I woke to the sensation of being utterly cocooned, warmth pressing in on me from all sides. It took me a moment to register the weight—solid, unyielding, and heavy—that pinned me in place. The heat was stifling, the air thick with it, and my chest tightened as reality filtered back in.
Theo.
His body enveloped mine completely, his massive frame curled around me like a protective shield. His arm, thick with muscle, draped over my side, his forearm resting heavily across my chest. Each slow, unbothered breath he took pressed his broad chest against my back, the rhythm so steady it was almost hypnotic. His leg was slung over mine, anchoring me to the mattress with an unrelenting weight. Even if I wanted to move, I couldn’t. Not without waking him. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
The sensation was overwhelming. It shouldn’t have been unfamiliar—this closeness, this warmth. As kids, Theo used to cling to me like a barnacle, refusing to let go until I either pushed him off or teased him into submission. I could still hear his boyish protests: “You’re so mean,” he’d whine, arms crossed, a pout on his face. Back then, I’d ruffle his hair and call him my shadow, the kid who never seemed to want distance.
But this was different. There was nothing boyish about him now. The weight of his body felt immovable, not like the easy, playful closeness we’d once shared. His warmth, his strength—it was too much. And yet, it rooted me in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
The scent hit me next, sharp and unrelenting. Theo’s musk clung to the air around us, earthy and raw, cutting through the faint detergent smell of the sheets. My nose twitched as I turned slightly, brushing against the hollow of his arm where wiry hairs prickled against my skin. Even this felt like him—rugged and unapologetic, as if he carried his essence in every part of himself.
It was overwhelming—his scent, his weight, the heat of his skin against mine. I should have hated it. I should have pulled away, reclaimed the space that now felt impossibly small. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. As much as I wanted to hate the closeness, I hated the idea of losing it even more.
My mind spiralled, memories clawing their way to the surface. I could see him as a boy, shorter and softer, trailing after me as though I held all the answers. Back then, he relied on me—looked up to me in a way that felt both endearing and burdensome. It had been so easy to dismiss him then, to tease him for his chubby cheeks or the way he could never quite keep up.
But now, his grip on me was unshakable. He’d grown in ways I hadn’t been prepared for, his presence filling the space like it had always belonged there. I wasn’t the one who held him anymore. He held me, unyielding and steady, like he could shield me from the world. Like he already had.
Theo stirred behind me, his chest rising against my back as his breathing shifted, uneven now in the soft stillness of the room. His arm tightened briefly around my waist, pulling me closer before loosening again. Even half-asleep, he was still a fortress, his touch protective and sure.
His eyes blinked open slowly, green-blue, and hazy with sleep. I froze, my breath catching as his gaze settled on me. For a moment, neither of us moved. His expression was soft, unreadable, and something about it made my chest ache.
“You stayed,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. His lips curved into a faint smile, the corners tugging up in that familiar way that hadn’t changed since we were kids. “Thought you’d make a break for it the moment I fell asleep.”
I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. “I thought about it.”
“But you didn’t.” His smile faded into something quieter, more serious. His gaze held mine, steady and knowing, like he could see straight through me.
The room felt too small, the air too heavy with the weight of his presence. I should have moved—his stretch had given me the chance—but I stayed frozen, caught in the tension between wanting to leave and not wanting to break whatever this moment was.
Theo shifted closer, his arm curling around me again as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His hand rested against my back, his thumb brushing in slow, lazy circles that sent a shiver down my spine. “You don’t have to stay,” he said quietly. “But you don’t have to run, either.”
I turned my head slightly, breaking eye contact. “I should go. I need… I need to shower or something.”
His hand tightened briefly, his fingers curling against my shirt. “Stay,” he whispered. There was no force in the word, no demand—just a quiet, steady plea that made my breath catch.
The warmth of his touch, the slow rhythm of his breathing, the way his gaze softened when he looked at me—it was too much. But the alternative, leaving this cocoon of heat and safety, felt unbearable in its own way.
“You’re overthinking,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, teasing but gentle. “You always do that.”
I let out a shaky laugh, more breath than sound. “Maybe.”
Theo’s forehead dipped closer to mine, his breath warm as he murmured, “You don’t have to figure it out right now. Just… stay. Just breathe.”
His words, simple and quiet, hit me harder than I wanted to admit. Just breathe. It sounded so easy when he said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But with him this close, his scent wrapping around me and his presence overwhelming every sense, it felt impossible.
