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Lila and Grace headed from the parked car toward Allison’s front door, which opened almost immediately after they rang the bell.
Grace slipped past her. “Hellooo!” she called into the house, already disappearing down the hallway toward the back doors leading to the yard.
Allison laughed. “I’ll take that as a greeting for me too.”
“That was the maximum possible today,” Lila said, handing her the gift bag. “She’s been talking about this since morning. She could barely sleep from excitement.”
“Completely understandable.”
Allison hugged her briefly and closed the door behind her.
“I’m glad you came.”
“Claire would never forgive me if I didn’t at least stay a while.”
“Neither would I.”
For a moment they stood in the entryway. The noise from the backyard reached them in a softened hum, but laughter was still clear, along with Klaus’s voice dramatically narrating something.
Allison leaned her shoulder against the wall. “Diego’s already here. About half an hour.”
Lila nodded. “All right.”
“Is it… okay?”
The question was careful. Allison wasn’t digging, she just needed to know whether to expect tension.
“Yeah, sure,” Lila said. “It’s actually easier now than it was before.”
The divorce had been signed barely two weeks ago. For her, though, it had been over much longer. It felt more like a knot finally loosening after being pulled tight for too long.
Allison nodded. “Grace handling it alright?”
“Seems like it. I think she can feel the atmosphere’s lighter too,” Lila said quietly.
They shared a brief knowing smile. Allison knew enough about divorces.
“Come on, everyone’s out back.”
Lila followed her, and as soon as she stepped onto the patio she saw the garden full of people. Luther stood at the grill, Klaus wore a paper crown, and Diego sat on the edge of the patio watching Grace laugh at something Claire was performing for her.
She only glanced at Diego briefly. They exchanged a nod in greeting. Calm. No tension. It was strange how naturally it worked now.
And then she saw him.
Five.
He stood a little apart, near the drinks table. A glass in hand, expression neutral. Observing everything around him.
As always, dressed in a perfectly fitted suit that didn’t belong here at all.
She could picture him in much more casual clothes.
Her heart gave one unnecessary extra beat.
Two months.
Two months since they returned, and seeing him now made it feel, for a moment, like there had been nothing in between.
She looked at him longer than she should have.
At that exact moment, he lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
And… nothing happened.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t frown. He didn’t show what seeing her did to him.
And she did the same.
Later she went over to Diego, who sat off to the side at a picnic table.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” She sat beside him, not too close.
“Still good for tonight?” he asked.
“Yeah. Grace’s bag is in the car. She’s packed for the whole weekend.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
They were quiet for a while, just watching the kids enjoying the birthday party.
“She’s okay, right?” Diego asked.
“She is,” Lila said. “But sometimes she asks.”
“About what?”
“Whether living in two different places now really means we’re not getting back together.”
Diego exhaled softly. “What did you tell her?”
“The truth.”
That was enough. They didn’t have to pretend anymore.
Lila noticed movement in the patio doorway. She didn’t have to look immediately. The familiar sensation of being watched was enough.
She looked up and confirmed it.
Five stood in the doorway, as if just passing through. But his eyes were on them. Not long. Just a moment. Then he disappeared back into the house.
Lila walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and stood there for a moment. Cold air brushed her hands. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular. Just the feeling.
She took a bottle of water.
When she closed the door and turned around, she nearly ran into him.
Five stood right beside the counter. She didn’t startle, not the way she should have, only paused for a fraction of a second at being alone with him in a room again.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who needed a break from the noise outside,” she said.
“Yeah. Being around this many people again takes some getting used to,” he replied calmly.
She studied him for a moment. He probably needed a haircut. Just a little.
“And you picked the kitchen.”
“Strategic position.”
Silence lingered. Careful, like they were both waiting to see who moved first. Five straightened slightly, and for a moment it seemed he might step closer, but he didn’t.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
It wasn’t a polite question. Not like the others had asked her. And it wasn’t about the divorce the way it would be for anyone else.
She opened the bottle, took a drink, and leaned against the counter with her shoulder toward him, not facing him. Easier to talk that way.
“I’m adjusting,” she said.
From the corner of her eye she caught him watching her.
“To things just… working again,” she added. “All the normal stuff. Like when you’re hungry you just walk a few steps and grab something from the fridge. Or go to a store.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. She knew only he would understand.
