(Mia's POV)
Morning came like a soft lie.
Light spilled through my curtains in gentle, warm beams — the kind of light that should've coaxed peace into my bones. But I felt anything but peaceful. My chest still carried the bruised weight of last night, and my mind was a maze with every exit blocked.
I blinked into the light, my head pounding faintly, memories flickering in disconnected flashes:
The bridge.
The cold railing against my back.
Ace's voice, low and steady, grounding me when everything else spun.
His forehead touching mine like he was offering his breath to keep me alive.
His hand brushing my tears away with more tenderness than I'd ever been given.
And then—
The walk home.
God.
Why did that feel like something my heart shouldn't remember so vividly?
Ace hadn't pushed.
He hadn't asked questions.
He hadn't even walked too close.
He'd just stayed.
A quiet, warm shadow beside me.
Close enough to keep me steady.
Far enough not to crowd me.
And somehow that made everything more dangerous.
Because I didn't know how to hold that kind of gentleness.
I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. The apartment was silent — the kind of silence that didn't soothe. The kind that made every thought echo too loudly.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I didn't need to check to know who it was.
I checked anyway.
Ace: Got home safe?
Ace: Text me when you wake up.
Ace: Or don't. Just… let me know you're okay.
I stared at the messages until they blurred.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard.
A reply flickered into my mind. Something simple.
I'm okay.
But… that felt like a lie.
I wasn't okay.
I didn't even know what "okay" meant anymore.
My chest tightened until it hurt.
I locked my phone.
Set it face-down on the bed.
Then I got up.
The shower did nothing.
Coffee did nothing.
Staring at the blank TV screen did nothing.
Avoidance wasn't peace.
It was static.
White noise.
A wall made of fog.
But it was familiar.
And right now, familiar felt safer than the way Ace's voice had said, "So am I," when I told him I was scared.
I kept hearing that moment on repeat, like a scratched record:
"You just have to let someone be beside you."
He'd said it with such patience. Such quiet certainty.
Like he wasn't afraid of my mess, or the confusion, or the way I kept running from everything that hurt.
Like he didn't mind staying in the storm with me.
That terrified me more than Liam's sudden reappearance ever could.
I wrapped my hands around my mug, trying to swallow the tightness in my throat.
My phone buzzed again.
I ignored it.
Three minutes later — it buzzed once more.
And then —
A knock.
I froze.
Not Ace.
He didn't knock like that.
Lily.
Of course.
I sighed heavily and opened the door.
Lily stood there with a tote bag, oversized sunglasses, and the expression of a woman who had absolutely no intention of leaving me alone to self-destruct.
"Mia," she said, sweeping in with the force of a warm hurricane, "I come bearing muffins and judgment."
"I don't want judgment."
"Okay, then I'll give you muffins and light, passive-aggressive concern."
I shut the door. "Lily—"
"Nope," she said, plopping onto my couch. "Sit. You look like you haven't slept since the moon was invented."
I sat.
Mostly because I wasn't strong enough to resist her momentum.
Lily nudged a muffin toward me. "Eat. Then talk."
"I'm not hungry."
She raised an eyebrow. "Eat. Then talk."
I took a small bite just to shut her up.
"So what's the plan?" she asked. "Avoid Ace until the end of time? Block me and James too? Go live in the woods? Start a new identity as 'Mildred' and knit scarves for stray cats?"
"I don't knit."
"I can teach you."
I groaned.
She watched me with that soft, patient Lily-look that saw straight through me whether I wanted it to or not.
"You're overwhelmed," she said.
"Obviously."
"And scared."
I swallowed hard.
"And you think if you start feeling anything for Ace, it'll break something in you. Or in your past. Or in your future."
My throat tightened again. "Lily, please—"
"Okay, I'll stop. But Mia…" She reached out and squeezed my hand. "You're not a burden for feeling deeply. And Ace isn't the kind of man who gets scared of big emotions."
"That's what makes it worse."
She blinked. "How?"
"Because he's steady," I whispered. "Steadier than I've ever been. And I don't want to pull him into my mess. I don't want him to get hurt because I can't sort myself out."
Lily sighed. "He chose to care. That wasn't an accident."