“I can’t…” I started, but the words caught in my throat. I turned my head further, avoiding his gaze. “I need to go.”
Theo didn’t let go at once. His arm stayed around me, his hand lingering on my back as though he wasn’t ready to release me. But then, slowly, he pulled away, his touch falling away piece by piece until I was free to move.
The cool air rushed in as I slid out of bed, the absence of his warmth making my skin prickle. The shift was immediate, like stepping from a sunlit room into the biting chill of a shadowed hallway. My clothes felt too light, too thin against the ghost of his heat. I grabbed them quickly, avoiding the pull of his presence behind me. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. My chest was tight, my thoughts racing, and the last thing I could manage was the sight of Theo stretched out in that bed.
The bathroom was colder than I expected, the tiles sharp against the soles of my feet. I shut the door behind me with a soft click, the sound oddly final, as though I’d sealed myself away from whatever had just passed between us. The tap hissed to life as I leaned over the sink, letting the water run while I tried to breathe through the knots in my chest.
The mirror’s edge caught my eye, my reflection blurry in the corner. I didn’t want to look at myself—not yet. Not after… that.
I cupped the chilly water in my hands, splashing it onto my face. The shock of it chased away the lingering warmth of Theo’s body, but it didn’t stop the ache. My breath fogged the mirror briefly before clearing again, and that was when I noticed it—my ring.
The metal felt heavier than it should, biting into my skin like it was clinging to me, or maybe I was clinging to it. My grandmother’s ring. The only real piece of her I had left. I twisted it absently, the cool band grounding me for a moment before something shifted inside me.
It didn’t feel right.
I frowned, pulling it off slowly. The absence felt strange, my hand oddly light, my finger bare and exposed. I set it down on the edge of the sink, the metal gleaming faintly under the fluorescent light.
The mark it left behind—the faint, pale circle where the ring had always rested—looked foreign to me now, like a part of me had been stripped away. I rubbed at the spot absently, trying to smooth out the impression, but the ache didn’t fade. I didn’t know why, but the ring felt heavier now than it ever had. It had been fine last night. It had been fine yesterday. So why, now, did it feel like it didn’t belong?
I stared at it, at the way it sat so innocently on the porcelain, as though it wasn’t carrying the weight of her memory. My grandmother had always said it was meant to be a reminder—that no matter where I went or what I faced, I was loved. And I had held onto that promise for years, clutching it like a lifeline.
But that love had been safe. Untouchable. Nothing like the raw, overwhelming presence Theo had wrapped around me last night. Nothing like the love I didn’t know if I could trust—or deserve.
I looked up finally, meeting my own reflection. My face was pale, the shadows under my eyes stark and hollow. My hair stuck up in uneven tufts from where Theo’s arm had pressed against me all night, and my shirt was rumpled, creased from the sheets and his weight. I looked… smaller. Weaker. Like someone who didn’t belong in that bed, in that moment, with him.
A soft knock startled me, and my hands gripped the edge of the sink.
“Hey,” Theo’s voice called through the door, low and warm. “You alright in there?”
My chest tightened again, the pressure creeping up as though his voice had reignited everything I was trying to push away. “Yeah,” I said quickly, my voice rasping against the quiet. “I’m fine.”
There was a pause, and I could almost feel him standing there, his presence lingering on the other side of the door. “Take your time,” he said finally, his tone light but steady. “No rush.”
His footsteps faded, but the silence he left behind felt heavier. I turned back to the ring, still sitting there, as if it was waiting for me to decide. It hadn’t felt this heavy when I’d forgotten it at the restaurant. Maybe I hadn’t even noticed then. But now… now it was impossible to ignore.
My hand hovered over it, hesitating. The thought of putting it back on felt like reaching for a shield I wasn’t sure would protect me anymore. And yet, I couldn’t leave it behind. Not completely.
I slid it back onto my finger, twisting it until it settled into place. The mark beneath was already fading, but the weight of it clung to me, a quiet reminder that I wasn’t ready to let go. Not of her. Not of what it meant.
With a sigh, I straightened, wiping my face with a towel before shutting off the faucet. The room was silent again, the water droplets on the mirror distorting my reflection. I didn’t linger.
The bitterness of the first sip hit me like a jolt, grounding me just enough to keep my thoughts from spiralling. The coffee was sharp, the kind that left an aftertaste that lingered, but I didn’t mind. I welcomed it. By the time my uncle’s familiar laughter boomed through the doorway, I was halfway through the cup.
