Choosing to Stay
The night was full of laughter. Pure, unadulterated laughter. The kind that made eyes water and made life feel lighter afterwards. They had been sprawled across his bed on scattered pillows, legs tangled together under the soft glow of the screen and two half-finished cans of Pepsi waiting on the side. They exchanged pokes and tickles and playfully teased each other whenever one of them slipped up on a level, while the other was quick to laugh at their own silly mistake, “Wait! Wait—no don’t—”.
They raced their bodies, debating about which movie they should watch before their tiredness caught up to them. One of them would always end up deciding, and tonight, it was her. They watched it properly. Giggling at the same moments and whispering commentary to one another like two teenagers at the cinema for their first date. The whole time, it never felt awkward; if anything, it felt like she belonged there as naturally as he did.
When they were ready to sleep, she tucked herself behind him, her arm resting loosely around him. Though much smaller than he, she fit against him perfectly, holding him in a way that felt both gentle and safe.
He stared into the darkness of his room, aware of the warmth of her wrapped around him, the rhythm of her heartbeat, and the way his heart slowly began to match hers.
He felt a small shift behind him.
“Are you still awake?” she asked quietly, just in case he was.
It was only a short pause before, “Yeah”, and he turned over to face her. The closeness changed; it had become sharper and stronger.
Her cold fingertips ran along his exposed skin, each touch as light as their breath. The touch of her skin against his felt like a tender kiss upon scars and wounds too faint to see, but deep enough to remember.
When she looked into his eyes, something in him recoiled from the sudden, unedible clarity. What does she see? He felt fragile under her gaze, like a lonesome lamb caught out in the stillness of a winter morning. He had always felt like the wolf with a lamb’s hide, but in this moment, he wondered if he was a lamb wearing a wolf’s hide. A shiver of seenness crept down his spine the way frost spreads over glass, letting the cold seep in.
Something inside him gave way, but only for a heartbeat. Something uncomfortable but not painful. Rather, a soft, inaudible fracture, as though his long-held silence had finally been disturbed.
And then she smiled. A small, sincere smile. Her lips held neither triumph nor pity. Just enough to say she understood.
And that frightened him more than anything.
Because there was no judgment in her eyes, he had no mask left to wear, no place to flee. In her silence was only the knowing that reached its hands past the laughter he wore, past the practised ease, and lightly held the truth he had long kept buried.
He held his breath, unsure whether he wanted to pull away or lean closer.
“Don’t”, she whispered, as if she could hear the thought before it fully formed. She ran her fingers through his hair, her other hand still resting on his bare skin.
He stilled.
Whatever had begun to surface within him did not retreat this time. It lingered. Awake, and undeniable. And for the first time, he wondered what it might mean to let himself be seen, to let himself be known.
A dark cloud passed over his eyes, “It won’t always be like this”, he confessed.
“That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” His words carried defeat, landing heavier than he meant them to. She didn’t pull away. Her thumb brushed lightly against his skin.
“It is”, she said, her tone firmer now, “It doesn’t have to be perfect to be okay.” Something in him tightened at that. “I’m still here”, she added.
“You shouldn’t be.” It wasn’t a bite—just a fragile certainty worn from somewhere deeper than this moment. Something flickered across her face. Not hurt nor hesitation, something steadier. He couldn’t make it out in the darkness.
“Maybe not”, she said softly. Then, just as sure, “But, I am.”
The simplicity of it settled between them. He let it sink in, felt how those few words pressed against the edges of the walls he had built to guard himself. Words which weren’t trying to tear those walls down, but were instead simply waiting to be let in. So, he stopped holding himself back. Not all at once. Not completely. But enough. He dropped his shoulders and let the tension in his body leave him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and tucked his face into her chest. “Okay”, he murmured, though he didn’t know what he was agreeing to. Maybe it was this moment. Maybe it was himself.
She said nothing. Instead, her arm found its way up his back and pulled him in closer, kissing the top of his head before resting her head on his. “Okay”, she echoed. The world didn’t change. There was no sudden clarity or grand revelation. There was only the soft, constant presence of a person who chose to stay.
