The first thing she noticed was the quiet.
Not the silence of being alone — that was something Siena knew too well.
But the quiet of presence.
A soft, shared stillness.
Julian was still there.
She turned her head just enough to see him from the hallway — sprawled on her couch in the blue-gray of morning, his arm thrown over his eyes, blanket half-kicked off.
He looked… peaceful.
Disarmed.
It made her smile before she could stop herself.
⸻
Siena padded into the kitchen on bare feet, tying her robe loosely around her waist.
She didn’t bother brushing her hair — not yet.
It was still early.
She clicked the kettle on and leaned against the counter, eyes lingering on the quiet shape of him through the open door.
And then—
“Do you always wake up this early?”
His voice was rough from sleep, warm like it hadn’t been used yet today.
She turned. He was sitting up now, blinking like he hadn’t adjusted to the light.
“Only when a very demanding guest sleeps on my couch,” she said dryly.
Julian smiled, slow and crooked. “Demanding?”
“You took the good blanket.”
“That’s because you threw it at me.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t throw the throw pillows too.”
He stood, stretching slowly. His shirt was wrinkled, and his hair looked like it had lost a war with her cushion.
Siena couldn’t help it — she laughed.
“You look like you lost your job and your pride.”
“I might have,” he muttered, yawning. “Depends if the CEO we pissed off yesterday still sends a proposal.”
She handed him a mug of hot water and a tea bag. “No coffee?”
“I’m making it,” she said.
“Can I try?”
“Try what? Making my coffee wrong?”
He grinned. “I make excellent coffee.”
“You don’t even know how I take it.”
“Let me guess.”
⸻
She stepped aside, arms crossed, watching him like he was about to defuse a bomb.
Julian rolled his sleeves up — the same crisp white shirt from yesterday, buttons loosened just enough to show the chain he always wore under it.
Siena raised an eyebrow. “Are you always this dramatic in the kitchen?”
“Only when being judged.”
He rummaged through her cabinets with surprising familiarity, found her small coffee press, measured the grounds — a little too much — and poured the water slowly.
After a pause, he opened the fridge.
“Milk?”
“Nope.”
“Sugar?”
“Brown. Top shelf.”
He stirred in exactly one spoonful, looked at her, then added half a second one like a secret.
She stared.
He offered the mug with both hands. “Don’t kill me.”
Siena took it. Sipped.
Then blinked.
“…It’s actually not awful.”
Julian looked offended. “Not awful?”
She sipped again, smothering a grin. “Okay. It’s kind of… perfect.”
He smirked. “Told you.”
⸻
They sat across from each other at her tiny kitchen table, both wrapped in soft silence and steam.
It felt weirdly natural.
Like maybe they’d done this before — in a different lifetime, maybe. Or a different version of themselves.
She watched him while he scrolled through emails, hair still messy, face still half-sleepy.
And then she said it — without overthinking, without armor.
“I like you like this.”
Julian looked up.
“Like what?”
“Here. Before the world gets to you.”
⸻
His eyes softened. “You like me better when I’m half-asleep?”
“No,” she said. “I like you better when you’re not pretending to have it all together.”
A pause.
“I like you when you forget to perform.”
Julian leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on her like he was trying to memorize the way she looked saying that.
“You always see more than you’re supposed to.”
“You make it easy.”
⸻
They sat in that moment a little longer. No rush. No pressure.
Just two people, slowly getting used to not being strangers anymore.
After a while, Julian glanced at the clock.
“I should head out soon.”
Siena nodded.
But something in her face fell, just a little.
He caught it. Of course he did.
“Hey,” he said gently.
She looked up.
“I meant for now. Not forever.”
She smirked. “Who said I was sad?”
Julian stood, walked over to her.
He didn’t touch her. Just leaned down slightly, his voice close to her ear.
“I’ll come back.”
“Confident.”
He smiled. “Hopeful.”
⸻
She walked him to the door.
He paused before leaving.
“I have meetings till late. But if you want to come by after…”
“Same couch?”
“Or same side of the bed, if I earn it.”
Siena rolled her eyes. “Try not to say that out loud to anyone else.”
He winked. “No promises.”
And then he was gone.
⸻
The apartment felt warmer than usual after he left.
Not because of the coffee.
Not even because of the morning sun.
But because something in Siena had started to quiet — not shut down, not retreat — just… soften.
She opened her laptop.
And for the first time in days, the words came easily.
(All characters and names are fictional)
YOU ARE READING
Only If It's You
RomanceHe lived in shadows written between her lines, a ghost she couldn't unwrite.
