The evening had folded into night, the streets outside dark and still.
I sat on the edge of the couch, hoodie pulled tight around my shoulders, cap resting low over my eyes.
The basketball game earlier, the laughter, the rhythm, it lingered inside me like a pulse I couldn't ignore.
The silence was comforting.
But it was also… strange.
Something felt slightly off, though I couldn't place it.
The walls, the shadows, the faint hum of the refrigerator, it all seemed… familiar.
Yet not.
Like I had walked into someone else's life and my body had just decided to follow along, moving through someone else's story.
I shivered, pressing my fingers to the glass of the window.
The moonlight painted the room silver, highlighting edges that felt… borrowed.
A soft knock at the door broke my thoughts.
I froze.
Ken.
I wasn't expecting him.
Not tonight.
I opened the door slowly, and there he was, hair slightly mussed, eyes tired but calm, a faint shadow under them.
"I… couldn't sleep," he said quietly. "Thought maybe talking would help."
I studied him, cold, distant, as always.
But inside, a small part of me, the part that still remembered how warm and steady he could be, softened.
"Come in," I said.
He stepped inside, careful, quiet, shedding his jacket and letting it fall onto the chair. I gestured to the sofa.
"Coffee?" I asked, though I didn't really care if he said yes.
"No," he said softly. "Just… company."
We sat in silence at first, side by side on the sofa, the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft tick of the wall clock filling the space.
"You seemed different today," he said again after a while, voice casual but observant.
I glanced at him, letting my hood fall back slightly. "Maybe the sun changes people."
"Maybe," he replied.
But there was a note in his voice, a quiet understanding that made my chest tighten.
I didn't answer.
I stared at the window instead, at the pale light of the moon reflecting off the river below.
And the thought struck me again, the one I had been pushing away all day.
Something about this world, this quiet life, this town… it wasn't entirely mine.
Or at least, I hadn't belonged here before.
Something shifted.
Subtle, faint, almost imperceptible.
Objects slightly out of place.
Shadows that didn't line up with the moon.
A pull, a thread, a tug in my chest like the universe itself was whispering secrets I couldn't yet understand.
I pressed my hand to my chest, exhaling slowly.
Ken shifted beside me, catching my movement. "You okay?"
I didn't meet his eyes. "I'm fine."
He didn't press.
Didn't prod.
Just settled back, letting me exist in my silence.
Hours passed.
We talked quietly about everything and nothing.
The streets outside remained dark and still.
I listened more than I spoke, letting his calm presence fill the apartment, let the weight in my chest ease just a fraction.
I told him about small things, the bakery he liked, the rhythm of the river, the old streets and he shared moments from his own life, gentle, careful, unassuming.
The kind of stories that made the world feel smaller, but real.
Tangible.
Safe, in a way I hadn't felt in years.
Eventually, exhaustion settled in.
His words slowed, his eyes grew heavy, but he didn't move.
He simply leaned against the sofa, letting himself drift.
I watched him, cold and distant on the outside, but with a strange warmth inside.
For someone I barely knew a week ago, he had become… necessary.
His breathing evened out.
His eyelids fluttered once, twice.
Then he was asleep.
And I didn't wake him.
I sat there, staring at the pale moonlight streaming in, feeling the strange pull again that subtle, unplaceable sensation, like I had stepped into someone else's story.
Not entirely mine.
Not entirely wrong.
But somehow… right.