I Dont Know How To Need You Less
The penthouse felt quieter after that conversation in the car.
Not awkward quiet.
Fragile quiet.
Like both of them were still carrying around words too heavy to set down properly.
You're the only soft thing I have.
Lia kept replaying the confession in her head long after they arrived home.
Because Adrian hadn't sounded dramatic.
He'd sounded honest.
And somehow—
that made it infinitely worse.
—
The city glowed beneath midnight by the time they stepped into the penthouse.
Rain still clung lightly to Adrian's coat while soft amber lighting warmed the apartment around them.
Usually, Adrian became calmer the second they got home.
Tonight—
he seemed restless.
Subtle.
Barely noticeable.
But Lia knew him too well now.
The loosened tie abandoned carelessly near the couch.
The quietness.
The way his hand remained against her lower back constantly like he needed reassurance she was still physically there.
Lia noticed everything now too.
Adrian closed the penthouse doors behind them before immediately pulling her gently against him.
No hesitation.
Like instinct.
His forehead rested lightly against hers while he exhaled slowly.
Tired.
Emotionally tired.
Lia's fingers slid softly through his dark hair.
Immediate reaction.
Always immediate.
His eyes closed briefly while his arms tightened around her waist.
"You do that like you're trying to calm me down," he murmured quietly.
"I am trying to calm you down."
A faint breath of laughter escaped him.
Not amused.
Almost disbelieving.
"You really notice everything about me now."
The words wrapped warmly around her chest.
Because he sounded affected by that too.
Like being understood still surprised him.
The silence stretched softly between them.
Rain tapping quietly against the windows.
Their breathing mixing together in the warm stillness of the apartment.
Then Adrian pulled back slightly just to look at her.
Big mistake.
Because his expression nearly ruined her emotionally.
Exhausted.
Soft.
Completely vulnerable in ways no one else probably ever saw.
Lia lifted her hand slowly, brushing her thumb lightly beneath his eye.
"You're overthinking."
A faint smile touched his mouth briefly.
"You say that like it's fixable."
"It is."
Adrian's gaze stayed fixed entirely on her.
Then quietly—
"No, Lia." His fingers tightened gently against her waist. "I genuinely don't know how to need you less."
The confession shattered straight through her chest.
Because he sounded frustrated by it.
Not with her.
With himself.
Like dependency terrified him even while he drowned in it willingly.
Lia stared at him silently.
And suddenly—
she understood something terrifying.
Adrian wasn't trying to control her because he doubted her loyalty.
He held onto her so tightly because loving her had become essential to him.
Like breathing.
Like sleep.
Like something his body no longer functioned correctly without.
The realization hurt.
Adrian noticed immediately.
"You looked sad again."
"You say heartbreaking things casually."
A faint flicker crossed his face.
"I'm trying to be honest with you."
"You're too honest."
That finally made him smile slightly.
Small.
Tired.
Beautiful enough to make her chest ache anyway.
"You're the first person I've ever wanted to be honest with."
God.
The words hit hard.
Because Adrian had spent most of his life performing coldness for survival.
Powerful men didn't survive by exposing weakness.
But with her?
He exposed everything.
The obsession.
The fear.
The unbearable depth of his feelings.
And maybe the most dangerous part?
Lia loved every broken piece of honesty he handed her.
Adrian's hands slid slowly upward along her back beneath her coat.
Warm.
Careful.
Grounding himself again.
"You know what scares me most?" he murmured softly.
Lia swallowed carefully.
"What?"
His eyes lowered briefly toward the ring resting against her hand before returning to her face.
"That this still feels temporary to me sometimes."
The confession physically hurt.
Because suddenly—
she realized Adrian still expected loss.
Even now.
Even after she practically lived here.
Even after keys and rings and nights tangled together in his bed.
Part of him still waited for her to disappear.
Lia reached for his face without thinking.
Her palms settled gently against his cheeks.
Immediate reaction.
Adrian went completely still.
Like tenderness from her still undid him instantly every single time.
"I'm here," she whispered softly.
His eyes closed briefly.
And when he opened them again—
they looked devastatingly emotional.
"You say things that make me want impossible permanence with you."
The roughness in his voice wrapped tightly around her heart.
Lia's fingers brushed lightly through his hair again.
"You already want permanence."
"Yes," Adrian admitted quietly.
No hesitation.
Never hesitation.
Then softer—
"I just don't know how to trust it yet."
The honesty cracked something open inside her chest.
Because Adrian Monteverde trusted her with everything except the belief that she would stay forever.
The realization made her heart ache painfully.
Lia stepped closer until no space remained between them at all.
His hands tightened instinctively around her waist.
Protective.
Possessive.
Like closeness itself comforted him.
"You know what I think?" she whispered softly.
Adrian looked at her like she was the only real thing in the room.
"What?"
Lia's thumb brushed lightly against his cheek.
"I think you spent so long expecting people to leave that you don't know what to do when someone doesn't."
Silence crashed softly between them.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Adrian stared at her like she'd reached inside his chest and touched something fragile directly.
Then slowly—
his composure cracked again.
A sharp breath escaped him while his forehead dropped against hers.
"You make me feel too seen."
The confession wrapped tightly around her chest.
Because he sounded overwhelmed by it.
Not afraid.
Just emotionally exposed in ways he never learned how to survive properly.
Lia's arms slid slowly around his neck.
And for the first time since meeting Adrian—
she felt him fully relax against her.
Not performative calm.
Not controlled stillness.
Actual relaxation.
Like his body finally stopped preparing for loss for a few seconds.
His voice came quieter afterward.
Almost vulnerable enough to hurt.
"If you ever stop loving me," he whispered softly, "I don't think I'll survive it correctly."