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River parked across the street from the studio just as the doors opened and a stream of women in leggings and parkas spilled into the cold night. He leaned on the wheel, watching for her. Two Tube stops were nothing to him, but he’d seen what crowds did to her since everything that happened — the way her fingers twitched against her bag strap, breath going shallow. No reason for her to go through that when he had a car and ten minutes to spare.
Annie came out last, mat under her arm, hoodie zipped up. For a heartbeat her face softened when she spotted him; then it tightened again, the little crease between her brows back. She crossed the pavement and opened the door but didn’t immediately get in.
“Hey… I thought I said I was getting the Tube.”
“You did,” River said, trying to make it sound like no big deal, “but I had the time, and I wanted to see you.” He paused then, because something was off. “You getting in?”
She huffed but slid into the passenger seat. “That’s not the point.” She clipped her belt in, still not looking at him. “I built myself up for it. It’s part of the therapy.”
He frowned. “I didn’t want you to get upset.”
“I wasn’t going to be upset.” Her voice rose, then steadied. “My therapist says it’s not helpful when you keep swooping in.”
He blinked. That stung. “You’ve been talking to your therapist about me?”
“It’s not about you,” she said, looking away. “It’s about me.”
He felt himself bristle, ridiculous and defensive. “I was only trying to help.”
“I know.” Her shoulders slumped a little. “But sometimes it doesn’t help.”
They were both quiet on the drive to her flat. River didn’t know what to say. He was only giving her a lift home. Why did it suddenly feel like an argument? Over what, exactly? It just didn’t seem like a big deal to him — though voicing that, he quickly realised, was not a good idea.
“To you maybe,” she said, exasperated. “But it was to me. I’d been gearing myself up for it all day. I wanted to take this step for myself.”
He pulled into the car park behind her building and cut the engine. They sat there for what felt like a long time before she turned to him.
“River…” There was sadness in her voice. “Is it okay if you just drop me? I need a bit of time to myself.”
“Sure.” His voice was rough. How had this gone so wrong?
“I’ll speak to you later.” She reached across to kiss him on the cheek and then got out of the car.
Dinner was a blur. He microwaved something, couldn’t taste it, couldn’t choke it down. The flat felt too quiet.
The uneasiness in his stomach thickened, turned into something sharp.
He sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, trying to breathe past the knot in his chest. It was their first real disagreement, and he was trying not to let his mind run — but he’d never been good at that. Every thought tilted toward panic: that this was the start of everything coming apart.
He replayed it, trying to find the misstep.
He’d shown up.
He’d offered a lift.
He’d thought — genuinely — that he was making things easier.
He told himself it was just a bump. People argued. Couples figured things out. But the word couple still felt so new that he was half-afraid to use it, even in his head.
As he sat there, staring without seeing at the TV, he slowly started to see it from her point of view — how she’d built herself up for a small act of normal life, how he’d swept in and taken it from her without thinking.
He’d got it wrong.
That realisation sat heavy and immovable, settling deeper the longer the flat stayed quiet. He’d thought he was helping — of course he had — but now he could see how easily that slid into taking something from her instead. A small thing, maybe. But small things mattered.
What rattled him wasn’t the disagreement. It was how fast the space between them had opened up.
He wasn’t used to that — to caring this much about getting something right, or how quickly his mind leapt to worst-case endings.
The last few weeks had felt…good. He’d felt happy.
And now, for the first time, it felt fragile.
He didn’t know how to fix it. Only that sitting still wasn’t an option.
So he grabbed his keys.
When he turned the corner onto her street his phone buzzed in the cup holder. Annie.
“Hey,” she said softly. “I don’t like how we left things. Can I come over?”
“I’m less than five minutes from you,” he blurted.
A soft laugh. “Then just come up.”
It wasn’t just him, he thought as he swung the wheel. She wanted to make it right too.
The knot in his chest loosened a fraction.
She was hovering in her doorway when he raced up the stairs. The hall light behind her cast her in a warm glow; he noticed her hair loose now, mat propped against the wall. He jogged up the last few steps, heart hammering.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, stepping to him, her arms sliding around him. “I didn’t want to fall out with you,” she murmured when he reached her.
He let out a breath. “Me neither. And it’s me that should be sorry.” Having her in his arms, he felt the world right itself again.
They ended up in the kitchen, mugs between their hands. Annie perched on the counter; he leaned against the sink.
“I wasn’t talking about you with my therapist,” she said. “Not like that. I was talking about me, and how to manage panic. I want to be able to do things on my own again.”
“I know.” He stared into his tea for a long moment. “I guess I just… feel responsible. That day when I dropped you at the Park, I told you I’d be there whatever happened.” He shook his head. “And I wasn’t. I keep thinking if I can just fix things, then maybe it makes up for that. I just wanted to take it away.”
“That wasn’t your fault, River.” She reached across, squeezed his hand, laced her fingers through his. “None of it was your fault. You rescued me. You’ve been brilliant — you’ve supported me and been there for me, and that means a lot.” She took a breath. “You mean a lot. To me.”
He blinked, and something eased inside his chest. He’d been so stupid to think this was the end.
“But,” she sighed softly, “I need to be able to hop on the Tube when I want, and go where I want, for me. I know you’ll be there if I need you. But I want to be able to do this for myself.”
He met her eyes. “I want that for you too.”
She smiled then, small but real, and hopped down from the counter to kiss him. This one was slow and steady, not rushed or polite.
She’d never blamed him. He could see that now. All that guilt he’d been carrying around — maybe it was time to put it down.
“I’m sorry, Annie.”
“It’s okay—”
“No,” he said softly. “I wanted to help. I just didn’t listen properly.”
He paused, thumb brushing her cheek once.
“I wasn’t trying to take it from you,” he said quietly. “I just… didn’t want you to hurt. And I didn’t think far enough past that.”
He paused. “I should have listened.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed her softly.
“Will you stay?” she asked.
“Of course.” Warmth spread through his chest.
“Takeaway?” she asked.
He laughed, the sound a little shaky. “Yeah. Takeaway.”
They sat on the sofa, cartons between them, eating straight from the foil. The TV burbled in the background, but River wasn’t really watching. He kept glancing at Annie — the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she leaned into him without thinking.
For a moment he let himself breathe. He’d wanted to keep her safe, to make the world stop hurting her. But sitting there with her, he finally understood that wasn’t what she needed. She needed him beside her, not in front of her. He couldn’t undo the past or protect her from everything, but he could be there for her, and that was enough.