blinked. Then laughed. "Excuse me?"
"I'm just, imagining you. The way you sound right now." A pause. "I'm not trying to be inappropriate. I just want to picture you."
"A robe," I said. "Midnight blue. Bare feet. Cold tea."
He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "You're sitting by the window aren't you."
"How did you know?"
"Because that's where you go when you're thinking."
I stilled. He knew that. He had noticed that. Quietly, without announcement, he had learned me.
"Joe," I said softly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm scared of falling too fast."
A long pause. Then: "Fall," he said simply. "I'll catch you."
I bit my lip against the sting behind my eyes. He always knew exactly what to say, not to charm, not to perform, but to anchor.
"Wish you were here," I whispered.
"I'd just hold you," he said. "Nothing more. Your head on my chest. Your breath on my skin. Just quiet."
I exhaled slowly. "That sounds perfect."
"Promise me something," he said.
"What?"
"Next time I see you, don't hold back. Let me kiss you like I mean it."
I smiled at the window. "I promise."
We stayed on the line after that without saying much. Just breathing.
Just sharing the same quiet from different rooms in the same city.
At some point the words stopped entirely and I rested my head against the cool glass, phone warm against my cheek, his steady breathing the last thing I was aware of before sleep finally came.
Not fire. Not fireworks.
Just warmth.
And the start of something I was finally brave enough to want.