Jul 20
Late night doodles :3
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Late night doodles :3
Heartstrings
Sofia had cleaned the kitchen counter twice.
The counter was already clean. She could smell the lemon cleaner on her hands, sharp and familiar, but she dragged the cloth over the surface again anyway.
One slow pass.
Then another.
Anything was better than sitting still.
The apartment looked calm in a way she didn’t feel. The throw pillows were straightened on the couch. The blanket was folded over the armrest. The dishes were put away. The floor had been swept until there was nothing left to sweep, and the little stack of mail on the entryway table had been sorted into neat piles she would probably forget about later.
Ian was coming over.
The thought moved through her chest with an uncomfortable weight.
Sofia stopped near the sink and gripped the edge of the counter, letting her head dip forward for a second. She had known this conversation was coming. For months, Ian had called, texted, and left voicemails she didn’t always listen to all the way through because hearing his voice still did something awful to her. He apologized in every one of them. Sometimes gently. Sometimes through tears. Sometimes so quietly she could barely make out the words.
She had ignored most of them.
Then last week, she answered.
Now he was coming here.
Her thumb brushed against the side of her hand, restless, searching for something to do. She had chosen her apartment because it felt safer than meeting somewhere public. Safer, and worse, because this place still remembered him. The corner of the couch where he used to sit. The kitchen cabinet he always opened first, even though he knew the mugs were on the other side. The little scuff near the door from when he had tripped over his own shoes and made her laugh so hard she had almost dropped her keys.
She hated that she remembered that.
She hated more that part of her wanted to.
Sofia pushed away from the counter and crossed into the living room, checking the couch again even though nothing had moved. Her silver curls shifted over her shoulders, heavy and full, dark at the roots before fading into pale silver down the length of them.
She caught her reflection in the hallway mirror as she passed and stopped before she could talk herself out of it.
For a second, she only looked.
Months ago, she would have avoided the mirror completely. Back then, grief had sat under her eyes, dulling everything. Now her hazel eyes looked clearer. Tired, maybe, but steady. Her olive skin had its warmth back. The fitted black crop top she wore showed the curve of her waist, and her high-waisted black pants hugged her hips before falling into a slight flare at the bottom.
Her gaze dropped to the script across her collarbone.
Nevertheless.
Sofia touched the tattoo lightly with two fingers and breathed in.
On her left forearm, the geometric pattern stretched from wrist to elbow in clean, dark lines. The moody bloom tattoo on her shoulder peeked from the edge of her top, soft and vivid against her olive skin. Each one felt like proof that she had chosen herself in small ways, even when everything else had felt impossible.
Her phone rang before she could spiral too far.
Sofia looked down and saw Shaun’s name on the screen.
A breath left her, almost a laugh.
She answered quickly. “Hey.”
“Hey, Sofi.” Shaun’s voice came through warm and careful, like he already knew what kind of day this was. “How are you holding up?”
Sofia glanced toward the window. Outside, a car passed too slowly, and her stomach tightened before it moved on.
“I’m okay,” she said.
Shaun was quiet for half a second.
“Sofia.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m nervous.”
“Yeah. That sounds more honest.”
A small smile tugged at her mouth despite herself. “I cleaned my apartment like three times.”
“Your apartment was already clean.”
“I know.”
“So you’re very normal about this.”
“Extremely normal.”
Shaun huffed softly. “Do you want me to come over?”
Sofia looked toward the couch, then the door.
For one tempting second, she imagined saying yes. Letting Shaun sit there beside her, a steady presence in the room, someone who would keep her from softening too quickly or folding under Ian’s guilt.
But this was something she needed to do herself.
“No,” she said, quieter. “I think I need to talk to him alone.”
“You sure?”
“No.” She swallowed. “But I think it’s the right thing.”
“That’s fair.” His voice softened. “Just remember, you don’t owe him comfort because he feels bad.”
Sofia’s throat tightened.
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know,” she repeated, and this time she did.
Mostly.
Shaun let out a slow breath. “Call me after?”
“I will.”
“Or during. Or if you want me to magically appear and pretend I was invited.”
That made her laugh for real. “You would do that.”
“I already have shoes on.”
“Shaun.”
“What? I’m prepared.”
Sofia smiled, but it faded when she saw a familiar car pull up outside.
Her chest went tight.
“He’s here,” she said.
Shaun’s voice gentled immediately. “Okay. Breathe.”
She did, though it shook a little.
“Take care of yourself first,” he said. “No matter what he says.”
Sofia nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “I will.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” Her fingers tightened around the phone. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Sofi.”
They hung up a moment later.
For a few seconds, Sofia stood still in the hallway, phone in her hand, listening to the quiet apartment around her.
Then came the knock.
Soft.
Familiar.
Her heart dropped and lifted at the same time.
Sofia set her phone down on the entryway table, took one last breath, and walked to the door.
When she opened it, Ian stood on the other side.
For a second, neither of them said anything.
All the months apart were suddenly there with them: the missed calls, the unread messages, the voicemails she had deleted halfway through because his voice still hurt too much, and all the nights she had almost called him back just to hear him say her name.
He looked different.
And painfully the same.
His auburn hair was longer than she remembered, tied low at the back of his neck, though a few loose waves had slipped free around his face. One side fell near his eye, softening the nervous look he was trying and failing to hide. His freckles still scattered across his cheeks and nose, small and familiar enough to make her chest ache. His dark eyes moved over her face like he was afraid she might disappear if he blinked too hard.
He wore a beige jacket over a red shirt, a black choker at his throat, and a crossbody bag slung over one shoulder.
Then Sofia saw the necklace.
Her breath caught before she could stop it.
It rested against his shirt, small and familiar, the matching half of the couple necklace they had bought back when forever had felt like something easy to promise.
Ian followed her gaze.
His hand lifted halfway toward it, then stopped, fingers curling awkwardly against his chest.
“I still wear it,” he said softly.
Sofia’s throat tightened.
For a moment, her own hand almost moved to her neck out of habit.
But there was nothing there.
She saw Ian notice that too.
Something flickered across his face. Hurt, maybe. Panic. Regret. He swallowed it down quickly, but not quickly enough.
“Hey,” he said.
The word came out thin.
Sofia tightened her hand around the edge of the door. “Hi.”
He looked like he wanted to say more. Like every apology he had ever left on her voicemail was waiting behind his teeth, ready to spill out before she even let him inside.
Instead, he looked down at the floor.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
Sofia nodded once. “Come in.”
She stepped back to let him through.
