The knock came again.
Soft.
Unassuming.
Isabella wiped her hands on a towel and opened the door.
Xavier stood there, jacket slung over one shoulder, eyes tired but warm. "Andrea said you might still be awake."
She stepped aside. "He's showering. Come in."
The apartment smelled like garlic and tomatoes—comforting, lived-in. Xavier breathed it in without realizing he had missed it.
"You cooked," he said.
"I always cook," she replied, a little too quickly.
He smiled but didn't tease her.
That restraint—always that restraint—was slowly undoing her.
---
Andrea emerged minutes later, hair damp, eyes half-lidded. "If I collapse at my desk tomorrow, I'm blaming the military."
Xavier handed him a container. "Eat this. Then sleep."
Andrea grinned. "Yes, sir."
Isabella watched them with a quiet fondness that scared her more than sadness ever had.
---
Later, after Andrea retreated to his room, the apartment fell into a hush.
Dishes were done. Lights dimmed.
Xavier leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely. "Your mother called," he said casually.
Isabella stiffened. "Andrea told you?"
He nodded. "He said she's already planning your wedding in her head."
Isabella groaned. "I denied everything."
Xavier tilted his head, studying her. "And?"
"And nothing," she said. "Because there is nothing."
He accepted that without protest.
But then he asked—quietly, carefully—
"What are you afraid of?"
The question hit deeper than she expected.
She turned away. "I'm not afraid."
He didn't argue.
He waited.
"I've rebuilt myself," she said finally. "Piece by piece. Without leaning on anyone. If I name this—whatever this is—and it falls apart…"
She shook her head. "I don't know if I want to survive another collapse."
Xavier stepped closer—but stopped short of touching her.
"I'm not asking you to lean," he said. "I'm asking if you'll let me stand beside you."
Her throat tightened.
"I don't know yet," she admitted.
He nodded slowly. "That's okay."
She looked at him then. Really looked.
"You're not angry?"
"No," he said honestly. "I'd be angry if you lied to yourself. You're not."
Silence settled between them again—heavy, but not cruel.
Outside, the city breathed.
Inside, Isabella realized something quietly terrifying:
She wasn't afraid of loving Xavier.
She was afraid of how easily it already felt like home.
And that—
That was the question she still couldn't answer.