Liana lay curled on the couch, facing the wall, eyes open.

She could hear him shifting across the room, blanket rustling as he settled on the floor. He hadn’t asked for comfort. She hadn’t offered.

Still, his presence filled the space like smoke—thick, quiet, hard to breathe.

A drop of rain slid down the windowpane. Then another.

Then—

“Do you always sleep with your eyes open?”

His voice was low, rough from sleep or disuse. She didn’t move.

“Do you always talk when no one asks you to?” she replied, voice sharp but softer than usual.

Silence again. But then—

“Why don’t you let anyone close?”

The question wasn’t an attack. It wasn’t pity. Just a quiet piece of truth dropped into the dark.

Liana didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her chest ached like something in her past had stirred.

She could lie. She was good at that.

But tonight, something in the storm had loosened her grip.

“…Because people leave,” she said finally. “And I don’t chase.”

Another silence.

Then, quietly—

“I didn’t ask you to chase me.”

She turned toward him. Just a shadow in the dark. But his voice felt closer than the walls.

“No,” she whispered. “But you keep showing up like you want to be caught.”

Neither of them said anything after that.

But neither of them slept.