Ian hesitated before crossing the threshold.
The hesitation hurt.
Once, he would have walked in like it was second nature, dropping his bag by the door, complaining about the weather, asking if she had eaten yet before she could even take his coat. Now he stopped at the entrance like he wasn’t sure how much space he was allowed to take.
He slipped off his shoes carefully and set them near the mat.
Sofia closed the door behind him.
The click of the lock sounded too loud.
Ian stood in the entryway, looking around. His eyes moved over the couch, the small table by the window, the painting above the bookcase, the new rug beneath the coffee table. Little changes that were hers now. Things she had moved after he left because the old arrangement had felt too much like waiting.
“You redecorated,” he said.
“Some.”
His gaze lingered on the painting. “It looks nice.”
“Thanks.”
Another silence settled between them.
Sofia hated how familiar his quiet still felt.
Ian shifted the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder, then seemed to realize he was still holding it. “Should I, um…”
“Oh.” Sofia glanced toward the chair by the door. “You can put it there.”
“Right. Thanks.”
He set the bag down carefully, like being too casual with anything in her apartment might cost him the chance to stay.
Sofia turned toward the living room. “We can sit.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
He followed her in.
She took the end of the couch nearest the armrest.
Ian looked at the open space beside her.
Then he chose the chair across from it instead.
Sofia noticed.
So did he.
His face flushed faintly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to assume.”
The words landed gently, but they still landed.
Sofia folded her hands in her lap. “Thank you.”
Ian nodded.
He sat on the edge of the chair, shoulders slightly hunched, hands clasped between his knees. He looked like he had rehearsed for this moment a hundred times and forgotten every word the second she opened the door.
Sofia looked at him and remembered too much.
Ian at sixteen, lying across her bedroom floor with a script in his hand, dramatic and terrible on purpose just to make her laugh.
Ian at eighteen, nervous before his audition, his hands shaking until she held them.
Ian on the phone, crying so hard she could barely understand him.
Sofia looked down.
Her nails pressed lightly into her palm.
Ian’s voice came soft across the room. “You look good.”
She glanced up.
He immediately looked embarrassed, like the compliment had slipped out before he could decide whether he was allowed to say it.
“I mean—” He stopped, took a breath, and tried again. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Sofia studied him for a second.
The old version of her would have rushed to make him feel better.
It’s okay.
You didn’t.
Don’t worry.
But she didn’t do that.
“Thank you,” she said instead.
Ian nodded again, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”
The apartment felt too still.
Sofia reached for the edge of the couch cushion, smoothing a wrinkle that didn’t need smoothing. “Do you want something to drink?”
Ian looked up quickly. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
His mouth closed.
Then he gave a small, careful nod. “Water would be good.”
Sofia stood.
The movement gave her something to do, and she took it gratefully. She went into the kitchen, aware of him sitting behind her, aware of the way he didn’t follow, didn’t call after her, didn’t try to fill the silence with another apology.
At the sink, she took down two glasses.
Her hands were steady.
Mostly.
Behind her, Ian’s voice drifted in from the living room.
“I missed this place.”
Sofia froze for half a second.
Then she turned on the faucet.
Water rushed into the glass, cold and clear.
She stared down at it until the sound gave her something to answer through.
“I had to make it feel different,” she said.
The words came out before she could soften them.
The living room went quiet.
Then Ian said, very softly, “Yeah. I figured.”
Sofia shut off the faucet.
For a moment, she stood there with both glasses in her hands, breathing through the ache that had opened in her chest.
Then she turned and carried the water back to him.
She set one glass in front of Ian, then returned to her place on the couch.
Ian reached for the glass with both hands. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He took a sip, then held it between his palms, staring down into it like the right words might be sitting at the bottom.
Sofia waited.
She had spent months imagining this conversation. Sometimes she pictured herself angry, standing tall and sharp and untouchable. Sometimes she pictured herself calm, saying every perfect thing she had practiced in therapy, making it clear that he had hurt her and she had survived it. Sometimes, on the worst nights, she imagined opening the door and falling apart the second she saw his face.
None of those versions felt real now.
Now Ian was sitting in her living room, nervous and hunched forward, the necklace still against his chest, and Sofia felt too many things at once to name any of them cleanly.
Ian rubbed his thumb against the side of his glass. “How have you been?”
The question was simple.
Too simple.
Sofia looked at him.
Ian seemed to realize it too, because his face tightened. “Sorry. That’s a stupid question.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“It kind of is.” He let out a weak laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, I know things haven’t been easy. Because of me.”
Sofia looked down at her own glass, watching the light catch against it.
“No,” she said softly. “They haven’t.”
Ian went still.
The honesty seemed to hit him harder than any anger would have.
Sofia took a breath and made herself continue. “But I’ve been doing better.”
His eyes lifted to hers. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Her fingers curled lightly around the glass. “Therapy helped. Shaun helped. Work helped. Music helped.”
Something in Ian’s expression changed at that.
“Music?”
Sofia nodded, a little careful despite herself. “I started writing again.”
His lips parted slightly. For a second, the sadness in his face made room for something warmer, something painfully familiar. “Sof, that’s amazing.”
The nickname slipped out quietly.
Both of them heard it.
Ian looked away first. “Sorry.”
Sofia swallowed. “It’s okay.”
His shoulders lowered a little, though not much.
“What kind of songs?” he asked.
“Different ones.” She looked toward the window, where afternoon light sat pale against the curtains. “Some sad. Some angry. Some I don’t really know what they are yet.”
Ian nodded, his gaze softening. “You always did that.”
“What?”
“Turn things into songs before you knew how to talk about them.”
Sofia’s chest tightened.
She hated that he still knew things like that.
She hated that part of her was glad he remembered.
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess I do.”
Ian’s fingers tightened around the glass. “I listened to the one you posted last month.”
Sofia looked at him quickly.
He gave a small, embarrassed shrug. “I know I probably shouldn’t have. I just…” He stopped, then forced himself to finish. “I wanted to hear your voice.”
The room went quiet.
Sofia didn’t know what to do with that.
Ian set the glass down carefully on the coffee table. His hands stayed there for a moment, braced against his knees, before he looked up at her.
“I didn’t come here to make you feel bad for me,” he said.
Her throat tightened.
“I don’t want to do that,” he continued, voice rougher now. “I know I’ve already done enough damage.”
Sofia’s hand stilled around her glass.
Ian’s eyes shone, but he blinked hard and kept going.
