Chapter 11
She didn't just ask.
She needed it.
That's the part that stuck with me when she said it.
Can you stay?
Quiet. Careful. Like she was already halfway expecting me to say no.
Like it cost her something to ask at all.
I'm still here because of that.
Chloe's in the other room now—she went to check on Ava about ten minutes ago and hasn't come back out yet. The apartment's quiet in that way it gets when a baby's finally asleep and no one trusts it enough to make noise.
I lean against the kitchen counter, arms folded, watching nothing in particular.
It should feel like a simple moment.
It isn't.
Because I don't usually stay.
Not like this.
Not in civilian apartments. Not in someone else's space when there's no operational reason to be here.
But I said yes before I fully thought it through.
And I don't regret it.
Which is its own problem.
A soft floorboard creaks down the hallway.
I look up.
Chloe steps out slowly, like she's not sure what version of this moment she's walking into. Hair slightly messier now, hoodie hanging off one shoulder. Tired in a way sleep doesn't fix.
Her eyes find me immediately.
Then flick away again.
Like holding my gaze for too long might change something she doesn't want changed.
"She's still out," she says quietly.
"Good," I reply.
Silence follows.
Not uncomfortable.
Just... loaded with things neither of us are saying.
Chloe walks into the kitchen but doesn't come too close. Instead, she leans against the opposite bench, folding her arms loosely.
Her posture is defensive without being sharp.
More like habit than intention.
I notice it anyway.
I've been noticing a lot of things lately.
The way she checks doors twice.
The way she listens before she walks into rooms.
The way her shoulders never fully drop, even when she's trying to relax.
There's a history there she hasn't told me.
I don't need details to know that.
I need patterns.
And I've seen enough patterns in people to know what they usually mean.
"You didn't have to stay," she says after a moment.
"I know."
That makes her pause.
Her eyes flick toward me again.
Like she wasn't expecting that answer.
I push off the counter slightly, but don't move closer.
"You asked," I say simply.
Her throat moves as she swallows.
"That doesn't mean you had to say yes."
I tilt my head a fraction.
"Yeah," I agree. "It kind of does."
That earns the faintest reaction—almost a breath of a laugh, but not quite.
Her gaze drops to the counter between us.
"You've been doing that a lot," she says.
"Doing what?"
"Just... showing up."
I don't answer immediately.
Because it didn't start as anything intentional.
First, it was just proximity. Neighbourhood timing. Hearing a baby cry through thin walls at night and choosing to check.
Then it became a habit.
Then something else I haven't named yet.
I shrug slightly.
"Seems like you need it."
Chloe stiffens a little at that.
Not offended.
More like she doesn't know what to do with it.
"I don't need—" she starts.
Then stops.
Reconsiders.
Her fingers tighten briefly against her sleeve.
I wait her out.
I've learned she doesn't need interruption. She needs space to land on what she actually means.
Eventually, she exhales.
"I don't like needing people," she says quietly.
There it is.
Not a revelation.
A confirmation.
I nod once.
"Yeah," I say. "Most people don't."
That makes her look at me again.
Longer this time.
Like she's trying to figure out if I'm judging her.
I'm not.
But I also know what it's like to function best when you don't rely on anyone, when dependency feels like a risk you can't afford to take.
The difference is, I've had structure to lean on.
She doesn't look like she has that luxury.
A beat passes.
Then Chloe speaks again, softer.
"You didn't have to come tonight either."
I glance toward the hallway where Ava is sleeping.
Then back to her.
"I heard her," I say.
That's all.
No embellishment.
No justification.
Chloe's eyes shift slightly, like that answer hits somewhere she didn't expect.
She nods slowly.
"Right."
Silence settles again.
But it's different now.
Less guarded.
More... honest.
I push off the counter fully this time, walking over to the fridge, more to give her space than anything else.
"You eating?" I ask.
She blinks.
"What?"
"You've been running on nothing," I say. "Again."
A faint crease forms between her brows.
"I had toast."
I glance at her.
"That's not food."
That finally gets a real, tired huff of air from her.
Not quite a laugh, but closer than before.
"I'm not really hungry," she says.
I close the fridge again without fully opening it.
"Okay," I reply. "But you will be later."
She watches me for a second.
Then shakes her head slightly, like she can't decide whether I'm frustrating or reassuring.
"Do you always do that?" she asks.
"Do what?"
"Just decide what people need."
I pause.
That one lands a bit closer to the mark than I like.
I consider it carefully before answering.
"No," I say finally. "Not people."
Her expression shifts slightly.
I continue before she can overthink it.
"You and Ava are different."
That goes quiet again.
Not tense.
Just... still.
Chloe looks away first.
But her shoulders drop a fraction this time.
I notice.
She doesn't.
From the hallway, there's a faint sound—Ava shifting in sleep.
Chloe reacts instantly, like a reflex, pushing off the counter.
But I lift a hand slightly.
"She's fine," I say.
Chloe hesitates.
Then stops.
Listens.
The sound fades again.
She exhales slowly, like she's forcing herself to believe it.
When she looks back at me, her voice is quieter.
"Thank you," she says.
Simple.
But it doesn't feel simple.
I nod once.
"Yeah."
I should probably leave at some point.
I know that.
This isn't something you stretch out too long without it changing shape into something else.
But when Chloe glances toward the hallway again, then back at me, I realise something I didn't want to put words to earlier.
She's calmer when I'm here.
Not fixed.
Not safe in a permanent sense.
Just... less alone in it.
And I understand that feeling better than I probably should.
So I stay.
Just a bit longer.