The garden was quiet, alive only with the soft hum of cicadas and the faint rustle of leaves in the night breeze. The lamp above the stone bench cast a gentle, flickering glow, illuminating patches of the cobblestone path and the pond’s still water. You sat there, phone in hand, staring at the dark reflection of the sky.

Footsteps on gravel made you glance up. Andrew emerged from the shadows, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, hair a little messy, eyes calm but alert.

“You called,” he said softly, sitting beside you without waiting for an invitation. “Is it… him?”

You swallowed hard. “Gerald went to that party… with some girl. I don’t even know her name.”

Andrew’s jaw tightened for just a moment before he exhaled, steadying himself. “I figured.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few heartbeats, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward — it was heavy with all the things neither of you had said over the years.

“I shouldn’t be this upset,” you murmured, tracing your fingers over the bench. “It’s just a party.”

Andrew leaned slightly closer, voice calm and certain. “You’re upset because he didn’t even think before going. That’s what matters.”

You looked at him then, really looked. The soft glow caught the sharp line of his jaw, the grey of his eyes, the quiet warmth that had always been there. “I just… needed someone to talk to,” you admitted.

A breeze lifted a few fallen petals between you, and for a moment, the night felt suspended. In that fragile stillness, the distance between you and Andrew felt thinner than it had ever been — and you wondered if maybe, quietly, it had been that way all along.

Then softly, he said, “I’ll stay,” he said simply. “As long as you need.”