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The apartment feels different at night.
Not quieter—just heavier. Like the walls are holding their breath with me, waiting for whatever comes next to finally drop.
Ariana moves around the kitchen in socks, hair still damp, wearing one of my shirts like it belongs to her. The sleeves are pushed up to her elbows. She's trying to be normal on purpose, I can tell. Like if she keeps doing ordinary things—opening cabinets, pulling out plates, filling cups—then time will slow down.
It doesn't.
I sit on the couch with my elbows on my knees, staring at my hands. They're steady right now, but I don't trust them. I don't trust anything about myself lately.
Forty-eight hours.
Less than that now.
A few hours ago I was in court hearing my life read back to me in a list of charges. Now I'm here, in a place that smells like Ariana's soap and candle wax and something sweet she keeps in the bathroom that makes the air feel softer.
I keep thinking if I memorize it hard enough, I can take it with me.
"You okay?" she calls, glancing over her shoulder.
I nod out of habit.
Then I shake my head, because I promised myself I'd stop lying in small ways.
"No," I admit. "But I'm trying."
She doesn't say it's going to be okay.
She just nods like she understands, like she's not asking me to pretend.
"Food's almost done," she says gently.
"I'm not hungry," I say.
"I know," she replies while kissing me in the forehead. "Eat anyway, please sir."
I can't help the short laugh that slips out. "You sound like CeCe."
Her mouth twitches. "Please don't insult me like that."
That makes me laugh again—real this time. The sound surprises me so much I almost choke on it. Ariana turns fully toward me, eyebrows raised like she's checking if it's actually happening.
"Was that a laugh?" she asks, teasing.
"Don't get used to it," I say, but my face is already giving me away.
She brings two bowls over and sets them on the coffee table, then sits down beside me, legs tucked under her, close enough that our shoulders touch. That small contact steadies me more than any speech or promise ever could.
She hands me a fork. I take it, then just stare at it for a second like I've never seen one in my life.
