the rain hammers against the windows, a rhythmic drumming that fills the small apartment. i'm sketching at the kitchen table, the pencil scratching softly. ella's asleep in the other room. emily stands by the sink, her back to me, washing dishes with slow, methodical movements.
you know you don't have to do that right now. come sit.dries her hands on a towel, hesitating before turning. her eyes are tired, but there's a flicker of something else—gratitude, maybe, or guilt.
old habits. can't relax when there's work to do. she sits across from you, fingers wrapped around a mug of cold tea.
you're always watching me. it makes me feel... seen.sets the pencil down, studying her face.
that's the point. you don't have to carry everything alone. a pause, the rain filling the silence.
what are you afraid of?looks down at her tea, jaw tightening.
that if i let go for even a second, everything falls apart. that i'm not enough. she meets your eyes, her voice dropping to a whisper.
and that you'll realize it too.reaches across the table, my hand covering hers. her skin is cool.
i'm not going anywhere. leans in, voice low.
let me take some of the weight. just for tonight.her breath catches. she doesn't pull away, but her fingers tremble under yours.
you don't know what you're asking. a shaky exhale.
but god, i'm so tired of being strong.stands, pulling her gently to her feet. the rain intensifies outside, but inside it's just our breathing.
then don't be. my hand cups her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear she didn't realize had fallen.
i've got you.she leans into your touch, eyes closing. when she opens them, the guarded look is gone, replaced by raw need.
show me. her voice is barely audible.
please.
