Laughter
Riley
The park was quieter than the café had been. It was still threaded with movement and sound: distant traffic beyond the trees, the rhythmic scrape of runners passing along the path, birds scattering noisily somewhere overhead.
But the noise dispersed differently here. It moved around her instead, diffuse enough that her brain stopped trying to hold every piece of it at once.
Beside her, Declan’s hand remained loosely linked with hers as they walked.
The contact had happened without discussion somewhere after leaving lunch, his fingers brushing against hers briefly before settling there fully, easy and unforced like he had simply assumed she would tell him if she wanted the distance back.
She hadn’t.
Their pace slowed naturally as they moved further down the path, neither of them speaking for a while. The quiet settled easily between them, carrying the lingering warmth of the afternoon rather than the expectation of conversation.
Lunch had gone longer than Riley normally permitted these kinds of things to last. Long enough for structure to dissolve at the edges, their conversation drifting sideways into topics that served no productive purpose beyond continuing them.
Long enough that she should have started feeling the familiar pull toward escape, toward solitude, toward the relief of being alone again.
Instead, she kept finding reasons to stay seated. One more story, one more question. One more quiet smile from across the table that made leaving feel strangely premature.
And she liked it. The thought settled strangely somewhere beneath her ribs. A year ago, she would not have believed she could exist inside something like this without wanting to escape it eventually. Now, walking beside him, she realised she hadn’t once thought about leaving.
The path curved gently ahead of them, uneven sunlight filtering through the trees overhead in shifting bands across the ground. Declan’s shoulder brushed hers lightly as they walked. The contact didn’t pull her out of herself anymore. It grounded her further into the moment instead.
So she adjusted closer. He matched it immediately, subtle enough that someone else may not have noticed. His pace slowed slightly to align more comfortably with hers, his body shifting instinctively to maintain the contact rather than letting it disappear naturally with movement.
Riley kept her gaze forward, but her awareness stayed fixed on the steady weight of him beside her.
There was once a time where she thought safety came from distance, from control. From ensuring she never relied too heavily on variables she couldn’t predict.
Somehow, safety had become this: a hand holding hers without demanding anything from it. A silence that didn’t need filling. Someone whose presence quieted the world instead of complicating it. They kept walking.
The silence between them held shape now, something warm and complete rather than empty. Riley felt herself settle further into it with every step, no longer trying to analyse why it felt so different. She just let it exist.
Then his phone rang. The sound cut through the quiet cleanly enough that she felt the change before it fully happened, the subtle loosening of his hand around hers as he reached instinctively toward his pocket.
And immediately, she noticed the absence.
“Sorry,” he said, glancing at the screen. “It’s mum.”
“That’s okay,” Riley replied.
He answered, turning slightly but not stepping away from her. “Hey, Mum.”
His voice softened, familiar in a different way, and Riley let it sit around her without trying to follow the details. She watched instead, the way his expression shifted, the way his posture changed slightly as he listened.
“… Yeah, I can do that.” He paused to listen down the line. “I’m just at the park with Riles.” He nodded, his brows pulling inwards as if concerned. “Sure, I’ll come now.”
He ended the call and looked back at her, something apologetic settling into his expression. “She needs a hand with something,” he said. “It won’t take long.”
Riley nodded, her hand resting at her side now, her fingers still faintly curved as though they hadn’t quite let go of his.
“I’ll come by after,” he added. “If that’s alright with you?”
“It is,” she said. Then, quieter, more certain, “I would like that.”
Something in his expression softened at that, subtle but unmistakable. Neither of them moved straight away. They stopped walking somewhere in the middle of the conversation without either of them consciously deciding to, the moment settling quietly around them instead.
Riley stepped slightly closer. Not enough to fully close the space between them, just enough to feel the warmth of him again, solid and grounding beneath the lingering ache already building at the thought of leaving.
Then she leaned in the rest of the way and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek.
The contact was soft, fleeting, but intentional enough that she felt the way he stilled beneath it for half a second. “I will see you soon,” she said.
