ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ.

More Than Objects.

(Iris’s POV)

I stepped back into the living room, swallowed by Nick’s sweatshirt, my bare feet quiet against the floor. He looked up from the couch, his eyes soft and searching, like he was waiting to see if I was okay before asking anything out loud.

I sat down slowly beside him, hugging my knees close even though the fabric hung past them.

Nick didn’t say anything right away. Just gave me space to speak.

And that’s when it hit me again—hard.

“I don’t have anything,” I said quietly, my voice catching. “All of my stuff is still at his house.”

Nick turned to face me more fully. “What do you mean?”

“My makeup. My straightener. My shampoo. My clothes. My favorite jeans. My brush. My perfume. Even my charger.” My throat tightened. “It’s all just… there. In a place I can’t go back to. Not after what I saw.”

I looked down at my hands, twisting the hem of his sleeve around my fingers.

“I feel so stupid crying over stuff,” I whispered. “It’s just things, right? But… it’s mine. It was all mine. And now it’s like I lost everything.”

Nick didn’t try to interrupt or talk me out of how I felt. He didn’t say I was overreacting or that it was just makeup and clothes. He just listened. And when I finally looked up again, his expression was so gentle it made my heart ache.

“You didn’t just lose things, Iris,” he said. “You lost the parts of your world that made you feel like you. That’s not small. That matters.”

A tear slipped down my cheek again, slow and quiet. “I just want to feel like myself again.”

Nick scooted closer, resting his hand carefully on my knee. “Then we’ll help you get back to her. Piece by piece. However long it takes.”

I nodded, wiping my eyes with his oversized sleeve.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He gave a little smile, like he didn’t need thanks, like just being here for me was all he wanted.

And for the first time since walking out of that house, I didn’t feel like I’d lost everything.

Because I still had something real.

Right here.