||•The Fortunate•||

\\.7NEW ROUTINES AND SOFT DISCOVERIES ✨\\

De'Markus

The lock clicked open with a quiet finality, and I stepped into the apartment, the silence wrapping around me like an old coat. I dropped the food on the counter, my keys and phone landing beside it with a clatter that echoed too loudly in the stillness.

Dinner had drained me. Smiling through half-truths and forced laughter wasn't my kind of night. I didn't even bother turning on the lights—I knew the space well enough to move through it blind.

I made my way upstairs, each step slower than the last. I stopped outside the guest room, knocking once—soft, respectful. No response. I turned the knob and eased the door open.

Empty.

The bed was untouched. Her presence lingered, though—delicate fingerprints on the room itself. A soft scent in the air, her perfume, maybe. Her things were still here: scattered on the dresser, her clothes slung across the back of the chair. Her gown and hair ties lay forgotten on the floor like she'd shed a layer of herself.

She hadn't left.

I frowned slightly, curious now. No water running. No sound at all. Still, I was too burnt out to go searching. She had her space. I needed mine.

By the time I reached my room, I was already stripping—peeling the evening off of me piece by piece. My shirt, my belt, my slacks, everything fell into a heap by the door.

The moment I opened my bedroom door, a wave of icy air swept over my skin. The AC was still on full blast—just how I liked it. My cologne hung in the air like a signature, deep and familiar.

I tossed my clothes into the bin and walked to the bathroom, stepping under the hot water without hesitation. The contrast hit hard—steam rising from my skin as heat bled into the cold I carried.

That's when I finally breathed.

Letting the stress melt down the drain, I tilted my head back and let my thoughts wander. Not far, though. She kept floating back into my mind—delicate, unpredictable, a quiet chaos.

When I stepped out, towel wrapped low on my hips, I moved into my closet, pulled on a pair of black Calvin Klein boxers—form-fitting, clean, simple. I ran a hand through my damp hair and walked back out—

And stopped.

She was there.

Standing in the middle of my room like a dream that hadn't decided whether to stay or vanish. Soaking wet. A damp towel is clinging to her curves. One leg in a cast, wrapped carefully in a plastic bag, her crutches balanced against her side.

She wasn't saying anything. Just... standing there. Dripping. Watching me.

I took her in with a slow gaze, top to bottom. My voice came out calm. Low.

"Did you get lost," I asked, a slight tilt to my head, "or did you come in here looking for something?"

Her eyes flicked to mine, and something unspoken passed between us. Heat. Tension. A thousand questions I didn't need to say out loud.

I didn't move. I didn't have to.

She didn't answer right away.

Just stood there, water clinging to her skin, her breathing soft but visible. A single droplet slid down her collarbone and disappeared beneath the towel. She watched me, unreadable at first—like she hadn't yet decided whether to speak or just turn around and disappear.

"I didn't mean to intrude," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

It wasn't the words—it was how she said them. Careful. A little shy, but not afraid. She was aware of herself, aware of me, and that awareness sat heavy in the air between us.