SIXTEEN. #2
I straighten fast and spin around. Tobias stands in the doorway, watching me with quiet, steady eyes. There’s no judgment on his face, no trace of awkwardness or impatience—just calm.
Without a word he steps forward, gently nudges me aside, and opens the washer. I watch as he transfers the wet clothes to the dryer, closes the door, and punches in the settings. The machine rumbles to life again, clothes tumbling behind the glass.
For a second I think he’s rushing to get dry and leave, that he’s decided this night has gone far enough. But then he turns to me, hooks his hands behind my thighs, and lifts me smoothly.
I let out a startled gasp and wrap my arms around his neck, legs locking around his waist as he pulls me flush against him. He carries me out of the laundry room and back to the living room like I weigh nothing. The TV is on now—a comedian’s special paused on the screen, frame frozen mid-gesture.
He lowers me carefully onto the couch, grabs the quilted throw from the armchair, and drops down beside me.
His arm snakes behind my back, tugging me closer until I’m tucked against his side.
He drapes the blanket over both of us, leaving his hand resting warm and possessive on my hip.
He presses play on the remote, then settles his gaze on the screen without saying anything at all.
I stare at him, stunned by how effortlessly he’s diffused the tension I was drowning in.
He looks completely at ease, like he knew exactly what I needed before I did.
And maybe he did. I do want him, more than I’ve let myself admit.
But this is starting to feel bigger than just physical want.
Maybe it always was. And maybe it’s more to him than I thought, too.
I pull my legs up and curl into his side so my knees drape across his lap and let my head find the hollow of his shoulder.
He tucks me tighter against him and tips his head back against the cushions.
The comedian on screen lands a punchline, the laugh track rolls, but all I hear is the steady, deep thump of Tobias’s heartbeat against my ear.
My eyes drift closed as the warmth of his body pulls me under.
And for the first time in weeks, sleep comes easy.
I tiptoe down the hall and pause at the edge of the living room, heart thudding when I see him still there. He’s sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes with the quilt tangled around his waist. He stayed. All night. I didn’t think he would.
I woke up tucked into my own bed with my sheets pulled up to my chin.
I must have fallen asleep on him, and he carried me down the hall without waking me.
That alone surprises me, because I’ve barely slept more than a few restless hours at a time since I came back here. And last night I slept deeply.
It’s almost nine now, later than I usually let myself sleep. I lean against the doorframe, watching him. He lowers his arm and glances up. His tired eyes meet mine, and a slow, easy grin spreads across his face.
“Do you want some coffee?” I ask.
He shakes his head, stretching lazily. “I don’t drink coffee.”
“What?” I stare at him, incredulous, eyes widening. “What are you, a psychopath? Why don’t you drink coffee?”
“I don’t need it,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I cross my arms, mouth still open. “So you just… get up and go about your day? Fully functional? No caffeine?”
“Yep.”
I gape at him, genuinely baffled. That’s insane. And somehow, it fits him perfectly.
“Well, I need coffee,” I state, then head into the kitchen.
I move through the familiar routine and feel Tobias lingering in the doorway. The soft gurgle begins, and I lean back against the counter, pressing my hands back as I turn to face him.
He’s dressed in the same jeans and shirt from last night, freshly washed and dried, the fabric still carrying the faint scent of my detergent. I let my eyes travel over him slowly, taking in the way the cotton stretches across his shoulders, the casual way he fills the space.
Last night we came so close to crossing a line—close enough that I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my hips—and yet I’m glad we didn’t. I’m glad the night ended with me falling asleep against his chest, wrapped in a blanket and his warmth, waking up without a single thread of regret.
“I was gonna go into town this morning,” Tobias says, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “If you wanted me to take some stuff with me, I’d be happy to drop it off.”
I bite down on my lip, the offer settling heavy in my stomach.
The thought of him loading up my aunt and uncle’s clothes, their shoes, their books, and handing them over to someone else to wear or use sends a sharp pang of longing through me.
I know it’s the right thing—I’ve known it for months—but knowing and doing are two different things and I can’t seem to bring myself to do it.
But Tobias knew them better than I ever did in their final years. He was here, in this house, on their last days. I wasn’t. If he’s willing to carry this for me, then maybe I can let him.
“Yeah, okay,” I say softly.
He pushes off the frame and steps closer until he’s right in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“I know it sucks,” he says gently. “But you’ll feel lighter once it’s gone. And there are people out there who’ll use their things.”
“I know,” I whisper. “It’s just… their clothes were them. That’s who they were.”
He lifts his hand and brushes his fingers along my cheek to the corner of my jaw. I let out a trembling breath, the touch settling me even as my chest aches.
“Is there anything you want to keep of theirs?”
I shake my head. “I already went through and pulled out the things that mattered. Everything else…” I trail off, swallowing hard.
“I can wait if you need more time.”
“No,” I confirm. “Just do it. You’re probably right. I just need to rip the bandage off.”
He presses his lips together in a small, encouraging grin. “Do you mind if I start loading it up?” I hold his gaze for a long moment, searching his face, then nod slowly. “If you want me to wait, I’ll wait, just say the word.”
“Thanks,” I manage.
He lets his hand fall away, then steps back to the front door. I stay where I am, listening to his boots on the hardwood as he heads toward the main bedroom. A few seconds later he reappears carrying two of the large cardboard boxes I’d packed weeks ago.
Through the kitchen window I watch him carry them to his truck, drop the tailgate, and slide them in.
The coffee maker beeps behind me, signaling it’s done, but I don’t move.
I just stand with my arms wrapped around myself, watching him go back and forth, box after box, until the house that used to feel so full of them starts to echo with emptiness.
Finally he stops in the doorway again, breathing a little harder, and waits until my eyes find his.
“All good?” he asks. I nod quickly. I know this has to happen. I just have to let it. “I’ll be back. Ring me if you need anything.”
I nod again, and he pulls the door closed behind him. I turn to the window and watch as he climbs into the truck, backs down the long driveway, and disappears onto the road.
The house feels quieter now—too quiet—but the weight that’s been pressing on my shoulders for months has shifted, lightened.
Their belongings are gone, no longer mine to guard or grieve over every time I walk past a closet or open a drawer.
Instead of guilt, a strange, tentative relief settles in my chest. I’m finally taking a step forward, even if it’s a small one.
And I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Tobias.