She felt she was talking too much. That maybe she should have just said, "Yeah, everything's fine." But once she started, she couldn't stop.
“It’s still a little strange,” she continued. “No planning. No rationing. No stomach growling. No disgusting improvised dinners. I just open the fridge and there it is.”
She twisted the bottle cap even though it was already tight.
“And the normal house sounds,” she went on more softly. “Pipes, cars from the street, that annoying fridge hum. No screeching train brakes waking you up… but sometimes I swear I still hear them.”
Five braced a hand on the counter near her.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
She looked at him now. “And you?”
A short pause.
Instead of answering, he ran his thumb along the edge of the countertop, as if checking the wood for unevenness. She recognized the gesture, he did that when he was thinking about something he didn’t want to say out loud.
She broke the silence first.
“But otherwise it’s great, really,” she said, maybe a bit too brightly. “I’m back with Grace and… everyone. So…”
“Yeah…”
They stood close without moving closer. Still, she registered every shift he made, every hesitation.
“I saw you with Diego,” he said.
It sounded like a simple observation.
But she knew it wasn’t.
“Parent logistics,” she replied. “Grace is staying with him after the party.”
He nodded.
“It’s… stable between us now,” she said finally.
“That’s probably the best option. Given… the circumstances.”
She felt they weren’t just talking about her and Diego.
This time she looked at him longer. “For who?”
His eyes dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second and then back.
“For everyone,” he said.
They stood in silence. Laughter sounded from the yard and the sliding doors scraped open. Neither moved.
Then Klaus appeared beside them.
He stopped and watched them for several seconds.
“Shocking,” he announced, amused.
Lila pushed away from the counter. “What exactly?” She still held the water bottle, twisting the cap again as if checking it.
Klaus shrugged. “This. You two alone in a room and you haven’t tried to kill each other? Also… if you keep hiding in here, you’re missing the cake cutting.”
“Wouldn’t want to miss the highlight of the celebration,” Five said flatly and walked toward the yard.
Klaus watched him, then turned back to Lila. “You two are weird today.”
“As if that’s new. We’ve always been like this.”
“No,” he smiled. “You used to want to murder each other. This is different. And possibly weirder.”
Lila looked at the empty doorway Five had gone through.
She noticed Klaus studying her and immediately put on a smile, patting his shoulder.
“Come on, the cake won’t wait for us,” she said, heading after Five.
Lila lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. The clock numbers shifted to another minute. She didn’t remember closing her eyes, even though her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion.
She rolled onto her side.
Then onto the other.
The pillow felt too soft. The blanket too light. The air too warm. Everything was comfortable, too comfortable.
Three years in the subway didn’t just leave memories. It rewrote something inside.
Body got used to cold, to hard surfaces, to interrupted sleep. To waking at every sound because every sound could mean danger.
And then she returned to a normal apartment, a large bed, safety… and her body didn’t trust the comfort anymore.
She closed her eyes.
For a moment she thought she could hear the faint hum of electricity in the silence, growing louder.
Her eyes opened again.
She turned her head toward the empty pillow beside her.
Being alone again felt strangely heavy.
In the subway they’d slept apart, at another time, for practical reasons. One slept, while the other kept watch.
Later, when it was safe. They fell asleep together.
At first they lay back to back. Later she would sometimes wake and his face would be the first thing she saw.
It had been surprisingly easy to get used to his presence.
Almost unnervingly comforting. Just feeling the other person there. The steady breathing. The occasional shift. The certainty that when she woke, she wouldn’t be alone.
One night she woke when he moved closer in his sleep. His shoulder touched hers and he didn’t pull away.
There had been very cold nights too, when closeness became unavoidable.
Nights when the space in their makeshift shelter was limited.
At least that was how they justified it, at first.
Her thoughts returned to the present.
She stared for a long time at the empty space in the large bed in her bedroom. Then she sighed, moved to the middle of the mattress, and pulled the blanket tighter around herself, as if trying to fill a space that wasn’t supposed to be empty.
Going to a movie to unwind had sounded like a good plan.
The theater darkened and the screen lit their faces in pale light.
Allison handed her popcorn, but Lila only took a few pieces before forgetting about it. She leaned back in her seat, hands folded in her lap. It was nice sitting in the dark among people who wanted nothing from her.
