Only Angel 2 [h.s] AU

All that we carry

Beau's POV
New York.

I woke up to cold sheets and silence.

The side of the bed where he should've been was empty — not just empty, but cold. Like he hadn't been there for hours. Like maybe he hadn't stayed at all.

For a second, I just stared at the space beside me, barely breathing.

The pillow still carried the faintest trace of him — his cologne, his warmth — but it was fading fast. Just like everything else he gave me. Enough to feel it. Never enough to keep.

My heart sank before my brain could catch up.

I sat up slowly, sheet clutched to my chest, limbs sore and heavy like my body was still caught in last night. I didn't have to close my eyes to remember it — the way he kissed me like he was afraid to stop, the way his hands gripped my hips like they could ground him, like they were saying everything his mouth wouldn't.

God. I'd let him back in. Again.

And now?

Gone.

No note. No text. No trace of him in the room except the ghost of his mouth on my skin.

I ran a hand down my face, fingers threading through tangled hair, trying to stay calm. Logical. Maybe he'd just stepped out. Maybe he ran out to get coffee. Maybe he—

I shut the thought down before it finished. I knew better than to play that game with myself. I had years of proof.

I climbed out of bed, limbs still aching, and pulled on a t-shirt and sweats, padding barefoot across the apartment like I might find a clue. Something.

The living room was still. Too still.

No jacket over the back of the couch. No extra pair of shoes by the door. No sign that he ever meant to stay.

I checked my phone. Nothing.

Of course there wasn't. Why would there be?

I felt it then — that quiet, bruised part of me twisting in my chest. I knew better than to expect anything. And still, some stupid part of me had. The same part that looked at him last night and saw something soft in his eyes. Something vulnerable. The same part of me that had already started wondering what came next.

Apparently, nothing.

I was halfway to talking myself out of it — brushing it off, swallowing the disappointment like I always did — when there was a knock at the door.

Three short raps.

I froze.

For one small, desperate second, I thought it might be him.

Maybe he went out for breakfast. Maybe he came back to explain. Anything.

Hope is dangerous. It never learns.

I crossed the apartment and opened the door.

Jonathan stood there, bright-eyed and smiling. "Hey."

My lips parted, but it took me a second too long to speak. "Um... hi."

His brow lifted. "Did I... get the wrong day?"

I blinked, the question punching through the fog in my brain. Shit.

"No," I said quickly, then rubbed a hand over my face. "God, no. I—I forgot. Apartment hunting."

His smile softened, understanding creeping in. "Rough night?"

I nodded once, more than he probably needed to know. "Something like that."

He glanced past me into the apartment, but didn't say anything. Didn't ask who I thought would be here. Just stayed there — steady, solid, kind.