Ashley should have been asleep. She had done everything right for once, showered, gone through her skincare properly, turned the lights off at a time that usually felt unrealistic. Despite all of it, her eyes remained open, fixed on the faint glow of streetlight slipping through her curtains.

Her phone sat face down on the bedside table. Untouched. Unnecessary. She already knew what it said.

You up?

She forced out a loud breath and dragged the duvet higher. Shifted onto her back. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling as the weight of the message settled in, not because of the words themselves, but because of everything attached to them.

The familiarity. The predictability. The way it slotted so easily into a pattern she had once mistaken for something meaningful, when in reality it had always been the same cycle of late-night texts, last-minute plans, and convenience dressed up as connection.

Closing her eyes briefly, she pressed her lips together, not out of hurt, because that part was long gone, but out of a quieter, more frustrating awareness that what lingered now wasn’t emotion, but recognition. There was no ache, no sense of loss, no lingering what-ifs waiting to be explored, only annoyance layered with something steadier beneath it, clarity, because he hadn’t changed, and more importantly, she now understood that he never will.

What unsettled her wasn’t him, though. It was the fact that for a brief, almost imperceptible moment, she had considered replying, and that instinct, that automatic pull toward something she had already outgrown, lingered longer than she was comfortable with.

It was the muscle memory of who she used to be with him, the version of herself that had stayed too long, accepted too little, and convinced herself that inconsistency could eventually turn into something stable if she just gave it enough time.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze returning to the ceiling as she exhaled again, quieter this time.

“You’re not doing this again,” she murmured under her breath, the words more grounding than defiant.

Her phone lit up beside her, the soft glow catching her attention despite herself, and although she didn’t reach for it, didn’t turn it over, she already knew what she would see, another message in the same tone, casual and assuming, as though nothing had changed, as though time hadn’t passed and there hadn’t been a clear reason for things ending in the first place.

Sitting up abruptly, she dragged a hand through her hair, the restless energy in her chest settling into something sharper now, something that made it clear that sleep wasn’t going to come easily, not while her thoughts were looping like this, not around him, but around herself, around the version of her that she had worked to leave behind.

Without overthinking it this time, she swung her legs out of bed and reached for her phone, her thumb hovering for just a moment before she tapped the name, the decision instinctive in a way that felt entirely different from the one she had almost made minutes earlier.

The line rang once, then twice.

“Hey.”

Dane’s voice came through low and rough with sleep, immediate and unfiltered in a way that eased something in her chest before she had even fully registered the shift, and Ashley found herself leaning back against the headboard as she exhaled softly, some of the tension beginning to release.

“Did I wake you?”

“Yeah,” he said easily, without hesitation, “but it’s you.”

The familiarity of it landed gently, not dramatic or overwhelming, but steady, like something she could rely on without needing to question it, and she pressed her lips together briefly before murmuring a quiet, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

There was a faint rustle on the line, the sound of movement suggesting he was sitting up properly now, shifting from sleep into awareness without any sign of irritation.

“You good?”

Ashley let out a slow breath, her gaze dropping toward the window as she considered how to answer, knowing the truth of it wasn’t complicated, just specific.

“Yeah,” she said at first, before adding, more plainly, “He texted.”

There was no confusion on his end, no need for clarification or context, just a quiet recognition that settled into his response.

“…right.”

She leaned her head back again, closing her eyes briefly as she continued, “about an hour ago, asking if I wanted to meet.”

Dane didn’t respond immediately, but his silence felt intentional rather than distant, the kind that gave her space to continue rather than interrupting the thought before it had fully formed.

“Did you reply?” he asked after a moment.

“No.”

“Good.”

The certainty in the word was calm, not forceful, and Ashley let out a small breath, shaking her head slightly even though he couldn’t see it.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“I know.”

Shifting slightly, she pulled one knee up, resting her arm against it as she tried to explain the part that had actually unsettled her.

“It’s not that I want to,” she said, her voice quieter now, more deliberate. “That’s not what’s bothering me.”

“I know.”

This time, she paused properly, her brow tightening slightly as she processed that.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t rush her or try to fill the space that followed, didn’t offer an immediate explanation, just stayed present long enough for her to reach the point on her own.

“It’s the fact that for a second, I almost did,” she admitted finally, the words landing more heavily once they were said out loud. It wasn’t desire, and it wasn’t attachment, it was habit, a pattern that her mind had followed before she had the chance to consciously redirect it.

“I hate that,” she added, quieter now.

Dane exhaled slowly. “That’s normal.”

“I don’t want it to be.”

“It won’t be,” he said, his voice even, steady in a way that didn’t try to convince her so much as ground her. “Not if you don’t let it.”