At first the story was light: banter, sharp dialogue, the kind of male lead who acted like nothing could unsettle him, and a woman who systematically did exactly that.
Halfway through, the scene shifted to a quiet apartment. Soft instrumental music, dim candlelight, just the two of them.
The woman stood before the man and he looked at her for a long time, something unusual in his eyes.
Then he touched her. Slowly, fingers along her face, pausing at her neck as if waiting to see whether she’d pull away. She didn’t. She just took a long breath.
He kissed her carefully, almost hesitantly. When he pulled back, he stayed close, not taking his eyes off her. His hand slid down her back, drawing her nearer, still slow and focused, as though he didn’t want to rush anything.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
She nodded.
This time he kissed her differently. Deeper.
His forehead rested briefly against hers and she gave a nervous smile before pulling him back to her.
Lila realized she’d stopped breathing for a moment.
On the screen he laid her onto the bed but remained propped on his forearms so he could still see her. He paused. Looked at her as though, for the first time, it meant something.
He gently brushed the hair from her face.
It unsettled Lila in a way she didn’t expect.
Not the touches. The look.
The way the man watched the woman before leaning down again, careful, almost disbelieving, as if it wasn’t something he took for granted.
Lila curled her fingers into her palms.
She heard her own heartbeat louder than the movie. She shifted in her seat, then leaned back again, but no position felt right. Her shoulders were tense.
The scene moved into lovemaking, brief glances between kisses, unspoken words. He kept stopping whenever she inhaled sharply, as though needing to make sure she was okay.
Lila dropped her eyes for a few seconds, then looked back. She couldn’t stop watching.
Her throat felt dry. She pulled the cup closer but didn’t drink, only held the cold plastic in her hands.
Beside her Allison glanced briefly toward her, then back at the screen.
Lila sat too rigidly, fingers clenched, trying to look like she was following the story and not that one moment that stirred something disturbingly familiar inside her.
When the scene finally changed, her body slowly relaxed.
The hallway lights were unpleasantly bright.
“I’m just gonna run to the restroom,” Lila told Allison and slipped away before she could reply.
The bathroom was almost empty.
She turned on the water and let it run a moment before putting her hands under it. Cold. Exactly what she needed. Her palms cooled instantly, but when she pressed them to her cheeks she realized they were burning.
She lifted her head to the mirror.
And froze.
She looked… different. Not physically, just in her expression. Flustered, almost guilty. Like someone caught doing something questionable.
She leaned against the sink and stared at herself.
It felt absurd, an adult woman, a mother, and yet for a moment she felt like a teenager again.
But it wasn’t the movie scene.
It was what it reminded her of.
She quickly looked down, rinsed her hands again, and this time dried them slower than necessary, just to steal a few more seconds before returning to people.
The atmosphere of abandoned timelines was always strange.
Heavy in its emptiness and finality, and yet it was one of the few places where they allowed themselves to slow down.
The house they found had been empty for years. The electricity didn’t work, the water was cold, and only a large supply of candles they’d discovered kept the darkness away.
Half-eaten cans of food were scattered across the kitchen, which Five had methodically sorted by date and contents, and beside them stood several old bottles of wine from the cellar they’d uncovered while searching the place.
After the cold shower, Lila’s hair was still damp as she sat on the floor on a pile of cushions she’d arranged in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket, legs stretched toward the warmth.
The chance to wash and brush her teeth under their conditions felt like a luxury spa visit.
The wine was a very pleasant bonus.
Five sat in an armchair a short distance away, glass in hand, watching the flames with such focus he looked like he was analyzing their movement.
In truth, the whole thing looked almost… nice. Unplanned. It had just happened that way.
The wine warmed her more than the fire. She wasn’t drunk, only relaxed, for once not on watch, not counting supplies, not planning the next day.
She handed him the bottle to refill.
“I bet,” she said lightly, “if this were a date, it’d be the best one you’ve ever had.”
He poured before responding and handed the bottle back.
“I doubt most people would consider a cold shower and canned beans romantic.”
She raised her glass. “Don’t you see it? Fireplace, candles, alcohol. It has atmosphere.”
She looked at him over the rim of her glass.
“Have you ever even been on a date?” she asked when he didn’t react.
