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I was home alone laying on my bed, replaying our argument that happened in the morning. I didn't want to argue, but my mind was not being sane
Marcus called around noon.
now i was sitting on my bed, phone balanced on my knee, staring at the same unfinished application I'd been pretending to work on all morning. Ziven had left early. Again. The silence he left behind felt heavier than usual, like it had weight.
"Hey," Marcus said. "Bad time?"
"No," I replied. "Just… here."
There was a pause on the other end. "You don't sound great."
"I'm fine," I said automatically. Then corrected myself. "Okay, that was a lie. But I'll survive."
He chuckled softly. "Want to get out for a bit? Coffee or something?"
I glanced around my room, at the walls that suddenly felt too close. "You could just come over," I said, without thinking too hard about it. "It's easier."
Another pause. "You sure?"
"Yeah," I said. "It's fine."
I believed it when I said it.
Marcus arrived about twenty minutes later. He looked the same as always easy posture, relaxed smile, like nothing in the world pressed too hard on him. It was… nice. Disarming.
"Hope I'm not intruding," he said, stepping inside.
"You're not," I replied. "Ziven's at work."
The words felt strange leaving my mouth. Like a disclaimer.
We sat in the living room for a bit, talking about nothing important. Work. A show he'd started. Something funny that had happened on his commute. I laughed more than I expected to.
At some point, I remembered the document I'd been looking for earlier.
"I need to grab something from my room," I said, standing. "One second."
Marcus followed me down the hall without hesitation.
I didn't think to stop him.
My room was brighter than the rest of the house, sunlight spilling through the window. I closed the door behind out of habit and crossed straight to the tall shelf near my closet, reaching up on instinct.
"It's up there," I said. "I should really move it lower."
Marcus stood in front of me, talking about something I wasn't listening closely. I stretched higher, fingers brushing the edge of the folder.
My foot slipped.
Just slightly.
The world tilted.
I reached out on instinct and grabbed the first thing within reach Marcus's shirt.
"Whoa-" he said, grabbing at my arm to steady me.
Too late.
We went down together, awkward and uncoordinated. I hit the carpet first, the air knocked out of me in a startled breath. Marcus landed above me, catching himself on his hands just in time to keep his weight off.
For half a second, neither of us moved.
It wasn't intimate.
It was clumsy. Embarrassing.
"Shit," I muttered. "I'm so sorry."
"Are you okay?" Marcus asked, already shifting back.
That was when the door opened.
I didn't hear footsteps. I didn't hear Ziven's voice.
Just the door swinging inward.
The look on his face stopped my heart.
He took everything in at once the position, the proximity, the space between us that didn't exist in that moment.
The room felt smaller than it should have been.
"What," Ziven said, his voice dangerously even, "is going on?"
The calm in his tone froze me in place.
No one answered.
Marcus was still too close. Too close to my face, my space. I could feel Ziven noticing it every inch of distance that shouldn't have existed and suddenly did.
I scrambled to sit up, palms sliding against the carpet. "Ziven-..wait. I slipped. He was helping me up."
Marcus nodded quickly beside me. "Yeah. He tripped. That's all."
Ziven didn't look at him.
His eyes stayed on me, sharp and unreadable, like he was cataloguing every detail I wished I could erase.
"Get up," he said.
Marcus hesitated.
The pause felt loud.
"Now," Ziven added.
Marcus stood, backing away from me slowly, his hands lifting a little like he was trying to show he meant no harm.
"Asher invited me over," Marcus said.
My stomach dropped.
I looked up at Ziven, words tangling in my throat. "I-he just came to talk."
The silence that followed was brutal.
Talk.
In my room.
On the floor.
"Leave," Ziven said.
Marcus glanced at me once more, uncertainty flickering across his face. Then he nodded. "I'll go."
He brushed past Ziven on his way out. Ziven didn't move. I didn't look away from him.
The door closed.
The sound echoed.
Silence rushed in, thick and suffocating.
I sat there on the floor, breathing unevenly, my eyes locked on Ziven like I was bracing for something I couldn't see coming.
That was when I noticed his hands.
Shaking.
Just slightly.
The sight rooted me in place more than his silence ever could.
Ziven inhaled slowly, like he was forcing his body back under control. When he spoke again, his voice was steady but only because he was making it be.
"You shouldn't be on the floor," he said.
I pushed myself up awkwardly, the movement clumsy, my legs still unsteady. I didn't know where to stand, so I stayed where I was, a few steps away from him, my back brushing the edge of the bed.
"I told you what happened," I said quietly. "I didn't lie."
"I know," he replied.
The words landed wrong.
"If you know," I said, "then why does it feel like you're angry at me?"
His gaze flickered, just once, like something had slipped through the cracks.
"I'm not angry," he said.
"Yes, you are."
"No," he corrected. "I'm aware."
"That's not better."
He almost smiled at that. Almost.
"You invited him into my house," he said.
"This is my room," I shot back, then immediately regretted it.
The air went still.
Ziven stepped closer not invading my space, not touching but enough that I felt the gravity of him again. The instinctive awareness I couldn't seem to turn off.
"You don't see it," he said quietly. "That's what worries me."
"See what?" I asked. "That I slipped? That someone helped me?"
"That you don't realize what you allow," he replied.
I shook my head. "I didn't allow anything."
"You didn't stop it either."
"That's not fair," I said. "I can't control how things look every second."
His jaw tightened. "I can."
The words sent a shiver down my spine.
"That's the problem," I said. "You think what you can do everyone can too."
For a moment, I thought he might argue. Might snap. Might finally raise his voice.
Instead, he looked… tired.
"I've spent years making sure nothing crosses a line," he said. "And you don't even see the line."
"Then tell me where it is," I said softly. "Because I'm standing here guessing, and you're acting like I've already crossed it."
His eyes searched my face, like he was looking for something he hoped not to find.
"If you understood," he said slowly, "you wouldn't be asking."
"That's not an answer."
"No," he agreed. "It's a warning."
The word settled heavily between us.
I wrapped my arms around myself without realizing it. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
"I know," he said again.
There it was. That phrase. Not comfort. Not forgiveness. Just acknowledgment.
He turned away then, running a hand through his hair, stopping himself before the motion could turn into something restless.
"This won't happen again," he said.
My chest tightened. "What won't?"
He looked at me over his shoulder.
"You bringing him here," he said. "Anyone like him."
"You can't decide that," I said.
"I already have."
Then he walked out, leaving the door open behind him like he hadn't trusted himself to close it.
I stood there long after, the room feeling unfamiliar around me, my heart still racing.
I hadn't planned anything.
I hadn't wanted anything.
And yet somehow, without touching him at all-
I'd pushed Ziven closer to the edge than ever before.