Ashley stared ahead, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the duvet as she considered that, the distinction settling into place more clearly than she expected.

“It’s like my brain just went there automatically,” she said. “Like nothing’s changed.”

“Your brain’s just used to it,” Dane replied. “Doesn’t mean you are.”

She let that sit, the difference between the two landing more firmly than anything else he had said.

“I didn’t reply,” she repeated, quieter now.

“Exactly.”

The pause that followed felt softer this time, less tense, as though something had already begun to shift.

“That’s the part that matters.”

Something in her chest loosened, not dramatically, not all at once, but enough that the tightness eased into something more manageable, something she could sit with rather than fight against.

Leaning back fully against the headboard, she felt her shoulders relax slightly, the weight of the moment no longer pressing as sharply.

“You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it feel less… frustrating.”

There was a faint smile in his voice when he responded. “That’s because you overthink it.”

“I don’t overthink.”

“You absolutely do.”

A small laugh escaped her before she could stop it, the sound softer now, lighter than it had been earlier.

“Shut up.”

“Not happening.”

From there, the conversation shifted naturally, easing into the familiar rhythm they had built over time, where words didn’t need to carry weight unless they were meant to, and silence didn’t need to be filled to feel complete. He didn’t push the topic or try to analyse it further, instead letting it settle on its own while they moved into something lighter, something easier, until the sharp edge of the moment dulled into the background.

“You in bed?” he asked after a while.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

A brief pause followed before he added, “Go to sleep.”

“I will.”

He didn’t hang up.

Ashley frowned slightly, glancing at her phone.

“Dane.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re still here.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

There was a small pause before he answered, quieter this time.

“Just in case you’re not as fine as you’re pretending to be.”

Her grip tightened slightly on the duvet, the words settling somewhere deeper than she expected.

“I am fine.”

“I know.”

Another beat passed, softer this time.

“Still.”

The word lingered gently between them, not pressing, not demanding, just present.

Ashley didn’t argue, didn’t feel the need to.

“Okay,” she murmured.

The conversation faded gradually after that, her breathing slowing as the tension eased from her body, her thoughts loosening one by one until they no longer circled the same point.

And eventually, without realising when it happened, she drifted.

The line stayed open.

Dane didn’t hang up.

He didn’t go back to sleep straight away. He lay there for a while after the line finally disconnected, his phone still resting loosely against his chest, staring up at the ceiling as the quiet settled around him again. The room was dim, lit only by the faint spill of amber streetlight from the half drawn curtains, catching briefly along the warm undertones of his skin and the defined line of his jaw. He dragged a slow hand over his face, exhaling as he pushed himself upright, the movement unhurried, like he was still half inside the moment he’d just left.

“She’s fine,” he muttered quietly, more as a way of closing the thought than because he doubted it.

Even so, he stayed sitting there a little longer than necessary.

By the following evening, the contrast was immediate.

The party was alive with music threaded low through the space, conversations overlapping, laughter breaking through in bursts that felt easy and uncontained. The kind of setting Dane had always moved through comfortably, where presence mattered without needing to be announced.

He was positioned slightly off-centre on the sofa, one arm resting along the back, his posture relaxed but composed, like he carried an awareness of himself without ever appearing self-conscious. He wore dark jeans and a fitted black t-shirt that sat clean against his frame, the sleeves tightening slightly around his arms when he shifted, the lines of muscle defined but not exaggerated. At just over six foot, with broad shoulders and an ease in the way he held himself, attention found him without him needing to reach for it.

Shelby was angled toward him, her body turned in a way that suggested interest rather than assumption, her fingers trailing lightly along his arm as she spoke.

“You’re not even pretending now,” she said, her tone amused, her gaze searching his face.

Dane glanced at her, a faint smile touching his mouth, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I am,” he replied, the words easy but lacking weight.

“You’re really not.”

Her hand slid higher, resting briefly at the back of his neck as she leaned closer, her perfume settling faintly in the air between them. She was used to attention, used to being met with it fully, and there was a quiet curiosity in the way she studied him now, like she was trying to work out where his had gone.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, and this time it was closer to the truth than it sounded. There wasn’t a single thought holding his attention. Just a sense of something not quite landing. A distraction that hadn’t fully resolved since the night before.

Ashley’s voice still lingered somewhere at the edge of it, not in a way that interrupted, but in a way that had settled in. Shelby watched him for a moment longer before letting out a small breath that almost passed for a laugh.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Dane tipped his head back slightly against the sofa, the movement slow, unbothered.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve heard that before.”

His phone buzzed against the table.