A short pause. Then he took a sip, gaze still fixed on the flames.
“Of course,” he said dryly. “Between apocalypses I had plenty of time for a social life.”
The fire shifted as wind moved through the old chimney.
“Alright then,” she said more gently. “Was there ever anyone… you know, real… you would have wanted to take on a date?”
Five glanced at her. For a moment it looked like he’d answer with a sarcastic remark. But it didn’t come.
“I didn’t have space for things like that,” he said simply. “You know how it is when I’m constantly saving someone’s ass.”
“You don’t need space for this,” she replied calmly. “It just happens. You don’t plan it. You’re drawn to someone and there’s no logical explanation.”
Silence.
Held her gaze a second longer than usual. And then another. Only then did he look away, set his glass on the table, and stand.
“I’ll get another bottle,” he said, a little too matter-of-factly.
He disappeared into the hallway.
Lila stayed seated for a moment, listening to his footsteps across the wooden floor. She knew it wasn’t about more wine.
She stood.
She found him in the kitchen. Only two candles burned on the table, the light soft. He stood with his back to her, leaning against the counter as if he needed a moment to steady his thoughts.
“Did I upset you?” she asked.
He didn’t turn right away.
“I know you’re not stupid,” he said finally.
“How do you mean?”
He gave a brief, humorless laugh. “Let it go, Lila.”
He turned as if to pass her and go back to the living room.
She caught his hand. Not a tight grip. Just enough to stop him.
Five went still. Slowly he looked at her. The look wasn’t sharp or cold. It was too open. Like he’d stopped controlling himself for a moment and immediately regretted it.
In that moment Lila knew two things for certain.
First: something she had long perceived seemed to be real.
Second: she could no longer pretend she didn’t see it.
She stepped closer and before he could analyze the movement, she kissed him.
For a fraction of a second he stayed completely motionless, then began to return it. Briefly, before pulling away.
“You don’t have to do this, Lila,” he said more quietly than usual. “I don’t want your pity.”
She exhaled, surprised. “I didn’t do it out of pity.”
He stood still for a moment, searching her face for hesitation, humor, provocation, anything that would allow him to retreat.
He found none, and this time he was the one who kissed her.
The kiss was focused, searching, as if he were trying to find the answer to how far he could go without ruining it.
Lila moved closer, closing the last bit of distance between them.
When he pulled back briefly, his forehead hovered near hers, breath still quick.
“Lila…” he began, but didn’t finish.
He probably meant to say it was a bad idea.
Maybe it was.
But the hand that had avoided her before now slid down her arm, slowly, almost carefully, as if he needed to confirm every inch. It stopped at her wrist and stayed there only a moment before he started to pull away.
“I think—”
She grabbed his shirt to keep him there. The movement silenced him completely. He looked at her fingers in the fabric, then back into her eyes.
There was no question in that look anymore.
There was a decision he was trying not to make.
He kissed her again.
This time he pulled her closer until the last space between them disappeared. His hand slid to her back.
“We shouldn’t,” he breathed almost inaudibly, even as his body said the opposite.
She released him just enough to look at him and placed her hand on his chest. She could feel how fast his heart was beating.
His gaze stayed on her face, dropped briefly to her lips, then returned, as if he’d caught himself allowing something he shouldn’t.
“We’re not stupid,” she said calmly. “It’s a little late to pretend you don’t want me.”
The words hit him harder than the kiss. She saw it, the tension in his jaw, the second too long he kept his eyes closed.
When he opened them again, he wasn’t pretending indifference anymore.
His hand moved on her back, firmer now, pulling her closer. As if he’d finally stopped pretending he had control.
“You’re not fair,” he murmured.
“I never was.”
Her fingers remained on his shirt but moved higher to his neck, hesitating briefly before brushing the back of it. The touch visibly unsettled him; he inhaled sharply and lowered his head briefly to her shoulder.
Five held her tighter, as though afraid if he let go, he’d step back himself. When he kissed her again there was no hesitation, there was urgency he’d been holding back and was beginning to lose.
She stepped backward and bumped her hip against the edge of the table. Her hand slid from his neck into his hair and pulled him back to her.
The intensity of the moment and his desire for her was no longer evident only in his kisses; his body betrayed him before he was ready.
She felt his hands pause on her back for a fraction of a second, his breath change, sharper, and the attempt to create a small space between them.