“I just needed to say it to your face. I couldn’t keep leaving apologies in places you never asked me to put them.” His mouth trembled once before he pressed it into a line. “I’m sorry, Sofia.”
She had heard those words so many times from him.
I’m sorry.
Over and over.
On her phone. In messages. Broken up between sobs. Typed at two in the morning. Whispered like a prayer he thought might bring her back.
Hearing them in person was worse.
Ian looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry I cheated on you. I’m sorry I broke your trust. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t enough when you were the one person who never made me feel that way.”
Sofia’s eyes burned.
She looked away before the tears could gather too visibly.
Ian’s voice dropped. “I know saying sorry doesn’t fix it.”
“No,” she whispered. “It doesn’t.”
He nodded, quick and painful. “I know.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Sofia set her glass down and folded her hands together in her lap, pressing her fingers tight enough to steady herself.
“I need to ask you something,” she said.
Ian looked up immediately. “Anything.”
The word came too fast.
Too desperate.
Sofia held his gaze anyway.
“Why?” she asked.
Ian’s face went pale.
Sofia’s voice shook, but she didn’t let herself stop. “Why did you do it?”
Ian stared at her.
For a second, he looked like he had been waiting months for that question and still wasn’t ready for it.
His hands tightened around each other, knuckles pale. He looked down at them, then toward the glass of water on the coffee table, then back at her. His mouth opened once before closing again.
Sofia waited.
She didn’t help him.
She had done enough of that before.
“I don’t have a good answer,” Ian said finally.
Sofia’s chest tightened. “Ian.”
“I know.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “I know that’s not enough. I’m not saying that to get out of answering. I just mean…” He dragged a hand through his hair, pulling a few auburn strands loose from the tie at his neck. “There isn’t an answer that makes it better.”
“No,” she said quietly. “There isn’t.”
He flinched a little, but he nodded.
“I was lonely,” he said. “And I was scared. I was across the country, and everything was new, and people suddenly knew my name.” A humorless laugh slipped out of him. “People wanted to talk to me. They wanted to sit with me. They thought I was interesting.”
Sofia looked down at her hands.
Ian’s voice softened. “I know you always did.”
Her throat burned.
“But it felt different there,” he continued. “Like I was someone else. Someone better. Someone people looked at and didn’t already know every awkward version of me.”
Sofia’s eyes lifted.
Ian was looking at the floor now, his shoulders drawn tight.
“At first, I thought it was harmless. Compliments. Friends. Staying out late after rehearsals. Letting people get closer than I should have because it felt good to be wanted.” His jaw tightened. “And then I kept telling myself it didn’t mean anything.”
Sofia’s fingers curled into her palm.
Ian’s eyes squeezed shut for a second. “But it did mean something. Even before I cheated, it meant something because I was hiding it from you.”
The apartment went very still.
Sofia felt that sentence settle between them.
He looked up at her then, eyes wet. “I crossed lines before I ever slept with anyone. I know that now.”
Her breath shook.
Ian’s face crumpled. “And I hate that I didn’t stop myself. I hate that I let myself be selfish for one stupid night because I liked how it felt to be wanted by someone new.” His voice broke on the last word. “I hate that I made you pay for that.”
Sofia stood before she realized she was going to.
Ian went still.
She crossed to the window, needing the space, needing air that didn’t feel full of him. Outside, the street was ordinary. A neighbor walked past with a paper bag tucked under one arm. A car rolled slowly by. The world kept moving like he hadn’t just cracked open the truth she had been afraid of hearing.
Behind her, Ian said her name softly.
“Sofia.”
She closed her eyes.
“Was it her?” she asked.
He didn’t answer right away.
That told her enough.
Her hand tightened around the curtain.
“Sofia, I—”
“Was it because she didn’t know you?”
Ian went quiet.
Sofia turned from the window, her eyes wet, her voice trembling even though she tried to keep it steady. “She didn’t know every scared version of you. She didn’t know the kid who got laughed at, or the boy who needed me to tell him he was enough. She didn’t know all the pieces you hated about yourself.”
Ian’s face had gone pale.
Sofia’s fingers curled against her own arms. “She just saw you there. New. Talented. Wanted.”
His mouth parted, but nothing came out.
“And you liked that,” she said.
Ian’s eyes filled.
The quick pain in his expression made her chest twist, but she didn’t stop.
“You liked being someone new with her,” Sofia continued, voice breaking now. “Someone exciting. Someone who didn’t come with years of history and fear and all the times I had to hold you together.”
“Sofia…”
“Don’t.” Her voice sharpened, and he shut his mouth immediately. “Don’t tell me it had nothing to do with that when you just told me you liked being wanted by someone new.”
His tears slipped free.
She hated how much it hurt to see them.
“You’re right,” he whispered.
The agreement made something in her chest buckle.
Maybe because he had learned enough to stop arguing.
Maybe because part of her had wanted him to deny it harder.
Sofia wrapped her arms around herself, fingers pressing against the soft fabric of her top. “I spent months wondering what she gave you that I couldn’t.”
Ian shook his head, standing too. “No. Sofia, no.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
He froze.
She hated how fast tears came to her eyes, hated that they made everything blur while he stood there looking wrecked and sorry and still so painfully familiar.
“You don’t get to sit there and tell me it had nothing to do with me,” she said, her voice shaking now, “when I was the one left feeling like something was wrong with me.”
Ian looked like she had struck him.
Good, she thought.
Then hated herself for thinking it.
“Sofia,” he whispered, “there was never anything wrong with you.”
Her lips trembled.
“Then why wasn’t I enough?”
Ian’s face crumpled.
For a moment, he didn’t speak. He looked at her with his mouth slightly open, like the question had knocked the breath out of him. His hands twitched at his sides, lifting halfway before he stopped himself.
He wanted to reach for her.
Sofia saw it.
She also saw the moment he made himself stay where he was.
“You were,” he said, voice rough. “Sofia, you were. You are enough.”
She shook her head, tears slipping before she could stop them. “Don’t just say that because it’s the right thing to say.”
“I’m not.”
“You cheated on me.”
The words came out sharp.
Ian flinched.
Sofia hated how much she noticed. Hated that some old, soft part of her still wanted to take it back just because he looked hurt.
But she didn’t.
She had been hurt first.
“You slept with someone else,” she said, her voice trembling harder now. “You were there with her, and I was here, trusting you. Missing you. Defending you in my own head whenever I got scared because I thought, no, Ian wouldn’t do that. Ian loves me.”
His eyes filled.
“I did love you,” he whispered.
