Violet exhaled softly, watching as Ethan's breathing evened out. His body, once tense and restless, slumped slightly as sleep finally claimed him.
For a moment, she just sat there, her hand still resting lightly against his jaw. She should leave. That was the rational thing to do. He was asleep now, and whatever emotions had spilled out of him tonight would likely be buried again by morning.
But she couldn't. Not yet.
Her gaze flickered around the apartment, taking in the disarray. Scattered papers, an untouched plate of food from God knows when, empty whiskey bottles stacked on the kitchen counter. This wasn't Ethan. At least, not the Ethan she knew.
He was always so composed, so put-together, so infuriatingly in control. This? This was a man unraveling. And it hurt more than she wanted to admit.
With a quiet sigh, she rose to her feet, carefully shifting his arm off his knee so he could lie back more comfortably against the couch. He stirred slightly but didn't wake.
She hesitated before moving to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. Then, without thinking, she began tidying up. Gathering the discarded bottles, picking up the papers, setting things back in place.
She didn't know why she was doing it. Maybe because she hated seeing him like this. Or maybe because deep down, no matter how much she tried to fight it, she still cared.
Once she was done, she moved back to his side, crouching next to him once more. He looked so different like this... unguarded, vulnerable. The sharp angles of his face seemed softer, his lips slightly parted as he breathed.
She should leave. But instead, she reached forward, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his forehead.
He murmured something under his breath, his brows furrowing slightly.
Violet froze.
Then, barely audible, he whispered her name.
Her heart clenched painfully. She swallowed hard, blinking back the sudden sting behind her eyes.
Whatever this was... whatever was left between them... she wasn't sure if it was meant to be mended. But in this moment, as she watched him sleep, she couldn't bring herself to walk away.
So, instead, she did something she hadn't done in years.
She stayed.
And for the first time in days, Ethan Sinclair wasn't alone.
The quiet hum of the city filtered through the apartment, distant and muffled. Violet sat on the floor beside the couch, her arms loosely wrapped around her knees as she watched Ethan sleep.
She told herself she'd leave soon. That she was only staying to make sure he didn't wake up choking on his own misery again. And yet, she remained.
The minutes stretched into an hour. At some point, Ethan shifted, a deep sigh leaving his lips as his fingers twitched against the fabric of the couch. His breathing changed, uneven now. Then, with a soft groan, his eyes cracked open.
At first, he seemed disoriented, his brows furrowing as he blinked at the dim lighting. Then, his gaze drifted downward... and landed on her.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, his voice, rough from exhaustion and alcohol, broke the silence.
"You're here."
Violet swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment press against her chest.
"You left your door unlocked," she muttered, as if that explained everything.
His lips curled into something that might've been a smirk if he weren't so drained. "That's not an answer."
"Neither is that," she huffed, looking away.
Ethan didn't respond right away. Instead, he shifted again, propping himself up on one elbow with a wince. His other hand dragged down his face before raking through his already tousled hair.
Then, quieter, almost as if he wasn't sure if he should say it, he murmured, "Did I dream it?"
"Dream what?" Violet frowned, looking back at him.
His jaw clenched, and for a second, she thought he wouldn't answer. But then his tired gaze met hers, dark and searching.
"That you were here," he admitted. "That you... stayed."
Violet's breath hitched.
Because the way he said it... like he still wasn't sure if she was real, like he couldn't believe she would stay after everything... unraveled something deep inside her.
"You were a mess," she muttered, trying to play it off. "I didn't want you choking on your own regret in your sleep."
A breathy chuckle left him, but there was no humor in it. "Wouldn't be the worst way to go."
"Don't say shit like that," her head snapped up, a sharp glare in her eyes.
Ethan studied her, then, softer than she expected, he said, "Why not?"
She hesitated. Because I still care. But she couldn't say that.
Instead, she stood up abruptly. "You should drink some water."
Ethan watched her, something unreadable passing through his expression. Then, without a word, he reached for the glass she had set on the table and took a slow sip.
The silence stretched between them, heavier than before.
And then, he spoke again.
"I meant what I said."
"You said a lot of things, Ethan," Violet tensed.
"I meant all of them."
Her pulse stuttered.
He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he ran a hand through his hair again. "I wasn't lying when I said I regret leaving. I wasn't lying when I said it broke me just as much as it broke you," his gaze lifted to hers, intense and unwavering. "And I wasn't lying when I said I still... "
"Don't," she cut him off, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Why not?" Ethan exhaled, his throat bobbing.
Because if you say it, I won't be able to stop myself from believing you.
"You should rest," she turned away, grabbing her coat.
Ethan didn't stop her. He didn't argue. He just watched as she walked toward the door.
And right before she stepped out, she heard him say... so quietly, it was almost lost to the night...
"I wish I had never left you."
Violet closed her eyes. And then, without another word, she walked away.