As if his own reaction surprised him.
But she didn’t let him pull away.
“This is the moment… here and now,” she whispered. “Will you take it, or let it slip away?”
He exhaled sharply and for a second seemed to be fighting himself.
It wasn’t a choice between her and reason.
It was whether he would allow himself to want.
He pulled her back to him, his forehead resting briefly against her temple, and she felt his breath, different this time. That was the moment he stopped resisting.
Her hand found his and laced their fingers together. She led him out of the kitchen without needing to say it aloud.
He didn’t stop her.
They went to the bedroom almost in darkness, guided only by a few candles they had left burning in the room. The flames reflected in the window glass and cast moving shadows across the walls.
Lila didn’t let go of him even when they stopped beside the bed.
Five looked at her longer than before. He wasn’t assessing the situation now, he was watching her. As if he needed to memorize her exactly as she was in this moment. In the soft candlelight, damp strands of hair at her temples, her breathing just a little faster than usual.
Her hands moved to his shirt. She didn’t hesitate, but she didn’t rush either. She undid the first button, then the second. At the third she glanced up and he hadn’t stopped watching her. That look revealed more than words could.
His hands, meanwhile, settled cautiously at her hips, as if he first allowed himself only the act of holding her. Only when she stepped closer did he pull her nearer. His breath caught somewhere between inhale and exhale.
She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. For a moment it visibly unsettled him, the realization of how real this suddenly was. That it was no longer a conversation he could stop.
His fingers paused at the hem of her shirt before lifting it. He waited until she raised her arms, then pulled it over her head. For a moment he simply stood close, hands still resting on her arms, watching her so intently her breath trembled.
When he kissed her again, there was much less caution in it. The same gentleness remained, but now threaded with urgency he was trying to restrain.
She guided them toward the bed through their kisses and pulled him down with her as she sank onto the mattress. Five hovered above her, braced on his hands, as though making one last attempt to decide how bad an idea this was.
She placed her palm against his cheek and brushed her thumb along his cheekbone. The touch startled him more than the kisses had. He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying his breathing.
“You’re still thinking too much,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes. “I’m trying… not to ruin it.”
“Then stop,” she said softly.
She pulled him back to her and kissed him again, slower this time, without hurry. Her hand slid from his neck into his hair and stayed there, gentle, soothing. She felt the tension gradually leave his shoulders.
The candles cast soft light and shadows around the room while the last pieces of clothing slowly disappeared between them, unhurried, with occasional nervous smiles and quiet breaths each time their skin met.
Now she was the one leading him.
Her touch moved lower. His forehead rested against her neck and stayed there for a moment, his breathing uneven and warm against her skin.
“Lila…” he breathed, but this time it wasn’t an objection.
With his next exhale she felt him relax beneath her touch.
“I want to please you…” his voice sounded rough as she guided his hand and showed him how.
He learned from her, and the thought that he had never touched anyone like this before only stirred her more.
When she kissed him again he responded instantly, no longer with that brief hesitation. He pulled her closer, almost surprised by his own reaction.
He paused for a moment when he realized how close they were.
He looked at her as she let him come closer still, until closer wasn’t even possible anymore.
She let him lead, let him find his own rhythm.
He leaned down and kissed her slower than before. Then he moved again, more naturally, though still not entirely certain.
Again he searched her face for reassurance.
Her hand rose to his chest and in his eyes she caught a flicker of panic, as if he feared she might push him away, that she would be the one to reject him.
She had never seen him this vulnerable.
She met his gaze and shook her head, pulling him back to her.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, surprised at the pleading note in her own voice before she kissed him again so he would stop thinking and finally surrender to it.
This time he held her tighter.
Gradually his movements grew more confident, guided by her reactions, her breath.
His forehead rested against hers again and stayed there. Now both their breathing was uneven.
“Lila…” He said her name like never before, not just desire or heat of the moment. Something more.
He stayed with her even after, his forehead resting against her shoulder, his breathing still faster than normal.
Lila half expected him to pull away. To say something dry, retreat into rationality, explain why it had been a mistake.
She expected it and the thought strangely tightened her chest.
Instead he moved closer.
He looked at her.
His gaze was no longer unfocused but calm and oddly uncertain, as if he didn’t know what came next.