Sofia’s breath caught, bitter and broken. “Then why?”
Ian dragged both hands over his face and turned away for a second, shoulders shaking with a breath he couldn’t quite steady. When he looked back at her, his cheeks were wet.
“Because I was selfish,” he said.
The answer landed quietly.
No excuse around it this time.
Just the words.
Sofia stared at him.
Ian swallowed. “Because I liked feeling wanted. Because I liked being looked at like I was someone exciting and new. Because for once, I wasn’t the weird kid people laughed at, or the guy who needed you to tell him he was worth anything.” His voice cracked. “And instead of being honest about how much that messed with my head, I let it feed me.”
Sofia’s arms tightened around herself.
Ian looked at her like it hurt to keep going, but he did.
“You were enough,” he said. “You were more than enough. That’s the awful part. You loved me better than I knew what to do with. You knew me before any of them did. You stayed when I was scared, when I was needy, when I made everything harder than it had to be.”
His eyes dropped to the floor.
“And I think…” He stopped, jaw working. “I think I got used to that.”
Sofia’s lips parted.
Ian nodded once, miserable. “I got used to you being there. I got used to you forgiving me. I got used to you understanding me before I even explained myself.” He looked up at her again. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. I did. I do. But I took that love for granted, and I hate myself for it.”
The room blurred around Sofia.
She remembered too much all at once.
Ian crying after another fight with his mother, his head in her lap while she stroked his hair and told him he wasn’t a bad person. Ian panicking before auditions, squeezing her hand so hard her fingers ached. Ian apologizing for needing too much, then needing her to tell him it was okay.
And she always had.
Of course she had.
She had loved him.
“I kept thinking it was me,” she whispered.
Ian’s face twisted. “Sofia…”
“I thought maybe I wasn’t pretty enough. Or interesting enough. Or confident enough.” Her laugh broke in her throat. “I thought maybe because you had only been with me, you wanted to know what it was like with someone else.”
His silence hurt.
Sofia saw the answer in it.
Her chest tightened.
“Oh.”
Ian shook his head quickly, panic flashing across his face. “No, not like that. Not—”
“But that was part of it.”
He stopped.
Sofia wiped at her cheek with the heel of her hand, frustrated by the tears that kept coming. “Don’t lie to me now.”
Ian’s throat bobbed.
Then he nodded.
A small nod.
Devastating.
“I think so,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “Not because you weren’t enough. Not because I wanted her more than you. But because I let myself wonder. I let myself be curious. I let myself feel flattered by someone wanting me when I should have shut it down the second it started.”
Sofia looked away.
Her stomach turned cold.
Ian took one step forward, then stopped again. His hands curled into fists at his sides, like he had to physically hold himself back.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
Sofia pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to keep herself steady.
Sorry.
That word again.
It had been the soundtrack of their relationship by the end. Ian sorry for breaking down. Ian sorry for needing reassurance. Ian sorry for getting carried away. Ian sorry for making her cry. Ian sorry, always sorry, and Sofia always there to soften it for him.
She lowered her hand.
“I don’t know what to do with your sorry anymore,” she said.
Ian went still.
The tears on his face caught the light from the window, but he didn’t wipe them away.
“I know,” he whispered.
“I spent so long comforting you every time you felt guilty.” Her voice shook, but she kept going. “Even when you hurt me, somehow I’d end up making sure you were okay.”
His expression folded inward.
“And I don’t want to do that right now,” Sofia said. “I can’t.”
Ian nodded quickly. “You don’t have to.”
“But I want to.”
That slipped out before she could stop it.
Ian’s eyes lifted to hers.
Sofia hated how honest it was. She hated that her body still remembered him as someone to move toward. That her hands still remembered the shape of his shoulders. That seeing him cry still pulled at something old and tender inside her.
Her voice came out smaller.
“That’s what scares me.”
Ian’s breath shook.
Sofia looked at him through wet lashes. “Because part of me still wants to comfort you, and I’m angry at myself for that.”
“No,” Ian said quickly, voice breaking. “Don’t be angry at yourself. Please don’t. That’s not—” He stopped, catching himself, then lowered his voice. “That’s not your fault.”
Sofia laughed weakly. “I know that.”
But knowing didn’t make it easier.
Ian looked down at his hands, then slowly sat back down in the chair, putting space between them on purpose. The movement was careful. Deliberate.
“I don’t want you to take care of me,” he said.
Sofia watched him from the window.
He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his jacket, embarrassed by the tears but unable to stop them entirely.
“I mean, I do,” he admitted, and the sad honesty in his voice made her chest ache. “Because I miss you. Because you always knew how. Because some selfish part of me walked in here hoping you’d look at me and somehow still see the person you used to love.”
Her throat tightened.
“But I know that isn’t fair,” he continued. “And I know I don’t get to ask that from you anymore.”
The apartment went quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
Sofia let go of the curtain.
For a moment, she stayed by the window, breathing through the ache in her chest. Then she crossed back to the couch and lowered herself onto the edge of the cushion, suddenly exhausted.
The anger was still there.
The hurt too.
But underneath it was grief, wide and heavy.
She looked at Ian sitting across from her, crying quietly in the chair like a boy who had finally realized apologies couldn’t put something shattered back together just because he wanted them to.
“I did love you,” she said.
Ian looked at her.
Sofia’s mouth trembled. “I loved you so much, Ian.”
His face broke.
“I know,” he whispered.
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you do. I don’t think you understood what it meant to have someone love you that much.”
Ian covered his mouth with one hand, trying to hold in a sound that almost escaped anyway.
Sofia’s tears slid down her cheeks.
“I would have done anything for you,” she said. “And I think, for a long time, I did.”
Ian’s shoulders shook once.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.
This time, the words were quieter.
Smaller.
Like even he knew they weren’t enough.
Sofia looked down at her hands.
Her fingers were trembling in her lap.
“I know you are,” she said.
And that was the worst part.
She believed him.
She believed that he was sorry. She believed that he loved her. She believed that if he could go back and undo it, he would.
But none of that changed the fact that he had done it.
None of it gave her back the girl she had been before the phone call.
For once, Ian didn’t rush to fill the silence.
Sofia was grateful for that.
The quiet hurt, but it hurt honestly. There was no pretty speech trying to cover it. No desperate promise thrown out too quickly. Just the two of them sitting in the room that used to feel like a second home to him, breathing around everything they couldn’t undo.
Ian rubbed his palms over his knees, then stopped.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me today,” he said.
Sofia looked up.
His voice was still shaky, but he kept it low. Careful.
