He was gone again.
By the time i realized it, night had already swallowed the horizon. No lights under his door. No familiar hum of his space heater. No soft clatter of keyboard.
I was alone, again.
It didn't matter. It never did, not really. I didn't expect anything from anyone. Not a call. Not a message. Not even a "I'm home." So i lit a cigarette on the balcony, inhaled deep, and let the smoke fill every corner of the silence i carried inside.
But as the hour stretched into darkness, a gnawing in my gut decided I shouldn't stay.
Enough of hiding behind walls of avoidance. Enough of waiting for him to return to some predictable routine I refused to pull him into.
I grabbed my nylon bag, packed lightly, just water, a jacket, some cash and slid a tactical knife into the front pocket. Not for show. For protection. In this city, this quiet place I chose to hide, you never knew who might cross your path.
I walked until the streetlights thinned, the buildings gave way to empty storefronts, and the hum of traffic faded into distant thuds.
That's when i saw him.
He was cornered.
Three men loom over him in a narrow alley, blocks away from the busier avenues. One jerking his arm, another sneering for his wallet, the third leaning in as if smelling fear.
Ken.
With his back against the wall, trying to retreat, head turned, hope flickering in his eyes but not fear.
In that moment, nothing else mattered.
I shouldered open the alley gate like i owned it. The men looked up with surprise.
"Don't touch him," I said, voice low, venomous.
They recognized the tone instantly.
And they recognized me.
"Oh…" the one closest stuttered, "aren't you Cassandra? The… singer?"
I should have smiled. Used my fame to scare them off. But i didn't want them to know who i was today.
Not to save them. Just to prove i didn't need parlor tricks.
I shook my head.
"One step back," I said, pulling the knife from my pocket and flexing the blade.
They hesitated, gauged the situation.
Too late.
Ken stepped out, raising his hand.
Silvery gleam cut across his palm.
We both froze.
My knife rested mid-air.
His palm stung.
Blood welled between his fingers.
For a grotesque second, I thought: I hurt him.
The men saw it.
Didn't pause.
Not now.
But fear? Real fear that if they crossed this line they'd meet something sharper than words strewn in tabloids?
They backed off. One coughed, another dropped his gaze.
By the time they retreated into the darkness, Ken and I stood in the hush of the alley.
He looked at his hand. Blood trickled over his knuckles.
I stepped forward instantly and pulled out a tissue, pressing against the wound.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered. I hated that i could hear the panic in my own voice.
He swallowed. "It's okay. I.., you saved me."
My hand trembled slightly.
"Me?" I scoffed. "You dang near stopped the attackers with your blood."
He shook his hand gently, wincing. "Reflex."
"You bled."
He let out a soft breath. "Pain is fine."
I hid my relief when the bleeding slowed.
We didn't speak for a minute, just silence.
Just me folding in shock that i risked everything for someone i barely knew.
He slid his other hand along the trench of the wall, avoiding my eyes.
I hadn't realized how close. The knife felt heavier in my hand.
"Let's go," I said, tone softer. I tucked the blade away, then reached for his arm.
"Let me walk you in your apartment."
He nodded once.
Limped slightly, but didn't complain.
We left the alley together, the city seeming distant in that neighborhood pocket of dim lights.
I kept tucking my hair behind my ear, pretending the wind was cold, but it was adrenaline. It was the realization that boundaries didn't protect you, people did. And maybe, so did chance.
Once we reached the corner near his unit, he paused.
"You didn't have to come."
I traced my fingers in my jacket, avoiding his gaze.
"I needed to."
We turned, walking together separately into our own doorways.
I leaned against my unit door, heart hammering.
Thought of the knife inside my jacket, the sharp breath I took when i realized it almost hit him. The
wound on his palm bleeding quietly, invisibly, under his skin.
I barely slept that night. Wrote nothing, watched nothing. The city lights flickered through my window like distant constellations, mocking me for caring.
I wondered, did he realize i liked him again? Did he know i nearly stabbed him? Did he hear the knives in my dreams? Did he see the jagged parts of me i keep hidden?
But i didn't dwell. I didn't let fear keep me awake.
Some things… you just let burn quietly.