Please, take my heart

32.) Crashing in a wave

I wake up warm.

There’s a steady weight at my back, solid, comforting. Ivan. His arm isn’t around me this time, but his palm rests against the space between my shoulder blades, warm even through the fabric of my hoodie. I shift slightly, and his hand slides away. The cold rush of air against my back makes me frown.

He doesn’t stir. His breathing stays slow, even. I let myself linger for a moment before I push off the couch, rubbing at my face.

I should make breakfast. But I don’t want to.

Routine feels suffocating today.

I glance back at him, his face slack in sleep, and the thought forms before I can stop it.

Let’s do something different.

—

The air is crisp, biting at my skin.

I shove my hands into my hoodie pockets. “This was a terrible idea.”

Ivan gives me a flat look. “You dragged me out here.”

“And I regret it.”

He exhales, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

We walk aimlessly, the sound of our footsteps crunching against the gravel. I glance at him every so often. His hair is messier than usual, strands curling slightly at his forehead. It makes him look softer, almost gentle.

I don’t know what makes me do it, but I reach out, brushing a leaf from his sleeve.

He stills for a second before huffing a quiet laugh. “You just wanted an excuse to touch me.”

I scoff. “You wish.”

His mouth twitches. “Right.”

A breeze picks up, pushing my hair into my face. I try to tuck it behind my ear, but it’s pointless. Ivan sighs, stepping in front of me, blocking the wind. His fingers brush my cheek as he fixes my hair properly, tucking it securely.

“Better?” he asks, voice softer now.

I nod, swallowing. “Thanks.”

We keep walking. Our shoulders bump lightly every few steps. It feels... easy.

—

“Ivan,” I say, pushing his coffee toward him. “Made with love.”

He lifts it to his lips, taking a slow sip. “Tolerable.”

I scoff. “That’s practically a five-star review coming from you.”

His mouth twitches slightly. Not quite a smile, but close enough.

He’s in a good mood today. It’s in the way his voice is softer, the way his gaze lingers on me just a little longer, the way he lets our knees press together without moving away.

I don’t want the moment to end.

“You know,” he says, tilting his head, “I don’t tell you this enough, but—”

My phone buzzes.

I glance at the screen.

One new message.

Travis: See you at Thanksgiving.

Everything inside me stills.

No.

No.

It doesn’t make sense.

I blink at the message, my fingers tightening around my phone. I was so sure—so sure—he would never speak to me again. That I was nothing to him. That I had become nothing.