**LUKAS**
Clare is acting… Strange. As I drive home, that’s the only thing I can think about. Over and over. Like my brain’s stuck on a broken track. I WANTED to read her mind, but she was basically telling me to leave. That didn’t exactly feel like a warm invitation to poke around in her thoughts. So I didn’t, she is the one who keeps reminding me that I shouldn’t just help myself to people’s thoughts all the time. And I’ve been trying to figure out when I should be staying out of her mind. At times it’s probably better not to know what she’s thinking. But I can’t help but think I chose wrong this time. And now I can’t stop wondering what the hell just happened. I don’t THINK she’s mad at me. She’s been a little frustrated with how much I’ve been hovering, sure, but she hasn’t asked me to stop before. She’s liked having me around, I know that. I’ve been inside her head often enough to be certain. And unlike most people, I know when Clare enjoys my company because she doesn’t hide her feelings. She likes me. I know she does. I was only gone for half an hour, walking Roxy. So what changed while I was gone? I pull into my driveway, kill the engine, and sit there for a moment, trying to untangle the thoughts spinning in circles. When I finally step inside, Roxy sprints off happily, sniffing corners and tossing her favorite toy at my feet like she’s hosting some kind of homecoming celebration. I drop onto the couch and bury my face in my hands with a groan. This is infuriating. Clare knows I’m bad at this, figuring out feelings, intuiting meaning from things people don’t say. It’s not my strong suit. If she’d just thought about what’s wrong a little more while I was nearby, I could’ve sorted it out in a second. But she didn’t. And now I’m stuck here trying to guess what she really wanted. Okay. I know Clare well, probably better than I know anyone. I can figure this out. I grab a pen and a pad of paper from the side table and start making a list. Everything I know she’s thought about me lately. There’ve been some complaints, of course there have. I hover. I worry. She nearly died after all. But most of her thoughts have been… Positive. Affectionate. Grateful even. I know she likes me. I know she’s not mad. She’s not annoyed enough to suddenly want to kick me out. So why ask me to leave? Unless… Maybe that’s not what she meant. She didn’t actually say she wanted me to go. She just said I COULD go. That I didn’t have to stay. Did I read that wrong? Was she giving me permission? Not making a request. Damn it. And I left like she’d shoved me out the door. I could tell that she was upset, I thought maybe she needed space. But now that I think about it, Clare doesn’t want space when she’s upset. Clare wants comfort. Closeness. Hugs and warm food and someone to sit next to her while she spirals over whether she was too dramatic and worries about her mascara smudging. I was treating her words like her thoughts, assuming she meant exactly what she said, no more, no less. But even though Clare is an honest person, she doesn’t say every single thing that she thinks. And the truth is… I was so focused on doing what she asked me to do, I didn’t stop to check if that’s what she really wanted. So I let her push me away because that’s what I thought would help. And I was wrong. I rub a hand over my face and glance at the clock. It’s not even that late. I’d planned to stay here tonight. Let things cool off, then go check on her in the morning. But now that I’ve thought it through… Now that I’ve realised I left her alone when she was probably just trying not to say she needed me? There’s no way I’m waiting that long. I still don’t know exactly what she was thinking, but it doesn’t actually matter. I know enough to realise that I am not where I should be right now.
I head straight back to Clare’s place. I’ve been gone for maybe an hour. Hopefully I didn’t screw things up too badly. I don’t hesitate, I just let myself in. The lights are still on. Everything’s exactly the same as I left it. Except now it feels… Wrong. Too quiet. Too still. Like the warmth that filled this place over the past few weeks has been snuffed out. I glance around, there’s no sign of her in the living room. No hum of the TV. No half finished cup of tea on the counter. Where did she go? She must be in her room. I walk quietly across the room and pause outside her door. I can hear it before I even reach for the handle, the soft, uneven sound of sobbing. Shit. I REALLY screwed up. What could’ve possibly happened in the hour I was gone that made her this upset? Even if I left, it’s not like I wasn’t coming back. Didn’t she realise I would’ve checked on her first thing in the morning? Didn’t she know that I hadn’t actually left her? I step into the room and sit gently on the edge of her bed. She bolts upright the second she feels the mattress shift. Her hand flies to her face, scrubbing at her eyes in a futile attempt to erase the tears. Her cheeks are flushed red, embarrassed. Raw. She won’t look at me.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Clare.” I say softly. I reach out and offer her my hand. I don’t press into her thoughts, even though I want to. I don’t want to intrude. Not right now. I want her to choose to let me in. I want her to know that I’m here because I care, not because I’m reading her like a puzzle that needs solving. So I wait. Hand outstretched between us. She doesn’t take it.
“Why are you back?” She croaks, voice hoarse. I keep my hand there. Steady. Open. A quiet promise.
“Because I was confused.” I say.
“And then I thought it through. I realised that you’re upset, but you’re not like me. You don’t want space when you’re upset. You want comfort.” I explain, then I pause, searching her face.
“I made the wrong decision. And as soon as I figured that out, I came straight back to you.” I say firmly. Clare stares at me, eyes wide. Like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Like she’s still waiting for me to apologise for being here, or to explain that I forgot something, or that this is some kind of mistake.
“I don’t understand, don’t you miss home?” She whispers. I frown. Is THAT what this is about? She thinks I’m uncomfortable here. That I’m staying out of obligation. That being with her is a duty I’m finally finished with. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Sure, maybe it was awkward at first. I had to adjust. I like my home because it’s quiet. Simple. Safe. I don’t have to worry about anyone else. I don’t have to be careful not to touch people, or pretend I don’t know the things that I know. It’s my safe haven from the rest of the world. But it’s not like that here. And that’s the part she doesn’t see. Here, with her, I’m not retreating from the world, I’m participating in it. With Clare, I don’t feel like I have to hide anything. She doesn’t flinch when I’m blunt. She doesn’t get uncomfortable when I fall quiet. She doesn’t ask me to be anything other than exactly who I am. I never realised, not really, until now… That a safe haven doesn’t have to be a place. It can be a person and Clare is that for me. She’s trying so hard to be kind. To make space for me. She thinks she’s doing the right thing, letting me go home, making sure I have room to breathe. But what she doesn’t realise is that I’ve never felt more at peace than I do when I’m here with her. I’ve never been more comfortable. Never been more myself. She makes me feel safe. Sure, I kind of told her, but I don’t think she really understands. She’s trying to protect me, to make me feel comfortable. Trying to make me happy. But what she doesn’t seem to realise is that I’ve never been happier than I am when I’m with her.