“I don’t even know if I should hope for that.” He swallowed. “I want to. God, I want to. But I know wanting it doesn’t mean I deserve it.”
Sofia’s throat tightened.
Ian looked at her then, eyes red and tired. “I just needed you to know that I’m not here because I think one conversation fixes anything.”
“Then why are you here?”
The question came softer than she expected.
Ian’s mouth trembled faintly.
“Because I still love you,” he said. “And because I hurt you in a way I can’t take back, but I couldn’t keep hiding behind messages and voicemails.” His fingers twisted together in his lap. “You deserved better than that too.”
Sofia looked away.
The worst part was that she believed him.
Ian had always been bad at hiding when something was eating him alive. Even when he tried, it showed in the way his shoulders folded inward, in the way his hands kept moving, in the way his voice caught on words that should have been simple.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Sofia admitted.
“I don’t need you to say anything.”
She gave him a look, tired and wet-eyed. “Ian.”
He winced. “Okay. That’s a lie. I want you to say a lot of things. I want you to say you still love me. I want you to say there’s a chance. I want you to say I didn’t ruin everything.”
Her chest ached.
“But I’m trying not to ask for that,” he said, quieter. “Because I know that’s selfish.”
Sofia’s fingers curled into the fabric of her pants.
Ian took a breath.
“I’ve been trying to work on myself,” he said. “Therapy. Actually blocking my mom this time. Keeping boundaries with people. Real ones, not just telling myself something is harmless because I don’t want to deal with what it means.”
Sofia’s eyes moved back to him.
Ian gave a small, miserable shrug. “I know that probably sounds like I’m trying to make myself look better.”
“It doesn’t,” she said.
He blinked.
She wiped beneath one eye, frustrated with how raw her voice sounded. “It sounds like something you should’ve done a long time ago.”
Ian nodded, taking the hit without flinching away from it. “Yeah.”
That helped more than another apology would have.
Sofia leaned back against the couch, exhausted all at once. “I’m glad you’re doing that.”
His eyes softened with something dangerously close to hope.
She saw it and shook her head gently.
“I mean that,” she said. “But I need you to understand that I can be glad you’re getting help and still not know where that leaves us.”
The hope flickered, but he held himself still.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
He looked down.
Sofia’s voice stayed quiet. “Because I can’t be your reason for getting better, Ian. I can’t be the prize at the end of it.”
His eyes shut for a second.
When he opened them again, they were bright with tears.
“You’re right,” he whispered.
She watched him carefully, waiting for the panic, the pleading, the part of him that would make her feel like she had to reach across the room and soothe him.
It came close.
She saw it rise in him.
Then he breathed through it.
“I want you back,” Ian said, the words rough and honest. “But I know I have to become someone who wouldn’t hurt you like that again, even if you never come back.”
Sofia’s chest tightened.
That was the first thing he had said all afternoon that felt like it cost him something real.
Ian’s thumb moved over the edge of his necklace, nervous and familiar. “There’s something else.”
Sofia’s gaze dropped to his hand.
The necklace caught the light.
Her stomach twisted.
“What?”
He hesitated. “I got a role.”
She blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. “A role?”
“A big one, actually.” His mouth pulled into something that almost became a smile, then fell apart before it could. “Main character in a new TV show. They start shooting soon.”
For a second, Sofia only stared at him.
Once, she would have jumped up. She would have hugged him before he finished the sentence, squealing into his shoulder because this was his dream. This was the thing he had wanted so badly it had shaped both of their lives.
Now the news sat between them strangely.
Bright on its own.
Heavy in the room.
“That’s…” She swallowed. “Ian, that’s huge.”
He nodded, eyes fixed on her face. “Yeah.”
“You should be proud.”
“I am.” He looked down quickly. “I mean, I’m trying to be.”
Sofia studied him. “Why are you telling me?”
Ian’s fingers tightened around the necklace.
The answer was written all over his face before he said it.
Because I wanted you to be part of it.
Because I thought maybe it would change things.
Because I wanted to come home with something good enough to make you look at me the way you used to.
He seemed to realize it too, because shame crossed his expression.
“I think part of me wanted it to mean something,” he admitted. “Like if I finally made it, if I had something stable, something real, maybe I could prove I wasn’t just the person who ruined us.”
Sofia’s eyes burned again, but this time the tears didn’t fall.
“Ian…”
“I know.” He shook his head quickly. “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I know a role doesn’t undo what I did.”
“No,” she said softly. “It doesn’t.”
He nodded once.
The silence after that was gentler than before, but no easier.
Sofia looked at him, really looked at him. The boy who used to practice monologues in her living room. The teenager who had cried in her arms because he thought he would never be enough. The man sitting in front of her now with a dream finally in reach and grief still all over his face.
“I’m happy for you,” she said.
Ian’s eyes lifted.
Her voice wavered, but she meant it. “I am. I know how much this means to you.”
His face crumpled a little.
“But,” she continued, and the word made him go still, “I need you to know that I can be happy for you and still be hurt.”
Ian nodded.
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to be folded into your fresh start like none of this happened.”
His throat bobbed.
“I don’t want that either,” he said, though his voice made it clear that some part of him had wanted exactly that.
Sofia let out a shaky breath.
Ian looked down at the necklace again.
His thumb brushed over it once.
“I wore it because I couldn’t make myself take it off,” he said.
Sofia’s whole body went still.
He laughed weakly, ashamed. “I kept telling myself I should. That it wasn’t fair. That it probably made me look pathetic.”
He looked up at her.
“But every time I tried, I just…” His voice broke. “I couldn’t.”
Sofia’s hand moved before she could stop it, drifting toward her own throat.
Empty.
Ian saw.
A flash of pain crossed his face.
Sofia lowered her hand slowly.
“I couldn’t wear mine there anymore,” she said.
Ian’s eyes widened faintly.
She looked down at her lap.
“I couldn’t look at it every day and pretend it meant what it used to.”
The words hurt coming out.
Ian’s voice was barely there. “Did you throw it away?”
Sofia closed her eyes for a second.
Then she shook her head.
“No.”
Ian’s breath caught.
“You didn’t?”
Sofia shook her head again.
For a second, she couldn’t look at him. She looked down instead, at the hem of her pants, at the floor, at anything that wasn’t his face softening with hope she wasn’t sure she could survive.
“I couldn’t throw it away,” she said.
Ian went very still.
The confession sat between them, fragile in a way that made Sofia regret saying it almost immediately. She saw his expression shift, saw the old longing rush in before he could stop it.
