185

185
She was a whirlwind of frantic energy, scrambling across the floor to find her discarded clothes from the night before. She managed to hop on one foot while pulling on her leggings, her mind already racing through her to-do list, how to get home and get ready and still make it there as early as possible. 

Derek didn't move with the same urgency. He stayed in the tangle of  sheets, propping himself up on his elbows. His dark hair was a chaotic mess, and his chest was bare. He watched her for a moment—this beautiful, whirlwind of a woman who had turned his bachelor pad into a home—and something shifted in his expression. It wasn't the usual playful smirk; it was something steadier. Heavier.

"Liv," he called out, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that usually made her stop in her tracks.

"I can't, Derek! I'm going to be late and—"

"Stop for a second," he interrupted, his tone pulling her gaze toward him.

Olivia paused, a sneaker in one hand, her hair half-pinned up. She looked at him, breathless and slightly disheveled. "What? Is everything okay?"

Derek didn't look away. He didn't blink. He just let the silence stretch for a heartbeat before he spoke the words that had clearly been sitting on his tongue for weeks. "Why don't you just move in here? For real."

The sneaker slipped from Olivia's hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The frantic hum of the morning died instantly, replaced by the sudden, thundering sound of her own heart.

"Move in?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah," Derek said, sitting up further, his gaze pinning her to the spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while now, and the half-nights and the overnight bags... it's not enough. I want to wake up to you every morning, not just when we manage to beat the clock. I want your stuff in my closet and your shoes by my door. Stay, Liv. Move in with me, plus it'll be easier for you to leave in the mornings like these and you won't have to worry about being so late because you have to go back to your apartment to get ready."

His words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed it. Olivia felt the sudden, frantic thrum of her pulse, but it wasn't the heat of passion this time—it was the cold prickle of a defensive reflex. She looked at the single sneaker on the floor, then back at Derek. It was some idea, she thought, and a big step at that, but she found herself hesitating. 

“Wow,” she breathed, the word feeling inadequate against the gravity of his gaze. “Derek... that’s a massive step.”

Derek didn't flinch. He didn't even look surprised by her reaction. He just leaned back further against the headboard, his bare chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Yeah, it is,” he admitted with a smirk, his voice dropping into that steady, anchored tone. “But it’s what I want. I’m tired of the part-time version of us, Liv.”

Olivia stood there, half-dressed and suddenly feeling more exposed than she had when she was naked. “How long?” she asked, her voice small. “How long have you been sitting on this? I'm assuming you didn't just come up with it,”

“Weeks actually,” Derek replied. He watched her closely, his eyes narrowing as he caught the flicker of doubt crossing her face. The playful smirk he had on his face vanished, replaced by a hard, searching frown. “It’s been on my mind for a while now. Look, it's a good move for us, Liv. It’s the right move. You know it is.”

She did know it—practically speaking. It made sense for their schedules, for their hearts, but as she looked around the loft, she found herself hesitating, wanting to think it through. There were reservations clawing at the back of her mind, but the clock on the bedside table was ticking like a heartbeat.

“I... I really have to go, Derek,” she said, her voice sounding thin even to her own ears. She scrambled to finish dressing, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. “Can we please just talk about this tonight? When I get back?”

Derek’s jaw tightened. He could tell she was avoiding answering his question right away, and yes, he understood that it was a big step and he wanted to be patient, but he could sense that there was more she wasn't letting on. He certainly didn’t like the way she was backing toward the door. He could feel the shift in the room—the way the golden montage of the last few weeks was suddenly graying at the edges. 

“Fine,” he agreed, the word clipped and reluctant. He didn't move to stop her from leaving, staying rooted in the middle of the unmade bed. “We’ll talk tonight. Properly.”

Olivia finished pinning her hair, not caring that it looked chaotic. She stepped toward the bed, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. It was supposed to be a reassurance, but Derek felt the ghost of it—quick, distracted, and lacking the soul-deep connection they’d had just hours ago. 

“Bye, Derek,” she whispered, grabbing her bag.

Derek watched her step back, his eyes dark and unreadable. He didn't reach for her, even though that was what every bone in his body wanted him to do. “Have a nice day, baby,” he replied, and watched the door close after her. 

—-----------

The loft felt cavernous. For the last two hours, Derek had paced the length of the hardwood floors, the  space suddenly feeling less like a sanctuary and more like a waiting room. Six o’clock had come and gone, the golden hour fading into a bruised purple twilight. By seven, the silence was ringing in his ears.

He’d already checked the street three times. He’d even started a pot of coffee he didn’t want, just to have something to do with his hands. When his phone finally vibrated on the kitchen island, he snatched it up before the first ring could finish.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a mix of genuine relief and the jagged edge of the anxiety he’d been nursing all day. “I was starting to worry, Liv. Everything okay? When are you coming home?”

On the other end of the line, the word ‘home’ hit Olivia like a physical blow. She was sitting on her own sofa, in her own apartment, but it felt strangely cold and hollow. She closed her eyes tightly, leaning her forehead against her hand. Hearing the domesticity in his voice, the way he’d so easily folded her into his life, the way he called his place their home, made her chest ache. But she wasn't ready. The conversation from this morning was a ghost in the room, and she knew that the second she stepped through his door, she’d have to face it.