Chapter 57: Did I Fuck up again?

Chapter 57: Chapter 57: Did I Fuck up again?

The show kept playing, but Garrett had stopped following it somewhere around the last commercial break, if he was honest with himself.

He wasn’t guessing anymore. The blanket, the closeness, the way Freya had kept finding small reasons to stay beside him had given him enough to work with.

So he stopped watching the screen and started watching her instead.

"You’re not actually paying attention to this, are you?" he said, voice low, amused.

Freya glanced up at him, caught. "I’m paying some attention."

"Some."

"Enough to know someone’s about to die in the next scene."

"That’s every scene in this show."

"Fair point." She smiled, not bothering to deny it further, tilting her head slightly to study him instead of the television. "You’re not really watching it either."

"No."

"Then what have you been doing?"

"Thinking."

"About?"

He let the pause stretch just long enough to be deliberate.

"You."

That got her full attention, her smile shifting into something sharper, more interested.

"Careful. That’s a dangerous thing to admit."

"Didn’t say it was safe."

Her eyes stayed on him, steady now. "So what exactly were you thinking?"

"That you’ve spent the last twenty minutes finding excuses to sit closer to me."

"I have not."

"You have."

"Maybe the couch is just cold."

"It’s not that cold."

She laughed quietly, leaning in slightly as she did. "Fine. Maybe I like being close to you."

"Just maybe."

"Don’t push your luck."

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

Neither of them moved away.

The moment settled naturally between them, no longer carrying the uncertainty it had earlier in the evening. Garrett was aware of her in a way that went beyond simply noticing where she was sitting, especially when her gaze dropped briefly toward his mouth before returning to his eyes.

He wanted to close the distance.

That much was obvious to him now.

Freya shifted slightly, angling more fully toward him, her hand coming to rest lightly against his forearm.

"You’re staring," she murmured.

"I’m aware."

"And?"

"And I’m deciding what to do about it."

Her breath caught slightly, and something flickered across her face before she looked away for half a second.

Garrett watched her reaction.

For the first time all evening, he genuinely considered closing the distance himself instead of simply reading the signs she kept leaving for him.

The show slowed into one of its quieter stretches, the dialogue dropping into something subdued. No explosions or shouting left to fill the apartment, just low music playing beneath the scene.

Freya hadn’t moved away. If anything, she’d settled in further, her head resting lightly against his shoulder, one hand still where she’d left it earlier.

"This part’s actually kind of sad," she said quietly, eyes still on the screen, though most of her earlier energy had disappeared from her voice.

"Yeah."

"You’re not even looking at it."

"Neither are you."

She huffed out a small laugh and tilted her head up to look at him properly.

"Caught."

"Mutually."

Neither of them looked away.

The quiet stretched between them, comfortable for a moment before becoming something else. Freya’s expression had softened, the teasing gone now, replaced by quiet attention.

"You’ve got that look again," she said.

"What look?"

"The one where you’re deciding something."

"Maybe I am."

"Yeah?" Her voice dropped slightly. "What are you deciding?"

Garrett didn’t answer immediately.

"Whether I’m imagining this," he said finally.

"You’re not."

"Good."

Her hand tightened slightly against his arm.

The answer settled something in him. He no longer needed another sign.

The remote sat forgotten between them. The show continued playing, but neither of them was watching anymore.

Freya’s eyes dropped briefly to his mouth before returning to his.

Garrett made his decision.

He leaned toward her.

"Garrett," she murmured.

He didn’t stop.

The distance between them began to close, and for the first time that evening, Garrett stopped wondering what her signals meant and simply acted on what he thought they were telling him.

He was close now, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, close enough that another inch would have closed it entirely.

Then Freya’s hand came up between them.

Not a shove. Just a small, sudden press against his chest, enough to stop him where he was.

Garrett froze instantly.

For a second, neither of them moved. Freya’s eyes had gone wide, something caught between shock and panic flickering through them, all the softness from a moment ago replaced by something closer to disbelief, like she’d only just realized how close they’d actually gotten.

"I..." She pulled back further, putting real distance between them now, her hand dropping from his chest like it had touched something too hot to hold. "Sorry. I just..."

She didn’t finish the sentence.

Garrett stayed exactly where he was, still processing the sudden shift, watching her face color deeply, embarrassment spreading fast across her cheeks and down her neck. She looked everywhere except at him, at the blanket pooling between them, at the television still playing quietly to no one, at the door, at anything that wasn’t his face.

"Freya."

"I have to go."

"You don’t..."

But she was already moving, untangling herself from the blanket in a rush, grabbing her bag from where she’d left it by the table without bothering to check if she’d forgotten anything.

"Freya, wait."

She didn’t wait.

She reached the door before he’d fully processed that she was actually leaving, fingers fumbling briefly with the lock before it gave, and then she was through it, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft, final click.

Garrett sat there, unmoving, staring at the space where she’d been sitting a few seconds ago.

He didn’t go after her.

Some part of him understood, even through the confusion, that chasing her down the corridor right now would only make whatever had just happened worse. So he stayed on the couch, the television still murmuring quietly in the background, the blanket still half-tangled around his legs, the whole apartment suddenly, deafeningly quiet without her in it.

He replayed it slowly, piece by piece. The closeness she’d built all evening, deliberate, unmistakable. The way she’d leaned into him, stayed pressed against his side, let her hand rest on his arm like it belonged there. None of that had been imagined. He was certain of that much.

But somewhere between all of it and the actual moment he’d leaned in, he’d read further than she’d meant to give him.

Maybe She wanted just thecloseness. Wanted the evening, the quiet, the nearness of him beside her on the couch.

Maybe She wasn’t been ready for the rest of it.

Garrett sat there a long while, staring at the closed door, the realization settling in slow and complete.

He hadn’t misread her interest.

He’d misread how far she was actually ready to let it go.