Ryan noticed the change before I said anything.
He always did — not because he saw deeply, but because he liked things predictable. And lately, I hadn't been.
"You've been quiet again," he said as we walked across campus. His hand rested at the small of my back, familiar, claiming. "Is something bothering you?"
"No," I replied too quickly.
He stopped walking.
That alone made my stomach tighten.
"You don't have to do that," Ryan said gently. "You don't have to pretend with me."
I looked at him then — really looked. He was handsome in a way people admired easily. Confident. Warm. The kind of man who fit well into rooms and conversations.
The kind of man everyone expected me to choose.
"I'm just tired," I said. "There's a lot happening."
"With him around?" Ryan asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
The question landed exactly where it was meant to.
"He's family," I replied.
Ryan smiled faintly. "I know. I'm not accusing you of anything."
But the fact that he had to say it made my chest ache.
He leaned in and kissed my forehead — soft, possessive, public. A few people glanced our way. It should have reassured me.
Instead, I felt exposed.
"I'm coming over tonight," Ryan said. "We haven't spent time together properly in days."
"I—" I hesitated. "I might be busy."
Ryan's jaw tightened briefly before smoothing out. "Busy with what?"
"I don't know yet."
The truth was worse than a lie.
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Just… don't shut me out."
I watched him walk away, guilt pressing heavy against my ribs.
That evening, the house felt different again.
Not charged.
Withdrawn.
Ethan was there — I knew that immediately — but the warmth I had grown used to was gone. The air felt cooler, distant, like a door had been closed quietly without announcement.
I found him in the living room, laptop open, posture rigid. He didn't look up when I entered.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi," he replied, eyes still on the screen.
No pause.No weight.
The shift unsettled me more than closeness ever had.
I moved toward the kitchen, telling myself not to read into it. But my body noticed anyway — the way he didn't track my movement, didn't check if I was steady, didn't measure the space between us.
Distance.
Intentional.
"You're working late," I said, needing to fill the silence.
"Yes."
Nothing else followed.
I poured myself water, my fingers tightening around the glass. "You said you're leaving early."
"Yes."
The word sounded final.
I turned to face him. "You don't have to avoid me."
That got his attention.
Ethan looked up slowly, his gaze sharp and controlled — the same gaze that had undone me before. But now, it was colder.
"I'm not," he said.
"You are," I replied. "You haven't looked at me once."
Silence stretched.
Then he closed his laptop.
"I'm doing what's necessary," he said evenly.
"For what?" I asked.
"So nothing gets complicated."
The words cut deeper than I expected.
I crossed my arms, grounding myself. "It's already complicated."
His jaw tightened.
"That's exactly the problem," he said quietly.
Something sharp flared in my chest — frustration, hurt, something dangerously close to longing.
"Ryan was right," I said before I could stop myself.
Ethan stilled.
"About what?" he asked.
I swallowed. "That you don't stay. That you create distance when things get… real."
The word hung between us.
Real.
Ethan stood, slowly, deliberately. He moved closer — not invading, not touching — but enough that the air shifted.
"You have a boyfriend," he said. "A good one."
"I know."
"Then why are you standing here asking me why I'm pulling away?"
The question stripped me bare.
I didn't have an answer that wouldn't destroy something.
Ryan's hand on my back.Ethan's hands on my arms.One familiar.One restrained.
"I didn't ask you to feel anything," Ethan continued, his voice low. "But I won't pretend I don't see it."
"See what?" I whispered.
"That this is costing you," he said. "And it shouldn't."
The restraint in his voice hurt more than anger would have.
"Is it costing you?" I asked.
His gaze flickered — just once.
"Yes."
The admission sat heavy, unspoken in the space between us.
"I'm stepping back," Ethan said. "Before this becomes something you regret."
"Or something you regret," I countered.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped back — increasing the distance deliberately, painfully.
"I'll be gone most of tomorrow," he said. "You won't have to deal with me."
The word deal twisted inside me.
He turned away before I could respond.
That night, Ryan texted: I miss you. Are you okay?
I stared at the message, my heart pulled in opposite directions.
I hadn't done anything wrong.
And yet, everything felt wrong.
In my room, I lay awake listening to the house breathe around me. Somewhere down the hall, a door closed softly.
Ethan.
Leaving space.Leaving silence.
And the truth settled in slowly, painfully clear:
Ryan was asking me to stay.
Ethan was forcing himself to leave.
And somehow, it was the one walking away who felt impossible to let go.