And that struck her the most.
It hadn’t become a moment of weakness.
It was the first moment he had truly allowed himself to need someone.
They didn’t fall asleep immediately, though neither spoke for a long time.
They lay beside each other, close, and Lila felt his breathing gradually steady.
He stayed with her, his hand still lightly resting on her side.
Then he shifted closer.
He kissed her, softly, almost sleepily, as if only now allowing himself to stop thinking and simply feel that she was there.
She pulled him closer again.
The second time he wasn’t uncertain. Still careful, but noticeably surer.
The first time could still have been impulsive.
The second time was a conscious choice, driven by need.
Later, sometime deep in the night, she woke unexpectedly. She had no idea what time it was and only one candle still burned in the room.
Five was still awake. He lay right beside her, watching her so intently she thought for a moment she might be imagining it.
When she fully opened her eyes, he didn’t look away. He just brushed his fingers lightly along her arm.
“Sorry,” he whispered automatically, as if he’d woken her.
She shook her head and pulled him closer.
This time he kissed her without hesitation.
There was no nervousness or careful testing anymore. In its place was urgency, quiet but stronger, as though he returned to her each time she allowed it again.
And Lila realized then it wasn’t only physical desire.
It wasn’t just sex.
It was closeness he hadn’t allowed himself for years, closeness he couldn’t allow himself and now that he had it, he let himself feel it completely.
And so did she.
The hand dryer shut off.
Lila noticed a second or three too late.
She was still standing in front of the mirror, her hands already dry but unmoving. In the reflection she saw her own face. She looked tense, disappointed and angry at the same time.
It wasn’t the movie.
It wasn’t even the memory itself.
It was how vividly it had come back. As if all she had to do was close her eyes and she could feel the warmth of the fireplace again, his breath at her neck, that unnatural calm certainty that she wasn’t alone.
She looked away and headed for the door.
The noise of the cinema returned to her immediately. Too much light, too much space. She paused for a moment before taking a breath and moving forward.
Allison was leaning against the railing near the theater exit and straightened as soon as she saw her.
“Hey,” she said carefully. “You okay?”
Lila shifted her purse onto her shoulder. It took her a moment to answer.
“Yeah,” she said, not even trying to make it sound convincing.
Allison studied her. “You don’t look it.”
Lila took a short breath and finally looked at her.
“I need a drink.”
“Sorry, maybe that movie was a dumb idea. After my divorce I was allergic to romantic movies for a really long time.”
But the problem wasn’t the divorce. And it definitely wasn’t Diego.
The bar was half-empty, dimly lit, the music just loud enough to blur other people’s conversations. Allison talked about family, Claire, work and Lila nodded, adding something now and then at the right moments.
Her third cocktail sat in front of her.
It was supposed to be sweet and strong. And it was. She barely tasted it.
One particular image kept returning to her mind.
Five.
Not as she’d seen him lately: unreadable, distant, pragmatic. But how he’d looked then. In the candlelight, watching her like he couldn’t quite believe it had happened and it had affected him as unexpectedly as it had her.
No one had ever looked at her the way he had that night.
She blinked and took another sip.
She had thought coming back would push it all away. That reality, people, noise, and ordinary days would bury it. For a while it had worked.
She searched for so long for a way back to her daughter, her family, and her life.
Five was supposed to be just a closed chapter of another time.
Then one movie and it was back, almost tangible.
“Are you even listening to me?” Allison asked.
Lila looked at her. “Yeah.”
Allison raised an eyebrow.
Lila rubbed her temple. “Sorry. I guess I'm just tired; the last few days have been tough.”
The city slid past the taxi window in blurred lights, and Lila, leaning her head against the glass, watched the reflections of streetlamps without really seeing them. The alcohol dulled the edges of her thoughts but didn’t quiet them.
She kept seeing his look.
As if it had stuck in her mind like an unwelcome image she couldn’t shake.
“We’re here,” the driver said, slowing.
Lila blinked. She realized they were on her street.
Grace was with Diego. The apartment waited exactly as she’d left it.
Empty.
The car stopped at the curb.
She reached for her purse, but her hand paused on the door handle. She didn’t open it.
“You know what,” she said suddenly. “I think I need to go somewhere else.”
The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Sure. Where to?”
She hesitated, not because she didn’t know. Because she knew exactly.
