Work Text:
The smell hit her first. Coffee, something toasty, maybe eggs... savoury? She couldn’t tell exactly, but it was warm and familiar, the kind of scent that made her feel safe before she was fully awake.
Lucy shifted under the blanket, slow and stiff. Her eyes were heavy. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog, and only then realised she was still on the couch. Not in bed. The throw blanket wrapped around her wasn’t hers, at least, she hadn’t reached for it.
Someone had covered her.
She sat up a little, rubbing her face.
Tim was at the kitchen counter.
He hadn’t noticed her yet. He was leaning forward, elbows on the counter, scrolling through his phone, but not really seeing it. Just moving. Like he needed the motion.
There was a mug beside him. Half-finished coffee. His plate looked untouched.
His whole frame was quiet in a way that didn’t feel natural. Not to her. Not to the man she used to wake up next to, warm and rumpled and radiating a kind of calm intensity that always settled her before she even realised she needed settling.
Now he looked like someone trying not to take up space.
She shifted upright, bones protesting.
Tim looked up instantly. "Hey."
His voice was low, careful. Too careful.
"Hey." Her voice came out rough. “How long was I out?” she asked, her voice still rough with sleep.
Tim glanced at the clock, though she could tell he already knew. “Just over three hours.”
She blinked a few times, trying to process that. “Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to crash like that.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. His voice was low, steady. “You’ve been on nights. You needed it.”
She gave a small nod but didn’t say anything else. The quiet between them shifted. It wasn’t tense, exactly, but it felt different now. A little colder. Like something had settled in the space without either of them saying it out loud.
Her voice came out scratchy. "I think I missed something. Before I passed out. You were... saying something?"
Tim didn’t answer right away.
He stood instead, pushed the stool back softly, and crossed over to her. He didn’t sit next to her. Instead, he crouched down, one knee on the floor, like he needed to lower himself somehow, not out of weakness, but because this was an apology, and he wanted her to feel that.
Lucy frowned. She caught the way his eyes fell, how his jaw clenched. She knew this kind of quiet. Not the comfortable silence they used to share, but the brittle one. The kind that said, this is going to hurt.
"Tim?" she said softly.
He breathed in. Still didn’t look at her.
She touched his wrist, lightly, just enough to remind him she was real and here and waiting.
"Tell me."
His eyes met hers then, and it almost knocked the wind out of her. There was too much in them. Guilt, grief... and something too soft to name.
"I know what I did," he said after a long pause. His voice was low, uneven. “Back then, when I ended it… I told you I wasn’t who I thought I was. That you deserved better.”
Lucy didn’t say anything. Her throat tightened. Hearing it again still hurt.
“And it wasn’t a lie,” he went on. “But it wasn’t the whole story either.” He looked down, ashamed. “Saying ‘you deserve better’ made it sound noble. Like it explained everything. But the truth? It was just the easiest way to leave without having to explain what was really going on.”
He let out a shaky breath, some bitterness slipping into his voice. “I was spiraling. Losing confidence in everything...after the army stuff, the demotion, all of it. It felt like everything I’d built was falling apart. And instead of asking for help, I convinced myself that pushing you away was the best way to protect you.”
Lucy's eyes burned, and she blinked slowly, trying to keep it together.
“You saw too much,” he said, softer now. “Parts of me I tried to keep buried. The cracks, the mess, all of it. And you still looked at me like I mattered. Like I was worth something. That scared the hell out of me.”
He gave a short, humourless laugh.
“I’ve spent most of my life building walls just to get by. Then you showed up like you were always meant to be inside them. No pressure. No angle. Just you. And I didn’t know how to hold onto that without feeling like I’d mess it up.”
Lucy felt something pull tight in her chest.
"I kept telling myself it was the right thing to do," he said. "Letting you go before I dragged you down with me. But the truth is, I broke my own heart, and I broke yours too. And I’ve regretted it every day since."
"Tim..." It slipped out, soft and shaky, like it hurt to say.
