(Ziven POV)
The argument happened over nothing.
I woke up on time, like I always did. Showered. Dressed. Moved through the house on routine alone, muscle memory carrying me forward while my mind stayed carefully blank.
I was making coffee when I heard him behind me.
"So you're leaving again?"
Asher's voice wasn't sharp. It wasn't accusing. It was quiet in that way that meant he'd already been thinking about it.
I didn't turn around. "It's a weekday."
"You've been leaving earlier," he said. "Every day this week."
I set the mug down with more force than necessary. "I have work."
"I know."
That was the problem. He knew. He noticed.
I finally turned to face him. He stood a few feet away, hair still damp, sleeves of his shirt pushed up, eyes tired but steady. He hadn't slept well. Neither had I.
"You don't have to monitor my schedule," I said.
"I'm not," he replied. "I'm noticing."
The word landed wrong.
"Same thing," I said.
"No," he said quietly. "It's not."
Silence stretched between us, thick with everything we hadn't resolved the night before.
"You're pulling away," Asher continued. "And I don't understand why."
"That doesn't mean there is a reason," I replied.
He shook his head slightly. "You keep saying that. But you also keep doing it."
I grabbed my keys from the counter. "This isn't a conversation I'm having before work."
"You never have time for conversations," he said. "Not when they're about us."
The word hit harder than it should have.
"There is no us," I said, too quickly.
Asher flinched.
The reaction was immediate. Visible. Regret followed just as fast, but it was too late.
"Right," he said, nodding once. "Of course."
I should have stopped then. Should have corrected it.
Instead, I doubled down.
"I'm doing what I need to do," I said. "You should focus on your own routine instead of tracking mine."
His jaw tightened. "I wasn't tracking you. I was asking."
"Well, stop."
The room went very still.
"Fine," Asher said after a moment. "Go."
I left.
I didn't look back. I didn't say goodbye. I closed the door behind me with a sharpness that echoed longer than it should have.
By the time I reached the car, my chest already felt tight.
Work was useless.
I sat through meetings and contributed nothing of value. I stared at reports without absorbing the numbers. My phone buzzed once with an email, then again, then again I ignored all of it.
All I could see was Asher's face when I'd said there was no us.
That wasn't true.
It just wasn't safe.
By noon, I knew I wasn't accomplishing anything.
I requested a half day without explanation. No one questioned it. They rarely did.
On the drive home, I found myself turning toward the place Asher liked without consciously deciding to. The small restaurant near the corner. The one he claimed he didn't care about but always ordered from when he thought no one was paying attention.
I bought more than necessary.
Food he liked. Dessert he pretended not to.
It wasn't an apology.
It was an attempt to stabilize something that felt like it was slipping.
The house was quiet when I arrived.
His shoes were by the door. His jacket was gone.
"Asher?" I called.
No answer.
I set the bags down on the counter and checked the living room. Empty. The dining table. Empty. His laptop wasn't there. His mug from the morning still sat untouched near the sink.
My unease sharpened.
I moved down the hall toward his room.
The sound came before I reached the door.
A heavy thud.
Not sharp enough to be something falling off a table. Not light enough to be accidental.
My heart stuttered.
"Asher?" I said, already reaching for the handle.
Another sound movement this time. A breath that wasn't his alone.
I didn't knock.
I pushed the door open.
The image hit me all at once.
Asher was on the floor, legs tangled awkwardly, one hand braced against the carpet. Marcus was above him, one knee down, one hand planted beside Asher's head like he'd just caught himself from falling forward.
They froze.
Asher's eyes widened. Marcus turned more slowly.
The room felt smaller than it should have been.
"What," I said, my voice dangerously even, "is going on?"
No one answered.
Marcus was too close.
Too close to Asher's face. Too close to his body. Too close to a space I'd never allowed myself to occupy.
Asher scrambled to sit up. "Ziven wait. I slipped. He was helping me up."
Marcus nodded quickly. "Yeah. He tripped. That's all."
I didn't look at him.
My attention stayed locked on Asher.
"Get up," I said.
Marcus hesitated.
"Now," I added.
He stood, stepping back slowly, hands raised slightly in a placating gesture.
"Asher invited me over," Marcus said.
The words detonated in my chest.
I looked at Asher.
His mouth opened. Closed. "I he just came to talk."
Talk.
In his room.
On the floor.
"Leave," I said.
Marcus glanced at Asher once more, then nodded. "I'll go."
He brushed past me on his way out. I didn't move.
The door closed.
Silence rushed in.
Asher sat there, breathing unevenly, eyes fixed on me like he was bracing for impact.
I realized then that my hands were shaking.
Jealousy wasn't subtle.
It didn't arrive politely or announce itself with logic.
It surged hot, possessive, obliterating every careful boundary I'd spent years building.
I'd held back.
I'd stayed away.
And Marcus had crossed the line without even knowing it existed.
"This isn't what it looks like," Asher said.
I laughed once. Low. Sharp.
"No," I replied. "It's exactly what it looks like."
Because no explanation could erase the image burned into my mind.
Marcus above him.
Marcus in his space.
Marcus where I had never let myself be.
I stood there, staring at Asher, pulse roaring in my ears, one truth cutting through everything else.
This wasn't restraint anymore.
This was possession.
And the line I'd been guarding so carefully
had just been stepped over.