“Yeah,” he replied softly. “You will.”
This time, when he let her go, her body didn’t instinctively brace against the absence. She still felt it, the loss of warmth, of pressure, of him, but it no longer carried the sharpness of something being taken away.
Because she knew it wasn’t permanent, and somehow, that changed everything.
The apartment felt different when she stepped inside.
Nothing had actually changed: the same soft lamp light spilling across the living room, the same faint hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen, the same uneven pile of blankets Dee never folded properly.
But Riley felt different moving through it, less like someone arriving temporarily inside a space she occupied and more like someone returning.
Dee was curled into the corner of the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, half-scrolling through her phone, half very obviously waiting. She looked up the second the door opened.
Riley saw the shift in her expression and didn’t need to dissect it to understand it anymore. Concern first, anticipation underneath it, and then hope.
“Well?” Dee asked.
“Well, to summarise the conversation,” Riley stated, “he told me he loves me.” Dee froze, mouth agape in shock.
“And, I didn’t leave,” Riley finished speaking, the last few words quieter than the rest, her usual precision softening around the edges into something more exposed.
Something real enough that she didn’t seem fully protected from it anymore.
There was exactly one beat of silence. Then Dee practically launched herself off the couch. “Oh my god, Riley,” she burst out, crossing the room so quickly it barely registered before her arms were around her. “You didn’t run. You actually stayed.”
Riley jolted slightly at the impact, her body going rigid for a fraction of a second purely from surprise. Then the tension gave way, dissolving as Dee held onto her.
“I stayed,” she repeated, quieter this time, the words muffled slightly against Dee’s shoulder.
And then, after the smallest pause: “And it didn’t feel wrong.” Her eyes closed briefly. Riley let herself remain there, held, grounded, before the next words slipped out, softer still. “It just felt… right.”
Dee pulled back just enough to look at her, her hands still gripping Riley’s arms like she needed to keep her there. “Of course it did,” she said, half laughing, half emotional. “That’s because it is right, you emotional disaster.”
Riley’s lips twitched faintly at the edges, the expression small but real.
Dee shook her head, smiling now in that slightly disbelieving way people did when something long hoped for had finally happened in front of them.
“I genuinely cannot believe this,” she said softly. “Okay, no, that’s a lie. I absolutely can. But also…” She let out a quiet laugh, looking at Riley like the reality of it still hadn’t fully settled. “I think I’ve been waiting for you to get here for years.”
Riley’s expression shifted slightly at that, something softer settling in. “There is something I need to ask you,” she said.
Dee groaned lightly, but she didn’t let go. “Fine. Go.”
Riley hesitated before continuing, the pause longer this time, like she was trying to align the thought properly before allowing it out loud. “If I continue this… if I choose to be with him, then I am also choosing everything attached to him. His family. The environment around him.”
Dee gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
Riley’s fingers shifted slightly against the fabric beneath her hands. “That includes Tyler.”
The name settled differently between them. Heavier. Dee’s expression changed almost imperceptibly, the humour leaving it completely now, but she stayed where she was, steady and attentive.
“I left because I thought staying would hurt you,” Riley said, her voice quieter this time, the words less structured as they pushed through. “I thought I was preventing further damage,” she paused, “And I do not want to make a choice that causes that again.”
Dee stared at her for a second, then shook her head, her grip tightening slightly before she let out a breath. “Riley,” she said, softer now but no less certain, “you never had to give him up for me.”
Riley stilled.
“I mean it,” Dee continued. “Yeah, I don’t like Tyler. That’s not changing anytime soon. But that’s my problem, not yours. I can handle being around him if it means you get to be happy.”
Riley’s gaze searched her face.
“I like Declan,” Dee added, more gently now. “A lot, especially for you. And Ebony?” she huffed a small laugh. “That kid is incredible. I’d show up for her in a heartbeat.”
Riley nodded, her voice quieter. “She is.”