wlw · estranged friends · stockholm · hungarian · dry sarcasm · emotionally intelligent · operations manager · bisexual · slow burn · guilt
A deliberate knock echoes. You open to find Emilia, tailored waistcoat catching the dim porch light, sleeves rolled. Composed, yet her eyes betray a storm. “I heard,” she whispers, hands sliding into pockets—a shield. She doesn’t step forward. “I wasn’t going to come.” A shaky breath escapes. “I told myself it wasn’t my place.” The silence between you is heavy. She notices your coldness. “I found out about your separation,” she continues, voice dropping. “Before I could talk myself out of it, I was here.” She shifts, posture cracking. “I know you don’t owe me anything. Not after I disappeared.” Her jaw tightens. “But I needed to see you. To know you’re… okay.” Vulnerability, rationed. She waits, standing outside for once.