Please, take my heart

29.) What am i avoiding?

The sky outside is bruised with shades of deep blue and fading orange, the last traces of daylight sinking behind the buildings. The leftovers from dinner sit untouched on the table, long forgotten in favor of stretched-out limbs and the heavy weight of exhaustion.

Ivan is lying on the couch, one arm flung over his face, the other hanging off the edge. His shirt has ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin, but he’s too tired to fix it. I sit on the floor, my back resting against the coffee table, my head tipped back. My brain feels fried from the endless hours of studying.

It’s quiet. The kind of comfortable silence that only exists between people who’ve spent too much time together to need words.

Then Ivan groans dramatically.

“I’m dying.”

I snort. “You’re not.”

“I am. I can feel my soul leaving my body.”

I roll my eyes, nudging his leg with my foot. “Then go. Don’t let me stop you.”

He tilts his head just enough to peek at me, eyes lazy with amusement. “You’d miss me too much.”

I scoff, but the way my lips twitch betrays me. “In your dreams.”

Ivan smirks, but he doesn’t argue. He knows.

The soft hum of the ceiling fan fills the room. The air is cool now, the lingering scent of rain still clinging to the walls. I don’t know how he walked in the storm yesterday without a second thought, how he just strolled in drenched, completely unbothered. He didn’t even sneeze once today. It’s infuriating.

I glance at him. His arm is still over his eyes, but his breathing is steady. Almost peaceful.

I hesitate.

Then, before I can think too much about it, I ask, “Why didn’t you take an umbrella yesterday?”

Ivan shifts but doesn’t remove his arm. “Didn’t think I’d need one.”

I frown. “You knew it was going to rain.”

He hums. “Maybe I wanted to get wet.”

I huff. “That’s stupid.”

Finally, he moves his arm, turning his head to look at me. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something just beneath the surface. “Is it?”

I don’t know how to answer that. So I don’t.

Instead, I get up. “I’m showering.”

Ivan closes his eyes again. “Don’t drown.”

I flip him off, but he doesn’t see it.

—

By the time I step out of the bathroom, the house is dark except for the faint glow of the kitchen light. The air feels heavier now, the exhaustion of the day settling into my bones.

Ivan is still on the couch, but he’s shifted. His arm is now resting on his stomach, his head turned towards the ceiling. His eyes are closed, but I know he’s not asleep.

I walk past him, heading to my room. I don’t say goodnight. Neither does he.

—

But I don’t sleep.

I toss and turn, my mind restless.

Eventually, I give up.

Slipping out of bed, I step into the hallway. The house is quiet, but not the unsettling kind. It’s the kind of quiet that feels alive, like it’s waiting for something to happen.

I don’t know why my feet take me back to the living room. I don’t know why I pause in the doorway, watching the slow rise and fall of Ivan’s chest as he lays there. His breathing is steady, his face relaxed in a way it never is when he’s awake.

For a moment, I just… watch.

Then, as if sensing it, Ivan shifts. His eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep but still sharp. He blinks at me.

I freeze.

“What?” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.

I should say nothing. I should turn around, go back to bed.

But I don’t.

“I can’t sleep,” I admit quietly.

Ivan exhales, dragging a hand down his face. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then, without opening his eyes again, he shifts to the side, making space on the couch.

The invitation is silent.

I hesitate.

Then, before I can second-guess myself, I move.

I sit at the edge first, legs curled up beside me. Ivan doesn’t shift again, doesn’t push. He just waits.

After a moment, I let myself relax. Slowly, cautiously, I lay down too. Not touching. Not close. Just… there.

The room feels different now. The air is charged with something unspoken, something neither of us acknowledges.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours.

Then, in the darkness, Ivan speaks.

“Are you ever going to stop avoiding this?”

I don’t ask what. We both know.

I close my eyes. My heartbeat is too loud in my ears.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

Ivan doesn’t reply. But I feel his presence beside me, steady and unmoving.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself breathe.

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