So she lifted her eyes and added, quieter, “That doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
The hope faltered.
Ian swallowed. “Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.” His voice was careful. “I’m listening.”
Sofia breathed in slowly.
That was new too.
Once, Ian would have started talking already. Apologizing. Explaining. Trying to hold the broken pieces together with both hands before she had even decided whether she wanted him near them.
Now he waited.
It made her chest hurt.
She looked down at her ankle, hidden beneath the flare of her pants. Her fingers hesitated at the fabric. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she bent slightly and lifted the hem.
The necklace was there.
Wrapped carefully around her ankle, secured like an anklet against her skin.
Ian stared.
His face changed so openly that Sofia had to look away for a second. Relief hit him first, sharp and bright, then something softer. Painful. The kind of tenderness that belonged to a version of them that didn’t exist anymore.
“Oh,” he whispered.
Sofia let the fabric fall back into place.
“I moved it,” she said.
Ian’s eyes shone. “Why?”
Her mouth tightened.
That question had too many answers.
Because throwing it away felt like cutting out a piece of her own history.
Because she hated the necklace and missed what it used to mean.
Because some days she wanted proof that she had loved him for real, and other days she wanted proof that she had survived him.
Because wearing it near her heart had started to feel like punishment.
“I couldn’t keep it around my neck,” she said finally.
Ian’s face crumpled.
Sofia looked at him then, even though it hurt.
“I used to touch it when I missed you,” she said. “When you were away. When we’d hang up after a call and I felt lonely. It made me feel close to you.”
Ian covered his mouth with one hand.
Sofia’s voice stayed soft, but it shook anyway. “Afterward, I kept reaching for it and remembering why you weren’t there.”
His eyes closed.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I know.”
She sat back slowly, hands folding together in her lap. “So I took it off.”
Ian opened his eyes again.
“But I couldn’t get rid of it,” she admitted. “I tried. I put it in a drawer. Then in a box. Then in a different box because apparently that mattered somehow.” A weak, humorless laugh slipped out of her. “It was stupid.”
“No,” Ian said quickly. “It’s not stupid.”
Sofia looked down. “It felt stupid.”
“It wasn’t.”
His voice was so gentle that it nearly broke her.
She pressed her fingers together harder.
“I think I kept it because I didn’t know what else to do with all the years attached to it,” she said. “You were my best friend before you were anything else. You were in almost every memory I had of growing up. I couldn’t just throw that away and pretend it didn’t matter.”
Ian’s tears finally spilled over.
He wiped them quickly, embarrassed, but more came.
Sofia saw his shoulders shake.
And there it was again.
That old pull.
The instinct to get up, cross the room, put her arms around him, and tell him she didn’t mean to hurt him.
But she stayed where she was.
Ian noticed.
Maybe because he knew her too well.
Maybe because he had spent years being the person she softened for.
He lowered his hand from his face, breathing unevenly. “Thank you for telling me.”
Sofia blinked.
She hadn’t expected that.
He looked down at his own necklace, thumb brushing over the charm. “I don’t know if I deserve to know that you kept it.”
The words were quiet.
Honest enough that she didn’t know how to answer.
Ian gave a small, broken laugh and shook his head. “Part of me wants to be happy about it.”
Sofia’s heart squeezed.
“But I know it hurt you,” he said. “I know I turned it into something painful.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “You did.”
Ian accepted it.
No argument.
No flinch away from the truth.
Just a slow nod, like he was forcing himself to hold it properly this time.
The room settled into another quiet.
Outside, someone laughed faintly on the sidewalk below. A car door shut. Life continued on the other side of the window, ordinary and distant, while Sofia sat across from the boy who had once been her whole future and tried to understand what he was now.
Ian’s voice came softer.
“Can I ask you something?”
Sofia’s shoulders tensed.
He noticed immediately. “You don’t have to answer.”
That helped.
A little.
She nodded. “Ask.”
Ian looked at her ankle, though the necklace was hidden again. Then he looked back at her face.
“Why did you agree to see me?”
Sofia went quiet.
Of all the questions he could have asked, that one somehow cut the deepest.
She stared down at her hands.
“I don’t know,” she said at first.
Then she thought of all his voicemails, his messages, the way her thumb had hovered over his name so many times. She thought of Shaun telling her she didn’t owe Ian anything. She thought of therapy, of learning that closure didn’t always come from the person who hurt you.
And still.
Still, she had opened the door.
Sofia breathed out.
“Because I needed to know if talking to you would still destroy me.”
Ian’s expression went slack with hurt.
She looked up at him.
“And because part of me missed you,” she said.
The words came out barely above a whisper.
Ian didn’t move.
His eyes filled again, but he stayed still, like he was afraid even breathing too hard might scare the honesty away.
Sofia’s own tears blurred her vision.
“I missed my best friend,” she said. “And I hate that you’re the person who hurt me, because you’re also the person I wanted to call when it happened.”
Ian made a small sound, broken and quiet.
Sofia wiped her cheek quickly.
“I know that doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” he whispered.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It does to me.”
The softness of his voice made her look at him.
Ian’s face was wet, his hands shaking in his lap, but he didn’t reach for her. He only sat there with all his regret in his eyes.
“I miss you too,” he said. “Not just us. You. Talking to you. Hearing you laugh. Sending you stupid pictures because I knew you’d tell me I was being annoying.”
A tiny, painful smile tugged at Sofia’s mouth before she could stop it.
Ian saw it.
His breath caught like that little smile had almost undone him.
Sofia looked away fast.
“Don’t,” she said softly.
Ian’s expression dimmed. “Sorry.”
She shook her head. “I don’t mean don’t talk. I mean…” She pressed her hand against her chest, trying to explain the ache there. “Don’t look so happy because I smiled.”
His eyes lowered.
“Right,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Sofia closed her eyes for a second.
There it was again.
Sorry.
But this time, he didn’t ask her to tell him it was okay.
And this time, she didn’t.
Instead, she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and took a slow breath.
“I don’t hate you,” she said quietly.
Ian’s eyes lifted to her face.
His expression cracked so fast it almost made her look away.
“I tried to,” she admitted. “It would’ve been easier if I could.”
“Sofia…”
“No, let me finish.”
He closed his mouth immediately.
She appreciated that more than she wanted to.
Sofia pressed her fingers together in her lap, grounding herself in the small pressure. “I don’t hate you. But I’m still angry. And I’m still hurt. And sometimes when I think about what happened, I feel sick all over again.”
