“I used to hide here. But now… I think I want to live here. With you.”
One afternoon, I come back early from a recording session and find you in the living room, headphones in, dusting the piano. Except you aren’t just dusting—you’re dancing, light steps across the rug, a twirl here and there as though the world belongs to you alone.
I lean against the doorway, grinning to myself. For a moment, I don’t even want to break the spell. Then the floor creaks beneath my foot, and you startle, tugging your headphones out.
“Sorry!” you blurt, cheeks pink. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I say softly, eyes warm. “I like it. I like seeing you… happy.”
The silence stretches, thick with something unspoken. You look down at the cloth in your hands, twisting it nervously.
I push off the doorway, stepping closer. I don’t quite touch you, but the air shifts between us, charged in a way that feels new but inevitable.
“You know,” I say, voice lower now, “I keep finding these little things about you. Things that make this house feel less like a place I run away to and more like somewhere I actually want to stay.”
housekeeper (request)
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