Painkiller by Ruel
Y/N's POV:
The city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors through the car window, each flashing neon sign a silent reminder of the miles I was leaving behind.
My phone buzzed with a notification, a reminder for my upcoming therapy session in an hour. Leaving my hometown, my friends, my family, was hard.
The comfort of routine, of knowing every street corner and smelling the scent of freshly baked bread from the bakery down the street, it felt like a warm blanket I'd abruptly discarded.
But then I thought of Haerin. Her smile, her comforting presence, her ability to make me forget the ache in my chest, the constant knot of anxiety churning in my stomach.
Leaving was a choice I'd made for her. Leaving was a way to heal, a way to find myself again.
It was difficult, though. Stepping out of the car in the unfamiliar city, a wave of panic washed over me. It was just a few hours since I'd left my old life behind, but it felt like years.
This wasn't the first time I'd moved away, yet the feeling of utter displacement felt different this time. This time, I carried a piece of my broken heart with me, a heavy burden I hadn't completely understood until the moment I stepped out of the car.
“Nervous?” Haerin's voice, gentle and laced with concern, broke through my thoughts. She stood beside me, a hand resting on my shoulder, her fingers tracing soothing circles on my skin.
Her scent, a mixture of lavender and vanilla, enveloped me, a warmth that started to calm the tremors inside me.
“Just a little,” I mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant, failing miserably.
“It'll be okay,” she said, squeezing my shoulder. “We'll unpack, order some pizza, and watch a movie. It's okay to feel overwhelmed. You're safe, you're here with me.”
Her words, like a balm on a raw wound, eased the tension in my shoulders. We walked hand in hand towards the apartment we had bought, the one we’d been so excited to finally call it home. As we entered the apartment, her face lit up with a genuine smile.
“It's a tiny place, but it’s cozy, and we can make it home together,” she said, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
I smiled back, a nervous gesture more than a genuine one. “It's… nice.” It was nice, but it felt so different. I started unpacking, trying to find a routine in the chaotic symphony of boxes scattered around the apartment.
“What about this spot for the couch? I’m thinking of putting the TV here, so we can see each other while we’re watching,” she said, her voice bouncing around the bare walls.
I nodded, trying to appear interested, my thoughts preoccupied with the memories of my old apartment, the way the sunlight used to filter through the window, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air.
“You sure you’re okay?” Haerin asked, her voice laced with concern.
“I’m fine, I just... I’m missing home, that’s all,” I said, my voice cracking with the effort of holding back the wave of emotions threatening to engulf me.
“I know,” she said, pulling me into a warm embrace.
Her soft scent was intoxicating, the sound of her heartbeat a lullaby against my ear, easing the constant tightness in my chest. Her touch, gentle and reassuring, brought a wave of relief.
Over the next few days, as we slowly started to unpack and furnish the apartment, Haerin became my safe haven, my anchor in the stormy sea of my anxieties.