Ian nodded, his eyes shining. “I know.”
“I don’t think you do.” Her voice softened, but the words stayed firm. “Not completely.”
His throat moved as he swallowed.
“But I think you’re trying to,” she said.
That seemed to hurt him too, in a different way.
Ian looked down at his hands, then slowly unclasped them, rubbing one thumb across his palm. “I am.”
“I believe you.”
His breath caught.
Sofia looked at him, really looked at him.
The hope that crossed his face was careful this time, fragile and afraid. He didn’t lean into it too quickly. He didn’t smile like everything had suddenly been fixed. He only stared at her like he was trying to hold those three words without breaking them.
“I believe that you’re sorry,” Sofia said. “I believe that you wish you could undo it. I believe that you love me.”
Ian’s face crumpled.
“But I don’t know if belief is the same thing as trust anymore.”
He closed his eyes.
A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.
“I know,” he whispered.
Sofia’s chest ached, but she didn’t move to wipe it away.
Ian did it himself.
That mattered too.
He dragged his sleeve under his eyes, embarrassed, then let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to go back to the way we were.”
Sofia blinked.
The words startled her more than she expected.
Ian looked up at her quickly. “I mean—God, no, not like that. I want you. I want us. I want that more than anything.” His voice shook, but he forced himself to slow down. “But I don’t want to go back to the same thing where you’re always the one holding me together and I’m always apologizing after I hurt you.”
Sofia’s fingers tightened in her lap.
Ian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the necklace shifting against his shirt as he moved.
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me,” he said. His voice was quiet, rough around the edges. “Not like that. Not where I mess up and you’re the one who has to make me feel better about it.”
Her throat tightened.
He looked down at his hands. “I didn’t realize how much I was doing that until you were gone.” His mouth pulled tight. “And that’s awful. You shouldn’t have had to leave for me to finally see it.”
Sofia looked down.
Her vision blurred.
“I broke your trust,” Ian said. “I know that.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “You did.”
“And I don’t get to ask you to forgive me just because I’m sorry.”
“No.”
He nodded once, like he had expected the answer and still felt it anyway.
“But I do want to ask…” He stopped, swallowing hard. His hands trembled where they rested against his knees, and he curled them into fists like he was trying to keep himself steady. “If there’s any chance. Not today. Not everything all at once. Just…” His voice broke softly. “A chance to try again.”
Sofia’s heart squeezed.
There it was.
The thing she had known he wanted to ask from the moment she opened the door.
The thing she had been afraid she wanted to hear.
She looked at him, and for a moment, she saw him in pieces.
Ian sprawled across her bedroom floor with a script in his hand, making ridiculous voices until she laughed. Ian kissing her for the first time, nervous and red-faced, then apologizing because he thought he had done it wrong. Ian sitting beside her while she played unfinished songs, listening like they already mattered.
And Ian on the phone, crying while he told her he had ruined everything.
All of those versions sat in front of her, tangled together in the same person.
“I don’t want to be stupid,” she whispered.
Ian shook his head immediately. “You’re not.”
“I feel stupid.”
“You’re not,” he said again, more firmly this time. “Sofia, if you never took me back, you still wouldn’t be stupid. If you wanted me to leave right now, you wouldn’t be cruel. If you needed years, or if you never trusted me again, I’d deserve that.”
Her bottom lip trembled.
“But if you do want to try,” he continued, voice breaking, “I swear I won’t treat it like you owe me anything.”
Sofia looked at him through tears. “What does trying again even mean?”
Ian’s breath shook.
“It means I don’t get to decide the pace,” he said. “You do. If you need space, I give you space. If you’re angry, I listen. I don’t make you talk me down just because I feel guilty.”
His eyes filled again, but he blinked hard and kept going.
“And I keep going to therapy. I keep working on myself. Even if this doesn’t go the way I want it to.” His voice roughened. “And I tell you the truth. Even when it makes me look awful.”
Sofia stayed quiet.
Ian looked down at his hands. “I don’t get to have you back just because I miss you.”
That one landed deep.
Sofia’s shoulders lowered with a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“I do still love you,” she said.
Ian went still.
She saw the words hit him. Saw his whole face open and then crumple like he didn’t know what to do with the tenderness he had wanted so badly.
“But I’m scared,” she said quickly, before he could mistake it for something simple. “I’m scared because loving you was easy before. Too easy. I loved you so much that sometimes I forgot to ask if I was okay.”
Ian’s eyes squeezed shut.
“I don’t want to do that again,” she said.
“You won’t,” he whispered.
“You don’t get to promise that for me.”
His eyes opened, and he nodded quickly. “Right. I’m sorry.”
She watched him catch himself.
He looked down, took a breath, and corrected himself.
“I’ll try not to let that happen again,” he said. “And if it does, if I start leaning on you too much or making you feel responsible for me, I need you to tell me. And I’ll listen.”
Sofia let out a small, broken laugh. “I’m not always good at saying it.”
“Then I’ll learn to ask.”
Her face softened despite herself.
Ian saw it, and his mouth trembled.
He didn’t smile.
He waited.
Sofia stood slowly.
Ian’s eyes followed her, cautious and unsure.
She crossed the room and stopped in front of him, close enough that their knees almost touched. Ian went very still, like he was afraid any sudden movement might make her change her mind.
Sofia looked down at him.
“I want to try,” she said.
His breath left him.
“But not like before.”
He nodded, tears slipping down his face again. “Not like before.”
“And I need time.”
“As much as you need.”
“And I need you to know that I’m not going to be okay all the time,” she said. “Some days, I might still be angry.”
Ian nodded. “I know.”
“I might ask you things you don’t want to answer.”
“I’ll answer them.”
“I might need space.”
“Then I’ll give you space.”
Her voice shook. “And if you ever make me feel like I have to shrink myself to keep you from falling apart again, I’m done.”
Ian’s face crumpled, but he nodded.
“I know,” he whispered. “You should be.”
Sofia looked at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she reached for his hand.
Ian looked down like he couldn’t quite believe it.
Her fingers slid over his.
His hand was warm. Familiar. Trembling.
The moment she touched him, his eyes filled all over again.
“Sofia,” he breathed.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she whispered.
He shook his head, tears falling freely now. “I won’t. I swear, I won’t.”
She wanted to believe him.
That was the part that scared her.
Ian lifted his free hand halfway, then stopped, eyes searching hers.
“Can I hug you?”
Sofia’s throat tightened.