She gave him the address. The car pulled away again.
She woke to light, dim, gray morning filtering through the dirty window. For a moment she didn’t know where she was, until she saw him and smiled faintly as memories of the previous night flooded back.
Five lay on his back, eyes open. Already awake. He wasn’t looking at her.
He was staring at the ceiling.
“You didn’t sleep,” she murmured.
“I did,” he answered immediately. It was a lie.
She shifted closer, still half-asleep, and placed her hand on his chest.
He tensed. Barely noticeable, but she felt it.
He pulled away. “We should head back.”
Lila slowly sat up.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
He was already sitting on the edge of the bed, searching for his shirt on the floor.
“Really?” she looked at him. “Because this doesn’t look like nothing.”
He didn’t answer. He dressed too quickly, too deliberately. Already back in practical mode. Apparently composed.
As if the night hadn’t happened.
That hurt more than she expected.
“Don’t try to tell me it was a mistake,” she said.
He stopped. Just for a moment. Then he turned.
“I don’t regret it,” he said calmly.
“Then why are you acting like you do?”
He stood across from her, but didn’t meet her eyes for long.
“Because it changes nothing.”
“Nothing? It does for me.”
That made him look up.
He watched her for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
“We’re not good for each other.”
“Oh, really? Last night suggested otherwise.”
“It would be foolish to lie to ourselves.”
A pause.
“You have your life. You had it before and you’ll have it after. And I…” he faltered, searching for the exact word, “I will never belong in it. Not once everything goes back to normal. Not once you remember everything that separates us.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No. Those are facts.”
Now he was looking directly into her eyes.
She stood, but instead of dressing she walked straight toward him.
“Give me one real reason.”
He tried to keep his gaze only on her face, not let her nudity unsettle him.
“Have you forgotten why you tried to kill me?” he said, almost defensively, a way to stop her before she got too close. Not just physically.
It worked.
The sentence hung in the air heavier than anything else.
“And even though the reset changed it, it doesn’t erase what you had to live through before.”
“Where did your conviction go that it wasn’t personal and you were just following orders, hm?”
If anyone understood the Handler’s manipulation, it was her.
“It became personal now…”
The air in the room felt suddenly heavier.
“You’re really going to start blaming yourself for the life I had? That’s your argument?” Her voice shook with emotion. “You don’t have anything better?”
“You’re still my brother’s wife.”
“You know very well our relationship was falling apart long before we got here. By now it would have been official.”
“I’m sure he’d be thrilled you chose me.”
“Can you tell me the real reason? And don’t try saying you don’t want me, because we both know that would be a lie.”
She stepped toward him and he stepped back.
“You’re right… that would be a lie.”
“So?”
She moved closer again. This time he didn’t retreat, but something strange appeared in his expression.
She placed her palm on his cheek and felt him tense again.
“We both want this, so why are you ruining it now?”
“We both want this?” he said, and she nodded.
He stepped back again. “Now you’re the one lying.”
She stared at him, confused, frowning.
“You really think that?”
“Lila…” he exhaled before continuing, “if I were standing in front of you as the old man I actually am, you wouldn’t even glance at me. And don’t tell me that’s not true.”
That argument stopped her, and he took it as confirmation.
He picked up her clothes and handed them to her.
“Please get dressed… it’s cold here, and underground it’ll be worse if you get sick,” he said, turning toward the door to pack the supplies they could carry.
He was already standing in the doorway when her voice stopped him.
“What if you’re wrong?”
He didn’t turn around, but he didn’t walk away either.
“What if I’d still want you? And you just pushed away the only person you’ve ever actually let close… and I’m not just talking about last night.”
She heard his breath catch sharply.
She couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine his expression vividly.
He hesitated briefly, then finally stepped out the door.
“You have twenty minutes. We can’t stay here any longer,” he said, his voice sounding distant.
The days began to resemble one another again. On the surface, everything seemed to have returned to its previous setting.
Five was practical again, planning, and at times almost irritatingly cynical. He talked about maps, temporal deviations, and the probabilities that the next timeline might be theirs. He slept little. Ate irregularly. He maintained the fire with the same care as before.
On the better days, they followed a familiar routine: trips to the surface for supplies, scouting new timelines and subway stations, planning.
