Y/N wasn't used to this.
For as long as she could remember, she'd been alone. It was just the way things were, and she'd grown used to it. She worked long hours, came home to an empty apartment, and took care of everything herself—household chores, grocery shopping, cooking. She didn't mind it too much. It was tiring, sure, but it gave her a sense of control. It was her routine. Her space. Her life.
That was, until Thomas came along.
When they first started dating, she didn't expect him to stick around much. He was kind, attentive, but she figured it was temporary—just the excitement of something new. But weeks passed, and he kept showing up. Slowly, he began to slip into her life in ways she hadn't expected.
He didn't live with her, but most nights, by the time she got home from her demanding job, he was already there. Waiting. Thomas would greet her with a smile, the smell of dinner wafting through her apartment. Sometimes it was a simple pasta dish; other nights, it was something more elaborate that she would've never taken the time to make for herself. He'd clean up afterward too—without her asking. Dishes washed, counters wiped down. The first time he did that, she almost told him to stop. But before the words could leave her mouth, she realized how tired she really was. Maybe it wasn't so bad to let someone else take care of things for once.
Thomas seemed to know that. He always seemed to know.
He'd bring her favorite snacks, the ones she mentioned in passing weeks before. Sometimes he'd even surprise her with flowers—a bouquet of soft pink peonies or bright sunflowers, always her favorites. At first, Y/N had been suspicious. Weren't flowers something guys only bought when they felt guilty about something? But whenever she questioned it, he'd just smile and say, "I just want you to feel loved. You deserve that."
And maybe she did. Maybe, deep down, she craved it more than she realized.
Still, it was hard for her to accept. She was so used to doing things on her own. Depending on someone else felt... risky. What if it didn't last? What if she got too used to him being around, and then one day, he wasn't? So, when he cleaned her apartment or showed up with groceries, she sometimes snapped at him. Told him he didn't need to do all that. She'd argue that he was going too far, that it made her feel guilty or weak, like she couldn't manage on her own.
But Thomas never argued back. He'd just listen, give her that soft, patient look, and say, "I know you're used to doing everything alone, but you don't have to with me. I don't mind. I want to be here."
And he meant it. She could see that. Even on days when her temper flared, when she pushed him away, he didn't leave. He didn't stop. He stuck around because he cared, and no matter how hard it was for her to wrap her head around that, it was the truth.
Slowly, Y/N found herself softening, letting him in a little more each day. The walls she'd built up over years of solitude were still there, but they didn't feel as solid anymore. Thomas wasn't asking her to change who she was. He just wanted to make her life a little easier, a little brighter.
And for the first time in a long time, Y/N started to believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to do everything alone.