I looked away, unable to hold her gaze.
"And," she added, voice softer, "you're acting like you're the only one who might get hurt."
I flinched.
She wasn't wrong.
I was so busy trying to keep myself from shattering that I forgot about the quiet ache in Ace's eyes last night — the way his voice trembled when he said he was scared too.
"I need space," I murmured. "Just for a little while. To think."
"I get that," Lily said. "Then you need to tell him."
I shook my head violently. "I can't. Hearing his voice right now… it'll undo me."
"So text him."
"I can't do that either."
She leaned back, studying me with a new expression.
"Oh. You're really in trouble."
I glared. "Helpful."
"You're welcome."
Lily stayed for two hours.
We talked about everything except the one thing that was eating me alive. We watched half an episode of a show I didn't absorb a single frame of. She eventually left only because she had a prior commitment — and because she trusted James to take over the emotional babysitting shift.
He texted me ten minutes after she left.
James: I'm on my way. Don't hide.
I locked my phone again.
I wasn't in the mood to be perceived.
I curled up on my couch, wrapped a blanket around myself, and let the hours blur into a muddy, indistinct haze.
Avoidance was a poison — but it was a familiar one.
Every time my phone buzzed, I flinched.
Mia, what are you doing?
Why is this so hard?
Why does everything feel like it's cracking open inside my chest?
By late afternoon, my eyes hurt from staring at nothing.
And somewhere around 5 PM, I realized—
I missed him.
There it was.
The truth I'd been dodging like it was a moving train.
I missed Ace.
His steadiness.
His warmth.
The quiet way he listened.
The way he saw me even when I didn't want to be seen.
The way he walked me home without touching me because he knew I couldn't handle anything more… but wanted to.
Tears gathered.
I wiped them away angrily.
My phone buzzed again.
Ace this time.
I already knew.
I braced myself and checked.
Ace: You don't have to reply. Just… breathe today. Okay?
A sob clawed up my throat.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
He didn't even ask for anything.
Didn't demand.
Didn't pry.
He just asked me to breathe.
And that — that was too much.
Too kind.
Too patient.
Too safe.
I set the phone down carefully, like it might explode.
Then I curled into myself and cried silently.
Not because of him.
Not because of Liam.
But because I was tired of being afraid of things that were gentle.
By evening, the sunlight dimmed, turning my apartment into a muted watercolor painting. I sat on the floor, leaning against the couch, staring at the blank wall across from me.
The door knocked again — softer this time.
Not Lily.
Not James.
My heart tripped.
Ace.
I could feel it.
I didn't move.
I didn't breathe.
"...Mia?"
His voice seeped through the door like warm air slipping into a cold room.
Soft.
Careful.
Heard-you-crying-careful.
"I'm not coming in," he said. "I just… I needed to make sure you weren't alone."
I closed my eyes.
Of course he knew.
He always knew.
"I'll go," Ace continued quietly. "I'll give you whatever space you need. Just… tap twice on the door. Let me know you're okay."
My chest clenched so hard it almost knocked the air out of me.
He needed a sign.
Just a sign.
I looked at the door.
At the space between us.
At the way the dim hall light spilled under the crack.
My feet moved before my mind did.
I approached the door slowly, heartbeat thick in my ears.
I raised my hand.
Paused.
Gathered myself.
Then—
Tap.
Tap.
Two soft knocks.
A shaky breath exhaled on the other side.
"Okay," Ace whispered. "Okay…"
He didn't ask for more.
He didn't ask to talk.
He didn't ask to see me.
He just whispered, "…Thank you."
His footsteps retreated down the hall.
Slow.
Reluctant.
Heart-heavy.
And when the silence returned…
I leaned my forehead against the door and cried again.
But this time, it wasn't from fear.
It was from the impossible, terrifying relief of knowing he wasn't giving up on me.
Even when I didn't know how to hold any of this.
Even when I didn't know how to hold myself.
Night swallowed the sky completely by the time I finally slid down the door and sat on the hardwood floor.
Everything inside me trembled.
Not with dread.
But with the fragile, dangerous beginnings of something I had spent years convincing myself I didn't deserve.
Hope.
And that?
That was the most terrifying emotion of all.