“Morning, champ!” His voice carried across the room, warm and commanding without effort.
Theo’s dad had always been larger than life in every way that wasn’t physical. He had a magnetism about him, the kind that drew people in without him even trying. The way he gestured animatedly as he spoke, as though every word carried its own stage direction, made him impossible to ignore. His laugh punctuated everything, rich and wholehearted, filling every corner of the room like sunlight.
Trailing behind him was Theo’s stepmother, the perfect foil to his exuberance. She was sleek, composed, every movement deliberate. Her tailored sundress hugged her frame, the pale fabric crisp and clean. Dark hair pulled back into a twist highlighted the sharp angles of her features. She scanned the room quickly, her eyes locking on me for a moment before offering a polite nod and slipping into her seat. Her presence, though quieter, had its own weight—like a scalpel compared to her husband’s hammer.
Theo arrived last, walking with an ease that belied his size. He moved as though unaware of how much space he occupied, or maybe he was just unbothered by it. His hair was still slightly damp, the messy strands catching the light in a way that made him look… softer. Familiar, somehow. He slipped into the chair beside me without a word, and suddenly, the space between us felt smaller than it had any right to.
The weight of him, the faint brush of his arm as he settled, was enough to make my pulse quicken. The air seemed to thicken, charged with something I couldn’t quite name. I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Not with the coffee in my hand trembling faintly as though it might betray me.
Breakfast began with Theo’s dad dominating the conversation, his booming voice effortlessly filling the table. “Alright,” he said, clapping his hands together after taking a bite of toast. “Here’s the plan for today. Thought we’d start light—there’s a walking tour of the old town. Should be fun, lots of history and sights to take in. Everyone on board?”
Theo nodded at once, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Sounds good. Fresh air’ll do us good,” he said, his voice calm and even, a stark contrast to his father’s enthusiasm.
I mumbled a quiet agreement, hoping to go unnoticed, but Theo’s stepmother’s sharp gaze found me anyway. It wasn’t unkind, but it was too assessing, cutting through my carefully constructed calm. She didn’t speak, just smiled faintly before turning her attention back to her coffee. Still, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
“Great!” My uncle leaned back, clearly pleased. “After that, we’ll grab some lunch. If there’s time, maybe hit the beach this evening. You kids brought your suits, right?”
The mention of the beach made my chest tighten. The thought of Theo—shirtless, wet, completely unfiltered—made it hard to breathe. I could already feel the heat of my own awkwardness rising. “Yeah,” I said quickly, avoiding Theo’s gaze. “I brought mine.”
Theo smirked slightly but said nothing. The silence that followed felt deliberate, like he was waiting to see if I’d say more. I didn’t.
The food arrived in neat portions—scrambled eggs, sausages, toast—but I barely touched mine. My fork hovered uselessly over the plate; my appetite long gone. Across from me, Theo’s dad dug in with enthusiasm, recounting a story about a mishap on one of his work trips. His booming laugh punctuated the tale, his stepmother nodding along occasionally and adding pointed comments.
Theo, on the other hand, was quieter. His knife moved methodically as he cut into his food, every movement precise. He seemed focused on his plate, but I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and deliberate, every now and then.
“You’re quiet again,” Theo said softly, his voice low enough that his father and stepmother didn’t seem to notice. His chair was close enough that his knee brushed against mine as he leaned slightly toward me. “You alright?”
I forced a small smile, pushing a piece of toast around my plate. “Just tired,” I said softly. “Didn’t sleep well.”
Theo’s fork paused midair for the briefest moment before he set it down, his movements measured. His eyes lingered on me, steady but quiet, as though he was trying to decide whether to say something. In the end, he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his arm stretching across the back of mine. His fingers brushed faintly against my shoulder; the touch so gentle it almost didn’t register. But it did.
“Well,” he said after a beat, his voice calm and casual, “the walk should wake you up.”
His tone was easy, but the steadiness of it made my chest tighten. There was something grounding about the way he spoke, the quiet weight behind his words, and it was almost enough to unravel me. I nodded quickly, looking down at my plate again, hoping the heat rising to my face wasn’t obvious.
My uncle launched into another story, his voice loud and commanding enough to drown out my scattered thoughts, but Theo’s presence beside me made it impossible to relax. He didn’t move much, didn’t even say anything else, but the space between us felt charged, the faint press of his arm against my chair like a constant reminder. He was there. He’d always been there. And now, I didn’t know how to deal with it.
