By evening, Arrow has officially overstayed his welcome.
Not because I want him gone.
Because I don't.
And that's annoying.
He's still here. Still existing. Still taking up space like he was custom-built for it. At some point he took a phone call on the balcony, pacing like a man who owns too many secrets and too many suits. At another point, he folded a throw blanket that did not need folding.
Red flag behavior.
I'm on the couch pretending to scroll through my phone while actually rereading Maddie's last message for the fifth time.
Let me know if you want me to come back later 💕
Later.
I scoff quietly. The audacity. The confidence. The delusion.
I don't reply.
Again.
Arrow comes back inside and drops next to me, close enough that our knees touch. Not accidentally. Never accidentally. He smells good. Expensive. Calm. Like a man who's never been told "no" and learned how to survive anyway.
"You're thinking too loudly," he says.
"I'm literally silent."
"Your face is yelling."
Rude. Accurate.
"I'm thinking about Maddie."
He sighs like he was hoping I'd say anything else. "Of course you are."
"I think she's going to lose her mind."
"That's dramatic."
"No," I say calmly. "That's inevitable."
He studies me, elbow resting on the back of the couch. "You're doing this on purpose."
I look at him. "Doing what?"
"Pulling away just enough to hurt."
I smile. "You make it sound like art."
He snorts. "You're enjoying it."
"I'm enjoying watching her realize she's replaceable."
His expression sharpens. "She's not replaceable."
I tilt my head. "Neither was I."
That shuts him up.
Good.
The silence stretches, thicker now. Less playful. He shifts slightly, like he wants to say something and hates that he wants to.
"Maddie's been with you a long time," he says carefully.
"So has acne," I reply. "That doesn't make it welcome."
He laughs despite himself. "You're unbelievable."
"I survived a taxi," I shrug. "Perspective changes."
His phone buzzes.
He glances at it, then locks the screen without answering.
I notice.
"Not answering?" I ask sweetly.
"Work."
"Mmm."
"That tone means you're judging me."
"That tone means I don't care."
He smirks. "There you are again."
I stretch my legs out, deliberately nudging his thigh. "You say that like you missed me."
"I did."
Too fast.
Too honest.
I freeze for half a second—just enough for him to notice.
He notices everything.
"Sorry," he says, softer. "That was—"
"Fine," I cut in. "I'm not fragile."
"I know."
That's worse.
I stand abruptly. "I'm hungry."
"You've eaten three times today."
"I almost died," I repeat. "Let me live."
He grins and follows me into the kitchen like this is normal. Like this isn't insane. Like we're not two people standing on a fault line pretending the ground isn't cracking.
We cook together. Or rather, he cooks and I interfere.
"You're cutting that wrong," he says.
"It's a carrot, not a bomb."
"You'll lose a finger."
"Don't threaten me with a good time."
He laughs again. I catch him mid-smile and something warm crawls up my spine.
Disgusting.
While he plates the food, my phone buzzes again.
I glance.
Maddie.
Of course.
Are you upset with me?
I don't even sigh this time. I just hand the phone to Arrow.
He reads it. His jaw tightens slightly.
"You don't owe her an explanation," he says.
"I know."
"Then why are you—"
"Because," I interrupt, taking the phone back, "I want her to say it."
"Say what?"
"That she's scared."
I type.
Why would I be upset?
Send.
Arrow watches me like he's witnessing a crime.
Ten seconds.
Buzz.
I just feel like you're distant… did I do something wrong?
There it is.
I smile.
"Wow," Arrow mutters. "You're ruthless."
"I'm patient," I correct.
I don't reply.
Again.
We eat in relative peace after that. Arrow talks about work. I half-listen. My phone lights up twice more. I ignore both.
Later, when the dishes are done and the apartment is dim and quiet again, Arrow sits beside me, closer this time. Shoulder brushing mine. Comfortable. Dangerous.
"You're not wrong about her," he says quietly.
I glance at him. "About Maddie?"
"She's… intense."
I raise a brow. "You're just noticing?"
"She was never like this before."
I smile faintly. "Neither was I."
He exhales. "That's not fair."
"I didn't say it was."
He turns to face me fully. His expression is serious now. Focused.
"You're changing the dynamic," he says. "Whether you mean to or not."
"I mean to."
"That's what worries me."
"Why?" I ask. "Because you don't know where you stand anymore?"
He hesitates.
Got you.
"I know exactly where I stand," he says finally.
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Then say it."
He doesn't.
Interesting.
Instead, he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Slow. Familiar. Intimate.
"You're not the same," he says softly. "But I don't think that's a bad thing."
I hold his wrist gently before he can pull away.
"Careful," I say. "You're getting attached."
He smiles, low and dangerous. "Too late."
We stay like that for a moment too long.
Then his phone rings.
Carson.
I see the name flash on the screen.
Ah.
The universe hates peace.
Arrow frowns and answers. "Yes?"
I don't hear Carson's voice, but I don't need to. Arrow's posture stiffens immediately.
"I'm with her," he says.
Pause.
"No, she's fine."
Another pause. Longer.
I lean back, watching his face shift—confusion, irritation, something like concern.
"Tomorrow?" Arrow repeats. "That's—"
He stops.
Glances at me.
"…We'll talk later," he says into the phone and hangs up.
"What was that about?" I ask.
He hesitates.
Never a good sign.
"Carson wants to meet," he says slowly. "All of us."
I laugh. "Oh good. Group therapy."
"He said Maddie insisted."
I stop smiling.
Of course she did.
"She's escalating," I murmur.
Arrow studies me. "You expected this."
"I expected worse."
He sighs, rubbing his temples. "You're playing a dangerous game."
I stand and stretch, utterly unbothered. "So are you."
He watches me walk toward the mirror, toward myself.
"I don't like being manipulated," he says quietly.
I meet his gaze in the reflection.
"Then don't let people think they own you."
That lands harder than I expect.
He doesn't respond.
The night winds down after that. Arrow eventually leaves, reluctantly, with a promise to come back tomorrow. I don't stop him. I don't beg. I don't soften.
When the door closes, I finally check my phone.
Five unread messages from Maddie.
All variations of worry.
All unanswered.
I turn the phone face-down and smile at my reflection.
Tomorrow, Carson wants a meeting.
Maddie wants reassurance.
Arrow wants answers.
And me?
I want chaos.
Slow. Quiet. Precise chaos.
I crawl into bed and laugh softly into the dark.
This is going to be fun.