3

The house is too quiet. No cartoon sounds echoing from the boys' room, no arguing over who gets the last toaster waffle, no Lucas trying to convince me he's sick so he can stay home and play video games.

They're at school. Thank god.

I've already cleaned the bathroom and reorganized the pantry and folded every piece of laundry I could find just to keep my brain busy.

And still, I keep glancing at the clock.

I don't know why. Or maybe I do.

At exactly 1:08, there's a knock.

I dry my hands on a dish towel, walk to the door, and open it.

Lip's standing there. Again. Hoodie over a worn black t-shirt. Hair messy, face tired, but clearer somehow. Like he's been sleeping more. Or thinking too much.

"Hey," he says, scratching the back of his neck.

I lean against the doorframe. "Hey."

He doesn't wait for an invite. Just nods toward inside.

"Can I come in? I promise not to be an asshole. For like... fifteen minutes, minimum."

I sigh and open the door wider. "I'm timing you."

⸻

He drops down on the couch like he owns the place. Like nothing's changed. But I can tell he's nervous. His knee's bouncing. He's not looking at me right away.

I sit on the arm of the chair across from him.

We're quiet for a second. Just... looking. Feeling the space between us. It's different today. Closer. Heavier.

Finally, I speak.

"So what are we doing?"

His knee stops bouncing. He leans forward, elbows on his thighs.

"I don't know," he says. "I've been trying to figure it out since last night."

"Figure what out?"

He looks up at me.

"Us. This. Whether you still want me here. Whether I even deserve to be."

I feel something sharp press behind my ribs. I cross my arms.

"I never stopped wanting you here," I say. "Even when I was mad. Even when I hated you."

He nods like he already knew that. Or hoped he did.

"I hated myself too," he says. "For a lot of shit. For how I acted. For pushing you away. For drinking every night like that was gonna solve anything."

There's a pause. His voice drops a little.

"I got real good at pretending I didn't miss you. And real bad at being a person without you."

I blink, hard. I hate how he still gets to me like this.

"I didn't want to break up," I tell him. "I just didn't know what else to do."

"I know," he says quietly. "I get it."

He shifts on the couch, eyes flicking up to mine again.

"But the last few weeks... I've been thinking about what it'd look like if I got my shit together. Not just for me, but... for you. For the boys."

I say nothing. Let him talk.

"I don't want to be some guy you used to love," he goes on. "I wanna be the guy who stays. Who makes shit work. Even when it's hard."

I stare at him, every part of me wanting to believe it. Needing to.

"Are you saying you want to get back together?"

He nods, no hesitation.

"I am."

There's a long beat.

Then I ask, "And you're not gonna pull some dramatic bullshit and disappear again?"

"Not unless Conner throws a controller at my head again. Then all bets are off."

I snort, despite myself. "You probably deserved that."

"Definitely did."

I stand up, pacing a little because I don't trust myself sitting still.

"I'm scared," I admit. "I don't want things to go back to the way they were. The silence. The arguing. You drinking every night and me pretending not to notice."

"They won't," he says. "Not if I stay honest. Not if you keep calling me on my shit. Which, let's be real, is your superpower."

I stop pacing and look at him. Really look.

He's not perfect. Still a mess in some ways. But he's here. And that counts for something.

"I'm not saying yes right away," I say.

"I didn't expect you to."

"But I'm saying... maybe. If you keep showing up. If you keep trying."

He stands up too, walking over to me slowly. He doesn't reach for me right away. Just stands there.

"I will."

I search his face. His eyes. That familiar scar on his lip.

And then I do something stupid.

I step into him.

And he doesn't hesitate—his arms come around me like he's been waiting months to do it. He buries his face in my neck and exhales like he can finally breathe.

We just stay like that for a while. No kissing. No jokes.

Just two broken people trying to rebuild something worth holding onto.

The house is quiet in that rare kind of way—sun pouring in through the windows, a little dust floating in the light, the distant sound of a car passing outside. Everything feels slow and warm.

Lip and I are still on the couch, tangled together, not talking. After everything we said earlier—about trying again, doing things different—it feels good to just be for a second.

His arm's around my waist, his other hand in my hair, slow and steady like he's trying to memorize the way I feel. My legs are draped over his. His shirt smells like detergent and cigarette smoke and him. It's the safest I've felt in a long time.

"You're not gonna fall asleep on me, are you?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Not unless you keep making me this comfortable," he mumbles, eyes half-shut.

I smile and tuck my face against his neck. "You're such a baby."

He smirks. "Says the one using me as a human mattress."

"I'm lighter."

"You're bony."

I elbow him. He laughs.

We fall quiet again, not because there's nothing to say—just because for once, we don't need to fill the silence.

⸻

Then the front door slams.

"ERIN!"

"LUCAS SAID I GOT DIRT HAIR!"

"I did not! I said your hair looks like dirt! It's different!"

Footsteps. Backpacks hitting the floor. The sound of sneakers thudding down the hall like a stampede of small, loud rhinos.

Lip shifts under me with a groan. "Goddamn it."

Before either of us can untangle ourselves, they round the corner into the living room.

Conner freezes mid-step. Lucas comes in behind him and immediately makes a face.

"Are you guys cuddling again?" Lucas says, pointing. "You were doing that this morning."

"We weren't cuddling this morning," I say, trying to sit up. "We were—"

"Sleeping on the couch all smushed together," Conner interrupts, very matter-of-fact. "Like pancakes."

Lip snorts and covers his face with his hand.

Lucas crosses his arms. "Are you dating again?"

"Maybe," Lip says before I can say anything.

Conner gasps like it's the most scandalous thing he's ever heard. "But you broke up!"

"You said we broke up," I mutter. "We never told you that."

Lucas shrugs. "You were sad and mad and your music was all slow and weird for like... forever."

"And you wouldn't let us eat in the living room," Conner adds, like that was some kind of emotional red flag.

Lip grins at me. "They're observant."

"They're nosy," I say, swatting a pillow at him.

Lucas eyes us suspiciously, then sits down on the floor and starts pulling off his sneakers.

"So... if you guys are dating again... does that mean he's sleeping over again?"

Conner gasps. "Is he living here now?!"

"No," I say quickly.

"Not yet," Lip mutters under his breath.

I elbow him again.

Lucas squints. "Do we have to be quiet at night now?"

"Okay!" I cut in, standing up. "Shoes off. Hands washed. I'm making grilled cheese."

"YES!" Conner throws both hands in the air and takes off down the hall toward the bathroom.

Lucas follows but pauses at the edge of the doorway. "If I hear kissing noises, I'm throwing a sock at your face."

Then he disappears too.

I let out a breath and drop back onto the couch beside Lip, exhausted just from existing.

He's grinning at me, relaxed.

"I missed those little chaos goblins," he says.

I look at him. "You still want back in?"

He looks at me without hesitation. "More than ever."