Breakfast ended with the lingering warmth of Theo’s dad’s booming laugh, a sound that seemed to fill every corner of the restaurant. His stepmother smiled faintly as she rose from her chair, smoothing the fabric of her dress. “We should get ready,” she said, glancing at the time on her phone. “We’ll need to leave in half an hour.”
Theo’s dad stood as well, clapping his hands together. “Don’t take too long!” he called, his voice carrying easily over the hum of the dining room. “Top floor rooms don’t excuse tardiness.”
Theo gave a soft laugh as he pushed back his chair. He was dressed now, his fitted t-shirt snug against his chest and shoulders, emphasizing the broad curve of his upper body. The dark material stretched faintly across his biceps, and when he shifted to stand, the fabric clung for a moment before falling back into place. His shorts were simple and loose-fitting, grazing the tops of his knees, and his movements were unhurried as he turned to me.
“Guess we’d better head up,” he said, his tone light but steady. His green-blue eyes lingered on mine briefly, searching for something I couldn’t name, before he gestured toward the elevator. “You coming?”
I nodded quickly, following his lead as we stepped out of the dining room and into the quieter lobby.
The air in the room felt thick, warm, and heavy with Theo’s presence the moment we stepped inside. His faint musk from earlier lingered, sharper now in the confined space, mingling with the dampness of the towel he’d tossed over the chair last night. It was everywhere—on the walls, in the sheets, clinging to the air like it belonged there. Like he belonged there.
Theo stopped just inside the door, wrinkling his nose slightly. “Man, it smells like a gym in here.” He laughed, the sound low and easy, stepping toward the window. “Let me get some air in here before I shower.”
The faint scrape of the window sliding open broke the stillness, and a cool breeze drifted in, thinning the scent that had wrapped around me like a second skin. The relief was immediate, but it was tangled with something sharper. Harder to name. I didn’t move, my hand brushing the back of the chair as I watched him adjust the curtains slightly, the light framing the broad curve of his shoulders.
“There,” he said, glancing back at me with a faint smirk. “Not so bad now, huh?”
I nodded quickly, looking away. The air was lighter, clearer, but my chest felt heavier, my thoughts louder.
“I’ll be quick,” Theo added, tugging his shirt off in one smooth motion as he crossed to the bathroom. His broad back caught the light as he moved, the muscles shifting beneath his skin like they’d been carved into him. My throat tightened as I watched, my gaze lingering for a moment longer than it should have before I tore it away.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound of the shower running soon filled the room, muffling the restless beat of my thoughts. I’d told Theo I’d wait here—maybe lie down for a bit—but the idea of staying, surrounded by him, was too much. It felt like the walls were closing in, every inch of the space soaked in the memory of his touch, his smell, the way his voice lingered even in silence.
I grabbed my lighter and cigarettes from my bag, slipping them into my pocket as I headed for the door. My gaze caught on Theo’s shoes, kicked neatly into the corner by the entrance. They were massive—size fifty, dark and sturdy, the kind of shoes that seemed too big to belong to anyone. Yet they grounded him, their size a stark reminder of just how much of him there was. How much more space he seemed to take up now than he ever had before.
A strange tightness settled in my chest as I stepped past them, my fingers brushing against the doorframe. I didn’t linger.
The sunlight outside was brighter than I expected, too harsh against my skin as I lit the cigarette with shaking hands. The bench by the olive tree sat invitingly in the shade, but even that felt too exposed. Instead, I leaned against the cool stone wall near the garden’s edge, the shadow stretching over me like a shield.
The first drag of the cigarette was sharp, biting against my tongue as I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the air. It helped—just enough to settle my nerves, to quiet the chaos in my head. But the ring on my finger felt heavy again, the metal pressing into my skin like a weight I couldn’t ignore. I twisted it absently, the motion automatic, my thumb brushing the faint mark beneath.
I didn’t take it off this time. I couldn’t.
It had been my anchor for years, the one thing that felt steady when everything else had crumbled. My grandmother’s ring. The reminder that I was loved once, deeply and without question. But now… it felt different. Like it wasn’t just her memory I was holding onto, but something else. Something I wasn’t ready to face.
The minutes stretched on, the cigarette burning low between my fingers. I thought about lighting another but hesitated, the faint murmur of voices from inside the hotel pulling me back to the moment. The second drag was slower, less frantic, and I leaned my head back against the wall, letting the quiet settle over me.