For a second, she remembered too much at once. His arms around her after auditions, after arguments, after bad days. All the times he had felt like the safest place in the world, before he became the person who made her feel unsafe in it.
She nodded.
“Yeah.”
Ian rose carefully, giving her time to pull back.
She didn’t.
His arms came around her softly at first, barely holding. Sofia closed her eyes, and the familiar warmth of him hit her so hard that a sob slipped out before she could stop it.
Ian made a wounded sound and held her tighter.
Still gentle.
Still careful.
But real.
Sofia’s hands curled in the back of his jacket, and for the first time all afternoon, she let herself cry against him.
Ian cried too, quiet and unsteady, his face tucked near her shoulder.
“I missed you,” he whispered.
Sofia squeezed her eyes shut.
“I missed you too.”
His arms tightened around her, almost like the words had broken something open in him. One hand slid carefully into her curls, fingers trembling there as he held her closer, not pulling too hard, but holding on like he had forgotten how not to.
That made her cry harder.
They stayed like that until the sharpest part of it passed. Until Sofia could breathe without shaking quite so much. Until Ian’s hand, warm against her back, stopped trembling.
When she finally pulled away, he let her.
His eyes searched her face immediately. “Are you okay?”
Sofia wiped at her cheeks and laughed weakly. “No.”
Ian’s face fell.
“But I’m okay enough,” she said.
He nodded, accepting that.
For a second, they only looked at each other.
Then Ian’s gaze dropped to her mouth.
He looked away immediately, cheeks flushing with shame and nerves all at once.
Sofia noticed.
Her heart gave a painful little twist.
“Ian.”
He looked back at her.
She saw the question before he asked it.
He swallowed. “Can I kiss you?”
The words came out so softly they barely crossed the space between them.
Sofia’s chest tightened.
This was the part that scared her most.
Because kissing him still meant something.
Because some part of her still remembered exactly how he tasted when they were younger, how he used to smile against her mouth, how he used to whisper her name afterward like it belonged somewhere sacred.
She looked at him now, at his red-rimmed eyes and trembling mouth, at the necklace still resting against his chest.
Then she nodded.
“Yes.”
Ian’s breath caught.
He didn’t rush.
He lifted one hand to her cheek, stopping just before he touched her. Sofia leaned into his palm, closing the last bit of distance herself.
His thumb brushed her skin.
Then he leaned in.
The kiss was gentle.
Almost painfully gentle.
His lips touched hers like he was afraid of asking for too much, and Sofia’s breath shook against him. For a second, all she felt was the ache of familiarity. The shape of him. The warmth of him. The awful sweetness of remembering how much she had loved being kissed by him.
Then Ian started to pull back.
Sofia caught the front of his jacket.
He froze.
She kissed him again.
This time, he made a soft, broken sound against her mouth, and the hand at her cheek trembled. The kiss deepened only a little, still careful, still full of tears, but there was warmth in it now. Want. Grief. Hope. Everything they had lost and everything they were too afraid to name yet.
When they parted, Ian rested his forehead against hers.
His eyes stayed closed.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Sofia’s fingers remained curled in his jacket.
“I love you too.”
His breath broke.
“But slowly,” she said.
He nodded, forehead still against hers. “Slowly.”
“One day at a time.”
“One day at a time,” he repeated.
Sofia drew back enough to look at him.
His hand slipped from her cheek, but she caught it before he could pull away completely.
“I mean it,” she said. “This doesn’t erase what happened.”
“I know.”
“And we’re not going back to what we were.”
Ian’s fingers tightened around hers. “I don’t want that either.” His voice was quiet, but steady. “I want to do it right this time. If you’ll let me.”
Sofia’s eyes burned again, but this time she smiled a little.
A real smile.
Small.
Tired.
But real.
Ian saw it and nearly fell apart.
She gave him a warning look through her tears. “Don’t.”
He let out a wet laugh, nodding quickly. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just—”
“You’re doing it.”
“I know.” He laughed again, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I know. I’m stopping.”
Sofia laughed too, weak and breathless.
The sound surprised both of them.
For a moment, the room felt less impossible.
Ian looked down when her pant leg shifted, just enough for the chain around her ankle to catch the light again. His expression softened.
“Can I…” He hesitated. “Can I see it?”
Sofia followed his gaze.
The necklace felt suddenly warm against her skin.
After a moment, she nodded.
Ian lowered himself carefully, kneeling in front of her like the movement itself was a question. Sofia lifted the hem of her pant leg, revealing the necklace wrapped around her ankle.
He stared at it for a second.
Then, with the gentlest touch, he brushed one finger against the charm.
His mouth trembled.
“I’m sorry I made you move it,” he said.
Sofia’s throat tightened.
“I’m not ready to wear it near my heart again.”
Ian looked up at her.
“I know,” he said. “I don’t expect you to.”
She studied his face.
He meant it.
Ian let his hand fall away from the necklace, then rested it lightly near her ankle without holding on.
“I’ll earn that too,” he said.
Sofia’s eyes burned.
She lowered the fabric again, covering the chain.
Then she reached down and touched his cheek.
Ian leaned into her hand with a shaky breath, eyes closing.
Sofia’s throat tightened.
She still knew that look on his face. Still knew the way he leaned into her hand like he was afraid she might take it back.
But this time, she didn’t feel pulled under by it.
She could feel the hurt. The love. The fear.
And beneath all of it, she could still feel herself.
“Come sit with me,” she said softly.
Ian opened his eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He stood, and this time when he sat beside her on the couch, he left space between them.
Sofia noticed.
Then she chose to close some of it, leaning carefully against his side.
Ian went still.
She felt him hold his breath.
“You can breathe,” she murmured.
A laugh broke out of him, small and shaky. “Right.”
His arm hovered behind her, unsure.
Sofia reached for his wrist and pulled it gently around her shoulders.
Ian went still for half a second.
Then his arm settled there, warm and careful, like he was still afraid of holding on too tightly.
They sat like that for a while without talking.
The glasses of water sat untouched on the coffee table. Afternoon light stretched across the floor, soft and quiet. Sofia could hear him breathing beside her, a little uneven at first, then slower as his hand relaxed near her arm.
She rested her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
“One day,” she whispered.
Ian pressed his lips to her hair, barely there.
“One day,” he promised.
Sofia didn’t know if everything would be okay.
But for the first time in a long time, she wanted to find out.
~
For Ian's character, I definitely had to do a lot of reading and research. Thank you to the amazing @yukidragon for her theories as to why Ian cheated! That helped me so much in my writing :)
Ian Duff doodles