𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒔

twenty one

"everyone has a chapter they don't read out loud"

Cato's POV

It's dead quiet.

The kind of quiet you don't usually get when there's a house full of people. But that's the thing about my life—there's rarely anyone here.

It's late afternoon, and I'm lying on the couch, listening to the faint hum of the AC. The light coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows is dim and soft, filtered through the tall, bare trees in the backyard.

Most people would probably feel uneasy being alone in a house this big, with its hollow silence and its echoing emptiness.

But I don't mind it.

In fact, I prefer it.

My parents work overseas, something they decided to do when I was fourteen.

At first, they'd fly home every month or so, but over time, that became every few months, then just the big holidays.

They're busy people, and honestly, I'm fine with that.

They love me, in their way.

They make sure I have what I need, send texts to check in every now and then, and transfer money into my account without me even having to ask.

It's enough.

I sit up, stretching, glancing around the room. Everything's neat, clean, almost clinical. I like it that way. In a way, this house feels more like a hotel than a home, and maybe that's fitting.

It always felt temporary. Just a place I live, but never something I'm attached to. I think it's because of the control I have over it.

There's no one here to mess it up, no one to leave their things lying around, no one to disrupt the order.

It's exactly the way I want it.

That's why I started dealing, in a weird way. It's not about the money; I don't need it.

It's about the control.

Knowing exactly who's coming to me, when they're coming, and what they want.

I know my customers, their routines, their needs, but it's all at a distance.

They need me, but I don't need them.

It keeps things simple.

No one gets too close.

I check my phone, scrolling through a few unread texts. Same people as always—clients, mostly. It's funny how people always think they're so good at hiding what they really want.

Some of them are subtle, trying to act casual, like they're just checking in. Others are desperate, borderline begging.

I'm used to it by now. People are predictable, and they're easy to manage if you keep them at arm's length.

Then there's Gina.

She's not like the others.

I don't know what it is about her—maybe it's the way she tries so hard to keep everyone at a distance, the way she doesn't let people see what's really going on inside her head.

Or maybe it's because I see pieces of myself in her, that same emptiness that she hides behind a pretty face and a sharp tongue.

Most people don't notice it, but I do.

That night I found her bleeding on the floor? I didn't expect to feel anything about it.

It should've been just another thing, another moment I could brush off. But I didn't. I stayed. I patched her up. And I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

I push the thought aside, getting up and heading into the kitchen. The fridge hums as I open it, glancing inside. There's food in there—my parents make sure I'm stocked up—but I barely touch it.

I usually just eat when I feel like it, grabbing whatever's easy.

Today, though, I'm not hungry.

Not really.

I close the fridge and lean against the counter, looking out the window. The sky is getting darker, clouds rolling in. A storm, maybe. It's fitting. There's a certain peace in the storm, in the way it drowns out everything else. It's probably why I like the rain so much.

I check my phone again, out of habit more than anything. No new messages. It's fine. I like being alone, remember? I don't need anyone.

But then there's that gnawing feeling again, that flicker of something I can't quite name. Loneliness, maybe? No, I've never cared about being alone.

This is different.

It's something I've only felt a few times, and it's always tied to Gina. It's like a pull, something I can't ignore, no matter how much I want to. She's the only person who's ever made me feel...curious. Like there's something worth understanding, even if it's something I'd rather keep out of my life.

I shake my head, grabbing my keys and heading out. There's a convenience store a few blocks away that I go to when I need something, and right now, I just need to get out of my head.

The air is cool, the kind of crisp that comes before a storm. I pull my hood up, hands in my pockets as I walk. It's quiet, just the sound of my footsteps on the pavement, the distant hum of traffic. I like this time of day, when everything's winding down, when the world feels like it's holding its breath.

When I reach the store, I head inside, nodding to the cashier. They know me here, but they don't ask questions. I grab a pack of gum, paying with cash, quick and efficient. There's no need for small talk.

As I'm leaving, I catch a glimpse of someone familiar out of the corner of my eye.

Gina.

She's standing by the counter, her eyes scanning the shelves, looking tired and...different.

She's wearing a hoodie, the sleeves pulled down over her hands, her hair a little messier than usual. It's a side of her I don't usually see, a side that feels raw, unguarded.

I don't say anything. Just watch, noticing the way her shoulders tense slightly when she realizes I'm there.

She doesn't look at me, just keeps her gaze fixed on the shelves, pretending she hasn't seen me. I could say something, but I don't. I get it. Sometimes silence is better.

I slip out of the store, the door chiming behind me, and start walking back home. There's a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing she's as guarded as I am. Like maybe, in some weird way, we're both trying to keep the world at a distance, both hiding things we don't want anyone else to see.

---

Back home, the silence feels heavier than before. I toss my keys on the counter, letting the quiet settle around me. I'm not sure why Gina's been on my mind so much lately.

Maybe it's because she's the only person who doesn't treat me like I'm invisible. She sees me, really sees me, and it's...unsettling. But it's also something I can't ignore.

I go upstairs, collapsing on my bed and staring at the ceiling. The room is dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside, casting faint shadows across the walls. I like the darkness. It's comforting, like a blanket I can wrap around myself, hiding from the world.

I think about Gina again, that look on her face in the store. She looked...tired. Worn out, like she was carrying the weight of something she couldn't put down. I wonder what it is, what's going on in her life that makes her so guarded, so distant.

Maybe I'll never know.

Maybe it's better that way.