The sound of footsteps broke the stillness, familiar and steady. I glanced up as Theo stepped out into the sunlight, his damp hair curling faintly against his forehead. He was freshly showered, dressed in a snug, dark t-shirt and shorts that clung just enough to remind me of the frame beneath. Even in loose fabric, he was imposing, his presence cutting through the cool morning air like it had a weight all its own.
“You hiding out here?” he asked, his tone light but warm as he leaned against the wall beside me. His scent was different now—cleaner, fresher—but still undeniably his, wrapping around me in the confined space.
“Just waiting,” I said quickly, stubbing out the cigarette against the ashtray bolted to the wall.
Theo glanced at me, his green-blue eyes lingering for a moment before he smiled faintly. “Guess we’re both ready, then.” His voice was calm, steady, but the way he looked at me made my chest tighten, like he was waiting for me to say something I couldn’t.
Theo’s dad and stepmom were waiting near the lobby entrance when we stepped inside. His dad was tall, his presence commanding without being overbearing, his neatly pressed shirt tucked into khaki slacks. The faint silver at his temples gave him an air of authority, but his smile was easy as he waved us over.
“There you are!” he said, his voice booming. “Hope you two didn’t take too long—we’ve got a lot to see today.”
Theo’s stepmom offered a polite smile, her posture composed as she adjusted the strap of her purse. “We’re all set,” she said, her tone brisk. “The car’s parked just out front.”
Theo fell into step beside me as we made our way out, his arm brushing mine briefly before dropping back to his side. The touch was fleeting, almost casual, but it left a trail of warmth in its wake. My fingers twitched against the hem of my shirt, and I twisted the ring on my finger again, the metal biting into my skin.
As we stepped into the sunlight, I tried to ignore the way it all felt too close—Theo, his family, the weight of the day ahead. But the tighter my chest grew, the harder it was to push away the memory of his presence, warm and unshakable, filling the space around me like he belonged there.
The rental car was a mid-sized SUV, its dark paint gleaming faintly in the sunlight. Theo’s dad slipped into the driver’s seat with ease, his wife settling beside him with a quiet word of thanks. Theo held the back door open for me, his hand brushing lightly against my shoulder as I slid in. The touch was fleeting, but it lingered longer than it should have, leaving a faint warmth behind.
The space between us felt impossibly small as he followed, his broad shoulders brushing faintly against mine as he settled in. The scent of soap and the faint musk that was uniquely his wrapped around me as the car pulled out onto the road. His leg rested close to mine—not quite touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him, an unspoken reminder of his presence.
The car ride began with the hum of the engine and the low murmur of the adults in the front seats. Theo’s dad, ever the enthusiast, pointed out landmarks as we passed, his voice steady but warm. Marianne nodded along, her comments measured and polite, occasionally adding a note of curiosity to his stories. Their conversation blended with the rhythmic sound of the tires against the asphalt, creating a lulling backdrop.
Theo and I sat in the back, the space deceptively small despite the wide seat. His shoulder brushed mine lightly as he shifted, adjusting his posture, and I was acutely aware of every movement he made. The snug fit of his shirt stretched faintly across his broad chest and shoulders with every breath, a visual reminder of how much he’d grown. His scent lingered—cleaner now after his shower but still layered with the familiar musk that was undeniably him. It filled the confined space between us, earthy and warm, making it impossible to escape the weight of his presence.
Outside, the city slowly gave way to winding streets lined with pale stone buildings. Each structure was distinct, its carved shutters and arched doorways framed by cascading vines. Beyond the village, hills stretched in rolling waves of green and gold, the landscape blurring where it met the horizon. The view was picturesque, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Theo.
Every slight shift of his body—the brush of his arm against mine when the car took a turn, the steady rise and fall of his chest—seemed magnified in the stillness. His presence was both grounding and overwhelming, filling the small space like a tide that refused to recede. The tension between us wrapped tighter with each passing mile, unspoken and undeniable.
“You’ve been quiet,” Theo said suddenly, his voice low and calm, though there was an edge of something I couldn’t quite place. He leaned slightly toward the window, his arm grazing mine briefly before settling back. His green-blue eyes flicked to mine, his expression unreadable but expectant.
“Just… looking,” I muttered, forcing my gaze out the window. The golden hills stretched endlessly, but I couldn’t focus on them. Not with him so close.