Once.

Twice.

He didn’t need to look.

But he did.

Ashley.

Something in him shifted immediately, not sharply, not noticeably to anyone else, but enough that his attention settled fully, cleanly.

He reached for the phone without hesitation.

“Sorry,” he said, already standing before Shelby could respond, the apology automatic rather than considered.

There was no pause, no weighing of the moment he was leaving behind.

Just movement.

He stepped away from the warmth of the room, from the music, from the low hum of conversation, heading toward the quieter space of the hallway as he answered.

“Hey.”

The word softened instinctively.

On the other end, Ashley spoke, and without trying, he could picture her exactly, brown skin catching the light in warmer tones, her hair falling loosely past her shoulders, the kind of presence that didn’t need to demand attention to hold it.

There was something steady about her, something grounded in the way she spoke and moved, shaped by a life that had crossed spaces early on, from Montego Bay into London, to now Market Harborough, from one rhythm into another, without losing the core of who she was.

“Yeah,” he murmured, leaning back lightly against the wall, one hand slipping into his pocket. “I’m here.”

He listened, the faint disconnect from earlier easing almost imperceptibly as her voice continued, familiar in a way that required no effort to meet.

“Mm,” he said after a moment. “Go on.”

Behind him, the music carried on, steady and unbroken, the conversation he had stepped away from dissolving into something distant, something that no longer held its shape in his mind now that his attention had shifted elsewhere.

Shelby remained where he had left her, her body still angled toward the space he had vacated, her gaze following him for a moment longer than she probably intended, as though she were trying to make sense of what had just happened, not the fact that he had answered the call, but how easily he had done it, how instinctive the movement had been.

There had been no pause, no flicker of consideration, no moment where he weighed one thing against the other. It hadn’t looked like a decision at all, which, somehow, made it feel more deliberate.

The quiet certainty of it settled in the space he left behind, noticeable in a way that didn’t need to be named, and Shelby, after a second, reached for her drink, her attention shifting back to the room even if her thoughts hadn’t fully caught up.

Dane didn’t notice.

Or if he did, it didn’t register in a way that held any weight.

By the time he stepped back into the main room, phone no longer in his hand, the call already folded into something internal and complete, the moment had moved on without him. Someone had changed the track, the bass line deeper now, conversations overlapping in new clusters, the energy of the room carrying forward in the way it always did, indifferent to individual absences.

He crossed the space easily, nodding once at someone who said his name as he passed, the movement familiar, automatic, but his attention didn’t fully settle back into it. There was a looseness in his posture that hadn’t been there earlier, a subtle shift that came from something having been resolved rather than interrupted.

Shelby glanced up when he approached again, her expression composed, though there was a trace of curiosity still lingering beneath it.

“All good?” she asked, her tone light but edged with something observant.

“Yeah,” he said, picking up his drink and taking a small sip, his gaze moving briefly across the room before returning to her. “Just needed to take that.”

She studied him for a moment, as though weighing whether to ask more, then let it go with a small nod, leaning back slightly into her space again.

“Important?” she asked, more casually now.

Dane paused for half a second, not long enough to be noticeable to anyone else, but long enough for the answer to settle properly before he gave it.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

He didn’t elaborate.

Didn’t soften it or dress it up into something less defined.

Just left it there, clear in a way that didn’t invite further questions.

Shelby’s gaze held his for a moment longer, something like understanding flickering briefly across her expression as she nodded again, this time more to herself than to him.

“Fair enough.”

The conversation around them picked up again, someone nearby pulling her attention away, and Dane let his focus drift with it, responding where needed, nodding at the right moments, moving through the interactions with the same ease he always had.

From the outside, nothing about him had changed, his tone remained measured, his presence steady, his responses easy enough to follow, but there was a slight distance to it now, a sense that his attention wasn’t anchored in the room in quite the same way.

After a while, he stood, the movement unhurried, slipping easily between people as he made his way out of the room, more for the shift in space than anything else. The noise dulled slightly there, the music less direct, the conversations more fragmented, and for a moment, he allowed himself to stand still, resting his hands against the edge of the counter as he looked out toward the rest of the space.

He wasn’t thinking about the call in any specific way.

Not replaying it.

Not analysing it.

Just aware, in a quiet, underlying sense, that something about it had settled into place.

That whatever had pulled his attention earlier had been resolved without needing effort. He exhaled slowly, reaching for a glass and pouring himself some water instead this time, the shift small but intentional.

By the time he moved back into the room, nothing outward had changed.

But something, quietly, had.

And though he didn’t name it, didn’t need to, it sat there all the same, steady, unforced, and entirely his.