I was jolted awake by strange noises sharp pops, muffled thuds. Blinking against the dark, I turned toward the window.
Flashes of blue and red lit up the walls in erratic pulses, like the sky was glitching outside my window. My breath hitched. I pushed off the covers, heart pounding, feet cold against the floor as I padded over to the security console. Half-asleep but half-wired with confusion, I tapped into the camera feed.
There he was.
Him.
Lighting firecrackers in the dead of night, their sparks painting the air like falling stars. And behind him, a makeshift board held up by flimsy wires, glowing faintly under the bursts of light:
“Happy Birthday.”
I just stared at the screen.
Was this real?
Who told him?
Why him?
No one else remembered. Not a soul. I had made peace with being invisible built a home in it, even. But here he was, tearing through my silence like it meant nothing. And I hated that... I didn’t hate it at all.
These little gestures they shouldn't matter. But they do. They chip away at the armor I’ve spent years building. They raise expectations I’ve trained myself to bury.
He knocked on my door.
My first instinct was to ignore it. Let it go. Let him go. Pretend like none of this ever happened.
But then...
He tried.
And no one tries for me. Ever.
So maybe, just this once...
I reached for the door, every muscle taut with hesitation. My hands trembled on the lock. I hated how much I wanted to see him. How badly I needed someone to defy the distance I always kept.
The door creaked open.
And there he stood.
Tall. Real. Unapologetically solid.
His jawline could cut glass, but his eyes... those were gentle, kind. Like he was used to watching from afar but never stepping forward until now.
He wore a simple shirt, but the fabric clung to his chest and stomach like it was holding on for dear life. I hadn’t expected him to look like that. I hadn’t expected... anything.
I swallowed hard, my voice betraying me as I whispered, “H–hey.”
And then, he spoke.
A voice deep and steady, like thunder wrapped in velvet.
“Happy Birthday.”
Something inside me snapped or maybe bloomed. My heart didn’t just skip a beat. It stumbled. Tripped. Fell off a cliff.
This wasn't normal. This wasn’t safe.
This... felt like dying beautifully.
I stood there frozen, half in shadow, half lit by the flickering bursts of fireworks still echoing behind him. The smell of smoke lingered faintly in the air, blending with something uniquely him—clean, crisp, like rain hitting warm stone.
His eyes didn’t waver. He looked at me like I mattered.
And I hated that.
Because it made me want to believe it. To believe he saw something worth celebrating, even when I felt like nothing but leftover silence.
“I… didn’t tell anyone it was my birthday,” I said, voice low, uncertain.
He gave a small shrug, lips quirking slightly. “I know. That’s why I had to make sure someone remembered.”
That shouldn’t have hit me so hard.
But it did.
I looked away, suddenly overwhelmed by the raw ache in my chest. “Why, though? You’re my bodyguard. You’re not supposed to care.”
Silence.
I risked a glance up.
His expression had shifted softer, quieter but there was something stormy behind his eyes. Something caged and aching.
“I never signed up to not care,” he said, his voice low, firm. “Watching you all these years... I’ve seen you laugh with no one, cry when you thought no one was looking. You’ve built walls so high, even sunlight struggles to get in.”
He paused, taking a step closer.
“But I never stopped watching. And I couldn’t let another year pass with you thinking no one gave a damn.”
My throat tightened. I hated that tears burned behind my eyes, that he saw too much. I hated being seen.
But I didn’t close the door.
Instead, I leaned against the frame, trying to catch my breath while my mind spiraled.
“What do you want from me?” I asked quietly. Not defensively just tired. Vulnerable.
He studied me for a long moment, then replied without hesitation.
“Nothing you don’t want to give. But if you ask me what I want?” He took another step. We were close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off him, the unspoken electricity humming in the space between us.
“I want you to know you’re not as alone as you think. Not tonight. Not ever again if you’ll let me stay.”
His words weren’t slick. They weren’t romantic.
They were honest.
And maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all.
I could feel something inside me cracking the part that had survived on numbness and solitude. The part that told me not to trust, not to feel, not to hope.
But right now… in this moment…
That part was losing.
I stepped back slowly. Left the door open behind me.
A silent invitation.
He didn’t rush in. He waited. Always watching. Always patient.
And when I nodded, just slightly just enough he crossed the threshold.
Not just into my apartment.
Into my life.
And for the first time in years… maybe I wasn’t afraid of what that meant.