Theo chuckled softly, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through the small space. “Looking real hard at the same spot, huh?” His grin was faint, teasing but gentle, as if he knew exactly what was on my mind but didn’t want to push.
Before I could respond, Theo’s dad glanced in the rearview mirror, his voice breaking through the moment. “That’s a chapel up there,” he said, gesturing toward a stone building perched on a hilltop. “Old as the hills, they say.”
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Marianne added, her voice carrying a note of awe.
Theo leaned forward slightly to get a better look, his arm brushing mine again. His bicep pressed briefly against me as he shifted, the contact sending a jolt through me. “It’s a nice view,” he said, his tone neutral. But when I glanced at him, his gaze wasn’t on the chapel. His faint smirk made my stomach twist, and I quickly looked away.
The museum was a welcome reprieve from the tight confines of the car. The cool air inside carried a faint scent of polished wood and stone, a soothing contrast to the warmth outside. The exhibits were quiet, their stories told through carved marble and weathered artifacts. The adults wandered ahead, their footsteps echoing faintly against the marble floors, while Theo and I lagged behind.
He stopped beside a carved statue of a knight, its armour gleaming faintly under the soft lighting. “What do you think? Your kind of thing?” His tone was light, but there was a subtle undercurrent in his words, as if he were trying to anchor me to the moment.
“It’s fine,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. My eyes lingered on the intricate details of the statue—the engraved patterns on the breastplate, the way the hands gripped the sword’s hilt—but my thoughts felt scattered, untethered.
“You sure?” Theo asked, stepping closer. His voice dropped slightly, soft but insistent. “You’ve been miles away all day.”
I stiffened, my pulse quickening as I felt his presence beside me. His warmth was too close, too steady, like a magnet pulling me in when I knew I should step back. “Just thinking,” I said quickly, shifting to create more space between us. But even as I moved, the weight of his gaze lingered, steady and unyielding.
Memories threatened to surface, sharp and vivid. Theo as a boy, younger and smaller, his face flushed with laughter as he followed me around like a shadow. The way his hands would grip mine when he was scared, holding on like I was the only thing keeping him safe. Back then, I’d believed it too. That I was strong enough, certain enough, to be his anchor.
Now, standing beside him, I felt like I was the one being anchored. His calm, his steadiness—it terrified me as much as it comforted me.
Theo didn’t push further. He just nodded, his fingers brushing faintly against my arm as he adjusted his stance. The brief contact sent a shiver through me, but I clenched my fists, trying to shake the sensation.
As we moved to the next exhibit, Theo stayed close, his presence unwavering. I glanced at the ring on my finger, twisting it absently as the weight of it pressed into my skin. The engraved patterns on the ring caught the light, faint and worn with time, just like the memories tied to it. My grandmother had always said it would remind me of who I was, of the love that tethered me when everything else seemed to fall away.
But now, it felt heavier, like it was trying to ground me in a way I didn’t understand. Or maybe I didn’t want to.
Theo stopped again, this time in front of a painted mural. His gaze flicked to me, quiet but knowing, before he looked back at the art. “You don’t always have to carry it, you know,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
My chest tightened, the air around us growing heavier. “Carry what?” I asked, my voice more defensive than I intended.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head, studying the mural like he hadn’t just struck a nerve. “Everything,” he said simply, his tone steady but not pressing. “You can let someone else hold it. Just for a little while.”
The words hung between us, heavy and unspoken, as the hum of the museum filled the silence. Theo didn’t look at me again, but he didn’t need to. His presence was enough—a steady reminder that I wasn’t alone, even if I didn’t know how to let that in.
The group gathered at the overlook, where the cliffs dropped away to reveal the sparkling expanse of the sea. The waves crashed against the jagged rocks below, their rhythm soothing and endless, a constant that felt far removed from the tangled thoughts in my head. Theo leaned casually against the railing, his forearms resting on the weathered wood. The sunlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw and the faint curve of his lips as he took in the view.
“You’ve been stuck in your head all day,” he said, his voice low but not unkind. His gaze stayed on the horizon, giving me space even as his words pressed closer. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I said too quickly, my voice sharper than I intended. I gripped the railing, the rough wood grounding me as my chest tightened. “I’m fine.”
Theo didn’t reply immediately, and when I glanced at him, his expression was thoughtful, not teasing. “You stayed close last night,” he said softly, his voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves. “It felt good. You seemed… comfortable.”
