#107: Fallen: Fire and Redemption - Smells Like Home

***Violet***

I should be happy. Or surprised. Or anything that made sense after what he said.  

But I just stood there.  

“A house, Violet. Our house.”  

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I would smile, run into his arms, and scream that it was everything I ever wanted.  

But that’s not how it works with me. It never was.  

I’ve lived too long waiting for the ground to fall out from under me. And when you live like that, you learn that hope is a kind of joke. A pretty cruel one, actually.  

Julian was looking at me like he was waiting for me to say something. 

Anything. But my head was too full.  

“You haven’t even shown me,” I said, crossing my arms.  

He smiled, and that annoyed me. He always smiled when he thought I was trying to run. Sometimes I was. Sometimes I wasn’t.  

“I’ll show you. Right now, if you want.”  

“And if I don’t want to?”  

“You’ll want to.”  

Cocky bastard.  

But part of me... did want to.  

We got in his old car and drove in silence. The city looked less ugly that morning. Maybe it was the sun. Maybe it was just my brain trying to sabotage my bad mood.  

When he stopped the car, I thought it was a joke.  

The house was beautiful. Modern. With huge windows that made it look like we’d be living in an aquarium. It looked like the kind of house that belonged to people who had made it in life. And both of us knew that had never been the case for us.  

Julian got out of the car first. Came around and opened the door on my side.  

He did it without saying anything, just looking at me.  

And I hated the way he looked at me. Like he knew me. Like he knew that, deep down, I wanted this.  

I got out, not really knowing what to expect. My feet sank into the wet grass. The wind was cold. I crossed my arms again, more to protect myself than to hold my ground.  

“This is it,” he said like the words held some kind of magic.  

I didn’t respond. Just looked at the front of the house again.  

It was beautiful.  

Beautiful in a simple, no-frills way. It looked like a home. Like a Sunday morning with the smell of burnt toast and watery coffee. Like silly fights in the kitchen. Like shared silence on the couch.  

I hated how my mind was already building those scenarios.  

Julian pulled a key from his pocket.  

“The realtor gave it to me this morning. Everything’s set.”  

“You really rented this?”  

“I did.”  

“Without talking to me.”  

“Without overthinking it.”  

He looked at me.  

“For both of us.”  

I didn’t know what to say. So I walked up to the door. Went in.  

The house was empty. The walls still smelled of paint. The wooden floor creaked softly under my steps. Light came through the windows like it had been rehearsed. Everything was... quiet. Almost too much.  

And I stood there, in the middle of the living room, looking around like I was in a dream someone forgot to tell me about.  

Julian appeared behind me.  

“What do you think?”  

I didn’t answer right away. Walked over to one of the windows and rested my forehead against the glass.  

“I don’t know,” I said. Quietly.  

“What don’t you know?”  

“If this is real. If we can do this. If you... if I...”  

I took a deep breath.  

“You rented a house, Julian.”  

“I did.”  

“That’s something people who know what they’re doing do.”  

“I never knew. But I’m trying.”  

He came closer. Didn’t touch me. Just stood there.  

“And you?”  

I closed my eyes for a second.  

I didn’t know how to answer. Part of me wanted to run, hit the road, and disappear. Go back to being the version of me that lived one day at a time. No plans. No roots. No one.  

But I was tired of running. And he was there. Again. For me. For us. Even when I did everything to make it hard.  

“I’m scared,” I whispered.  

It was the only honest thing I could say.  

He pulled me in slowly. Rested his forehead against mine.  

“Me too.”  

And that was it.  

We didn’t say anything else, we didn’t need to.  

I stayed there, with him, in the middle of the empty living room of a house that might be the beginning of something. I don’t know if it will work. I don’t know if we’ll be able to hold it all together. But for the first time in a long time, I wanted to try.  

Even scared. Even pretending I didn’t.  

And that was already something.  

Maybe trying was foolish. Maybe it was just another pretty illusion we tell ourselves to survive.  

But there, ignoring any kind of sadness or past conversations, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: the desire to stay.  

Not out of fear of being alone. Not because I had no other choice.  

But because it felt right.  

Just like that.  

And that part scared me even more than any risk.  

Because when something feels right, that’s usually when it all falls apart.  

He loosened his arms around me like he was afraid of suffocating me, and 

I almost asked him to hold me tighter. But I didn’t say anything. I stayed still, pretending to be made of stone, while everything inside me was shaking.  

Maybe that’s what loving someone means.  

Staying even when you’re scared. Even when you think you don’t know how.  

And despite having that certainty and that desire, I feared something deeper would make me want to give up. Because it wasn’t just about me and Julian. It was about what still hurt when no one was looking. About the guilt that never left me, even when I swore everything was fine.  

Because despite all these years, I still felt him.  

Still remember the smell, the laugh, the way he said my name when he was angry, or when he loved me.  

Still caught myself imagining what it would’ve been like if he had stayed. If he hadn’t been ripped away from me so suddenly.  

And that... that haunted me.  

Not because I didn’t want to move on.  

But because sometimes, moving on felt like betraying who I was with him.