"It wasn’t about not loving you," he said, quieter now. "That was never the reason. I left because I did. And because I didn’t believe I deserved it."
His hands curled into fists against his jeans, knuckles going white. He dropped his head, exhaled, and stared at the floor like it might give him an answer.
After a long pause, he said, “I’ve been in therapy.”
His voice was low. Not defensive, not proud...just honest.
“Real therapy. Not the kind where you just sit there and nod. I go every week.”
He ran a hand down his leg, like he needed to move, to do something with the weight sitting in him.
"At first? It just felt like trying to make sense of a wreck. No map, no clue where to start."
She didn’t look away... her gaze steady on him.
“It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “Still isn’t, most days. There were weeks where I left those sessions feeling worse than when I went in. Like I was tearing something open without knowing how to stitch it back together.”
He looked down, then back at her. “But I kept going. And somewhere in the middle of it, I started to see it. The patterns. The damage I’ve been dragging around for years. The way I push people away before they can get close enough to leave.”
A pause. He drew in a breath, shook his head.
“I thought I was protecting myself. Or maybe protecting you. But all I was really doing was sabotaging something good, because deep down, I didn’t think I deserved to keep it.”
He finally looked up at her again.
"I still mess up. Still figuring things out. But I’m done running... I swear to God, I’m done."
Her fingers tightened around the blanket before she noticed how unsteady they were.
"I’m done doing this halfway," he said, voice low. Like if he said it any louder, it might fall apart. “I don't want something casual, or easy, or… safe. I’ve done that. I know how that ends.”
Something snagged in her chest. He was holding her gaze now, steady and sure.
“I don’t want comfort for the sake of comfort. Or convenience. Or whatever the hell this limbo has been the past few months.” His eyes searched hers, like he needed her to really hear him. “Hook-ups and avoidance and pretending we’re not still in it up to our necks.”
She didn't say anything, but her hand curled tighter around the edge of the blanket.
“I want us,” Tim said. “All of it. The messy parts, the terrifying parts. The boring day-to-day parts. I want all of it with you.”
He paused, visibly swallowing. “And I want you to move in with me.”
The words hung there, not rushed. Just real.
“Not because it’ll fix anything. Not because it’s some step we’re supposed to take. But because I want that with you. A real life. Shared space. Shared mornings. You and me.”
He paused, then said it quieter this time.
“I want to choose you. Every day. And I want the chance to prove I will.”
The silence that followed wasn’t tense... it just felt delicate. Like they were both afraid that if they pushed too fast, it might all fall apart.
Lucy turned her head for a moment and swallowed hard. Her chest felt tight, like something inside her had moved the second he spoke.
“I wish you’d said this back then,” she said, almost too quiet to hear.
“I know,” he said softly. "I wasn’t capable of it."
She nodded slowly. She believed him. That was the hardest part.
She looked over at the table, at the half-eaten meal, and managed a faint, tear-thick smile.
"You cooked," she said, her voice trembling.
He blinked at her, not following.
"You made pancakes. Veggie burgers. Sea bass."
A small huff of breath escaped her. "You cooked all of my favourite things."
"I didn’t know what you’d want," he said, almost apologetic.
She laughed once, watery. "You keep doing stuff like this, I’m going to think you’re proposing."
He exhaled. Relief flickered through his expression, but it didn’t lift the gravity between them. This wasn’t resolution. It was permission to keep trying.
Her hand found his. After a second, she let their fingers link. He closed his around hers without hesitation.
"I’m not ready to move in," she said. "Not yet. But I want to get there. If we do this again... it has to be different. No more running. No more silence."
"No more hiding," he said.
"No more hiding," she echoed.
The quiet between them now felt warmer. Not quite light, but lighter.
"Come eat something," she said after a moment, tugging his hand.
"You want the pancakes or the sea bass?" he asked.
She gave him a look. "All of it. You made it weird not to."
He stood slowly, helping her up with him. She was still tired, still aching, but her heart beat steadier now. Tim moved back toward the kitchen. She trailed after him, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. But right now, they were here.
And neither of them was running.