The words hit harder than I expected, their sincerity catching me off guard. My chest tightened further, and I turned my gaze to the sea, unable to face him. “It didn’t mean anything,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
Theo’s expression didn’t change—if anything, it softened further. “Maybe not to you,” he said quietly, his voice steady but not accusing. “But it did to me.”
The air between us felt impossibly heavy, and I couldn’t find the words to respond. Theo straightened, brushing his hand lightly against my shoulder as he stepped away, the touch brief but grounding. It was a gesture that gave me room to breathe without retreating entirely, as though he knew exactly how far to push.
“You ready to keep moving?” he asked, his tone easy and light again, as though the moment hadn’t just unravelled me entirely.
I nodded, my throat tight, and followed as the group began to move on. Theo’s presence beside me was constant, unshakable, and as much as I tried to push it away, I found myself clinging to it.
The trail narrowed as we walked further along the cliffs, the jagged shadows of the rocks cutting into the shimmering expanse of the sea below. The adults walked ahead, their voices weaving in and out of the sound of the waves. Theo stayed close, his steps unhurried but deliberate. The sunlight caught in his hair, still faintly damp from his shower, casting a warm glow on his tan skin.
“Look at that,” Marianne said from up ahead, gesturing to a small stone path that wound down to a lower overlook. Theo’s dad nodded in approval; his hat tipped back as he squinted at the trail.
“It’s not marked on the map,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “Maybe it’s an old shepherd’s path.”
“Think we have time to check it out?” Marianne asked.
Theo’s dad glanced at his watch, then shrugged. “Shouldn’t take too long. Let’s give it a look.”
The path was narrow, lined with uneven stones and wild grass. The descent was steeper than it looked, each step threatening to send loose gravel skittering underfoot. I hesitated, the sharp slope making my stomach twist, but Theo moved closer behind me, his presence steady.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. His hand came to rest lightly against my back, the weight of it grounding. It wasn’t just a touch—it was a reassurance, a silent promise that I wasn’t alone. “I’ve got you.”
I tensed at the contact, the mix of comfort and vulnerability it stirred making my breath hitch. For a moment, I thought about brushing him off, about stepping away and proving I didn’t need his help. But his hand lingered, firm and sure, and I didn’t move. The ground shifted slightly beneath my foot, and his fingers pressed just enough to steady me, his touch effortless but precise.
It reminded me of when we were kids, climbing the old apple tree in his backyard. Theo had been smaller then, his stubby hands reaching out for mine with a quiet, determined trust. He’d clung to my hand as I guided him from branch to branch, my own palm sweaty but steady as I made sure he didn’t slip. He’d followed my lead without question, his wide eyes focused on me, never doubting that I’d catch him if he fell.
Now, his hand was the one assuring me, larger and stronger than mine had ever been. The shift in roles made my chest tighten, the weight of his steadiness almost too much to bear. How had we gotten here—me hesitating, him guiding?
“Thanks,” I muttered, my voice tight. The word felt heavy, like I was admitting to more than just needing help down the path.
“Anytime,” Theo said simply, his tone so calm it made my chest ache. He let his hand drop after another moment, but his presence stayed close, his steps measured to match mine.
The path opened into a small clearing, a natural terrace overlooking the ocean. The view was breathtaking: waves crashing against jagged rocks far below, the horizon stretching endlessly into shades of blue and gold. The adults moved toward the edge, their voices a quiet hum as they took in the scenery.
Theo and I hung back, the silence between us thick but not uncomfortable. He leaned against a large boulder, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed but watchful. His shirt clung faintly to his broad shoulders, the fabric shifting with the movement of his arms.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said, his voice low but teasing. “Even more than usual.”
I shrugged, my gaze fixed on the horizon. “Just tired,” I said, though even I didn’t believe the excuse.
Theo’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes glinting with something I couldn’t name. “Maybe you need another nap,” he said lightly. “I wouldn’t mind.”
Heat rose to my face, and I turned away quickly, pretending to focus on the distant cliffs. “I’m fine,” I muttered.
He didn’t push, but his grin softened into something gentler. “Alright,” he said quietly, his tone carrying a warmth that wrapped around me like the breeze. “But if you need a break, just say so.”
