For you, I'd stand still

Six O'Clock

The night closes around us like a quiet promise, pressing gently on the empty streets. I've walked beside him for several blocks, Mateo's hand warm in mine, as if he believes his touch is enough to anchor me, to keep me from slipping away again. A voice inside me wants to pull away, to make a quick excuse and vanish into the maze of Zurich's side streets before the cold finds me, before I feel that burn rise in me again. But something in his presence, in the solid weight of his hand, keeps me grounded.

I glance sideways at him. Mateo's face is softened in the muted glow of the streetlights, his dark eyes scanning the surroundings with a quiet alertness. He's gorgeous. Every few moments, he looks over at me, as if he's checking to make sure I'm still here, that I haven't evaporated like mist in the night. And each time I meet his gaze, I feel a pang of guilt. He's holding on to a shadow, a ghost, something that can't be his, no matter how much I might want to be.

The bells chime six o'clock. A sound that feels woven into the air itself, echoing between the buildings. It's a soft, haunting toll that reminds me time is slipping by. I feel my pulse quicken. I look down, willing myself to stay calm, but the faint prickling at the back of my neck warns me. If I linger too long, the burning will start again, that invisible pull that tears me apart from the inside. The urge to run claws at me, filling my mind with memories of places I've already left behind, of faces fading like old photographs.

But tonight, something is different. For the first time, there's something pulling me back. Mateo's fingers are wrapped securely around mine, his touch grounding me in a way that's strange, foreign. I wonder if he notices the way my hands keep fidgeting, the way my steps falter every few paces, as if I'm fighting some invisible battle he can't see. I know I need to tell him, to warn him that being close to me is dangerous, that my life is too full of secrets for someone like him, someone steady, someone strong. But I don't want to say the words that will drive him away. I realise I don't want him to leave.

"You're quiet," he says softly, breaking the silence. His voice is low, threaded with concern. "Are you all right?"

I manage a nod, forcing a small, fragile smile. "Yes. Just...not used to this."

"Not used to what?"

"Being with someone," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Letting someone walk beside me."

We stop under a streetlamp, my pulse quickening, but I feel the warmth of his eyes, steady and unwavering. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me, if he can see past the surface to the tangle of fears and doubts hidden beneath. His hand tightens around mine, as if he senses my hesitance, as if he's trying to keep me here, in this moment, when every instinct I have is telling me to flee. The tingling begins.

"I'm here, Rose. I'm here because I want to be." He searches my face, his eyes steady despite my shifting around. "You don't have to keep carrying all of this alone. You can trust me."

The words hit me with a force that makes my chest ache. Trust. It's such a simple word, but one that's been foreign to me for so long. Do I trust him? The thought is weird, leaving behind a tingling in my chest that has nothing to with standing still. I want to believe him, to let myself be vulnerable, to let myself feel something other than this endless, gnawing fear. But trust comes with risks, with dangers I've spent my entire life avoiding.

"There are things about me you don't know," I say, my voice trembling. "Things you might not want to know."

He doesn't flinch. "Then tell me," he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet conviction that sends a shiver down my spine. "Let me see whatever it is you're hiding. I won't run away."

My breath catches, and I look away, feeling the weight of his words settle over me like a cloak. I want to tell him, want to pour out the secrets I've kept buried for so long. But the fear holds me back, the same fear that's driven me from one city to the next, always running, always leaving pieces of myself behind. I can't let him in. Not really.

"It's...it's like this fire," I say, struggling to put the feeling into words. "Like there's something inside me that won't let me stay still, that won't let me be close to people. I don't know what it is, but it's always there, this constant pull, this need to keep moving. And when I try to ignore it, when I try to stay..." My voice trails off, the unspoken words lingering in the cold night air.

He doesn't speak, doesn't push me to explain. Instead, he just watches me, his gaze filled with a patience that's both comforting and painful. He reaches out, his hand resting gently on my shoulder, and I feel a warmth spread through me, chasing away the chill that's settled in my bones.

"Then let's just take this moment," he says quietly, his voice calm and reassuring. "Just this one moment, here and now. Don't think about tomorrow. Don't think about anything else. Just be here with me."

A strange calm settles over me, a fleeting sense of peace that feels almost unreal. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I let myself breathe, let myself exist in this moment without the weight of the past or the fear of the future. I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand on my shoulder, grounding me in a way I can't explain.

The city is quiet around us, the distant sounds of traffic and footsteps fading into the background. I let myself believe, if only for a heartbeat, that I could stay here, that I could stop running, that I could let myself be vulnerable. But I know it's a lie, a fragile fantasy that can't hold under the weight of my reality. It's really a question of life or death. But how do I make him understand without sounding silly?

"I don't know if I can," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to stay."

"You are," he says, his voice firm, filled with a conviction I can't understand. "You're stronger than you think, Rose. I can see it. You just need to believe it, too."

I look up at him, my heart pounding in my chest, and for a brief, dizzying moment, I let myself believe him. Again. I let myself imagine a life where I don't have to keep running, where I can let myself be close to someone, let myself trust. But even as the thought crosses my mind, I feel the familiar prickle at the back of my neck, a warning that my time is running out.

The chimes of the clock are still echoing faintly through the streets, marking each second as it slips away. Six o'clock. The night is deepening, and I know I can't stay here much longer. The pull is getting stronger, the burn rising in me, urging me to move, to leave, to escape before it's too late.

"I have to go," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "I...I can't stay."

The pain in his eyes is like a knife to my heart, but he doesn't argue, doesn't try to stop me. He simply nods, his hand slipping from my shoulder as he takes a step back, giving me the space he knows I need.

"I'll be here," he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet sadness that makes my chest ache. "Whenever you're ready. I'll be here."

I turn, the weight of his words heavy on my shoulders as I walk away, my steps echoing through the empty streets. I don't look back, don't let myself linger, even though every part of me wants to. I can feel his eyes on my back, a silent promise that I know I don't deserve.

The night swallows me up, the city fading into shadows as I move further away, leaving him behind. But his words echo in my mind, a small, fragile hope that refuses to fade, that caused my dormant heart to pump life through my veins again. No matter how far I run, he'll haunt me. Even though it hurts deeply, I don't think I mind. It means I can feel, which makes me feel alive. Despite myself and my tears, I smile.

As the clock chimes six once more in the distance, I disappear into the darkness, the cold biting into my skin as I slip back into the familiar comfort of solitude. Yet, something tells me things have changed.