The adults began to move again, their voices calling us forward. Theo fell into step beside me as the trail narrowed again, his arm brushing mine lightly with each shift of the path. The contact was casual but constant, an unspoken reassurance I couldn’t ignore. I tried to focus on the uneven ground, on the sound of the waves crashing below, but it was impossible to tune him out.
His hand had steadied me on that path like it was the most natural thing in the world—effortless and instinctive. I twisted the ring on my finger absently, its weight feeling heavier now, like it carried not just the memories of my grandmother but the confusion that Theo stirred in me.
As the trail widened again, Theo glanced at me, his green-blue eyes soft but unreadable. He didn’t say anything, but his presence stayed close, his steps falling in time with mine as the group pressed forward into the golden afternoon.
The trail widened as we approached the edge of the village, the cobblestones ahead bathed in the golden glow of the lowering sun. Theo’s presence stayed close, his steps falling in sync with mine, his silence carrying the same quiet reassurance as his hand had on the path earlier. The weight of his steadiness pressed against me, and for a moment, I found myself twisting the ring on my finger, its familiar heaviness grounding but also impossibly loud.
Ahead, the rest of the group moved toward the car parked in a shaded lot. Theo’s dad glanced at his watch and shook his head. “No time for the beach after all,” he announced, his voice carrying back to us. “We’ll have to head straight back.”
The words barely registered. My attention snagged on a small flower shop nestled between two buildings, its window spilling over with bursts of lavender and delicate white blooms. The sight stopped me mid-step, my breath catching as a wave of memory surged through me, sharp and unrelenting.
My grandmother’s voice filtered through the haze of memory, soft and steady as she explained the meanings of the flowers she tended with such care. Lavender for peace, white blooms for simplicity. Her garden had been a place of quiet refuge, her hands steady as she worked the soil and shaped life from the earth. She’d smiled when she handed me her ring, the simple gold band warm from her touch. “Keep it close,” she’d said, her eyes bright. “So you never forget where you come from.”
The flowers blurred in the fading sunlight as my chest tightened, the weight of her absence pressing down with unbearable force. The scent of lavender—sweet and earthy, so vivid in my mind—seemed to wrap around me like a memory too sharp to hold. My throat constricted, and a tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.
I turned away quickly, my fists curling at my sides as I tried to push the moment down, bury it somewhere deep. But Theo was there.
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low and filled with something I couldn’t name. He stepped closer, his presence a steady wall against the rushing tide of emotion. “You okay?”
“No,” I admitted before I could stop myself. The word cracked in the air, raw and jagged, and I pressed a hand to my temple, willing the tears to stop. “Just—go to the car. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Theo didn’t move. Instead, he closed the distance between us in one measured step, his hand brushing against my shoulder before sliding to the small of my back. His touch was warm, grounding, and before I could push him away, he pulled me into him, his arms wrapping around me from behind.
It should have felt smothering, the sheer size of him engulfing me. His chest was firm against my back, his arms strong and unyielding as they held me in place. I could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, the faint scent of soap and his musk blending into something overwhelming. My fists, still clenched, pressed against his forearms, and I felt the solid strength beneath them.
“It’s okay,” Theo murmured, his breath warm against the side of my neck. His voice was steady, calm, like he was trying to hold me together with just his presence. “You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe.”
I closed my eyes, the tension in my chest loosening just slightly as his words washed over me. For a moment, I let myself sink into him, let the weight of his arms and the steadiness of his breathing fill the space where the ache had been. His hold wasn’t just strong—it was unrelenting, like he was afraid to let go, afraid I might slip away if he did.
But the weight of it—his body, his concern, the impossible closeness—was too much.
“I can’t,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. My hands moved to his arms, pushing weakly against the solid wall of muscle. “I need… I need you to go.”
Theo hesitated, his grip tightening briefly before loosening. He stepped back slowly, his hands brushing against my sides as he released me. I didn’t look at him, couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes as the absence of his warmth left me cold and untethered.
“I’ll be in the car,” he said quietly, his voice steady but softer now. “Take your time.”
I nodded, swallowing hard as he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance. The ache in my chest didn’t ease—it only grew, sharper now that he was gone. The flowers in the window blurred again, the memory of her smile and her voice pressing harder than ever.
I twisted the ring on my finger, its weight familiar but unbearable, like it carried not just the love she’d left behind, but the confusion Theo stirred in me. The sun dipped lower, casting the cobblestones in deep shadows. Somewhere in the distance, I heard Theo’s dad call out, his voice warm and inviting.
I didn’t move.