On the worse days, they couldn’t avoid danger, rushed retreats back into the subway, and tending to injuries afterward. On those days they had to rely on each other even more.
They never spoke about what had happened.
Not once.
And yet it didn’t disappear.
Lila began noticing it in small things.
The way he sometimes watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking - not the quick checking glance she was used to, but longer. A second longer than necessary.
The way he handed her a food ration and his fingers brushed hers for a moment, and he pulled his hand back too quickly, too noticeably.
The distance was deliberate. And that was exactly what made it strange, because she could feel him controlling himself.
It wasn’t coldness. It wasn’t indifference. On the contrary, sometimes she felt his attention was stronger than before, that he protected her more than necessary. He just kept it under control, as if trying to restore precisely the distance that had existed between them before.
It was the distance of someone who felt too much - and had decided to do nothing about it.
After three months, it was becoming unbearable. She had decided to talk about it again. To resolve it.
That day, before she had the chance, they stepped out into a familiar subway station.
That day they found their timeline. And everything else was pushed aside.
The taxi stopped. She paid, stepped out, and stood on the sidewalk for a moment.
Then she headed into the apartment building. At his door she raised her hand and, after a brief hesitation, knocked.
For a moment she thought he simply wouldn’t open. That this would end here and she would just leave again.
The sound of approaching footsteps snapped her out of it.
The lock clicked and the door opened.
“Lila?” he said. “Is… everything okay?”
Five stood in the doorway, wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his expression more focused than surprised. He looked at her as if he needed to rule out the possibility he had imagined her.
“No. It isn’t.”
She stepped forward, grabbed his shirt, and kissed him.
He hadn’t expected it.
His body reacted before his mind, he returned the kiss almost instinctively, as though only then realizing what was happening.
And that was the moment he pulled back.
He looked at her from up close, startled. The same expression as back then, that brief instant when he stopped having control.
“Lila—”
“No,” she said before he could continue and invited herself inside.
He was still in the doorway, so he stepped aside without fully realizing it. He closed the door behind her; she felt his gaze on her back as she looked around.
The apartment was quiet. A lamp lit the living room, an unfinished book lay on the table, everything exactly as she would have expected from him.
She turned toward him.
“You shouldn’t—”
“No, really, don’t,” she cut him off. “Now you’re going to listen.”
For a moment he inhaled as if to protest.
“All those things you said back then? None of them matter. And you know why? I won’t let the past dictate the future, and neither should you.”
She held his gaze with complete determination.
“Maybe I’m crazy,” she continued faster. “Maybe I remember it wrong. Maybe I dressed it up because it was the only good thing in that time hole.”
She stepped closer.
“But I know what I felt.”
Five didn’t move.
“Because of you, for the first time I felt like someone wanted me in their life just for me. Not because of my abilities, not because it was expected, not because of family ties. Even if it made no logical sense and maybe wasn’t entirely right.”
Her voice faltered for a moment, but she didn’t stop.
“And you know what? It was beautiful,” she breathed. “And it was strange and terrifying. And maybe I should hate you again, because you took that feeling away right after.”
She laughed shortly, without humor.
“But I can’t.”
She looked straight into his eyes.
“You can pretend it meant nothing to you. Like it was just another thing you could lock in a drawer and forget.”
She shook her head.
“But you can’t fool me. I saw it on your face, it wasn’t just a moment of weakness.”
She paused briefly before adding softly,
“It was everything to you. I could see it. And I miss what that felt like.”
Five didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
For a moment there was no defense in him, no irony, no cold logic he hid behind. Only silence and an expression that confirmed her words more than any sentence.
“Then why?” she asked.
He stayed silent.
She shook her head and stepped toward him.
“Why did you ruin it? Why did you take it away from both of us?”
No answer again.
He only watched her, as though weighing a response and knowing none would be enough. His silence frustrated her and she shoved him with her palms. He let her. Didn’t resist.
“Why, damn it?!”
She pushed him again until his back hit the wall. He kept watching her, arms hanging loosely at his sides, as if accepting he deserved this.
She stepped close.
Anger, frustration… and desire burned in her eyes.
There was no space left between them. Her hand rested on his chest and slowly moved across it. Beneath her palm she felt his fast, uneven heartbeat.
She lifted her eyes to his.
“Still,” she whispered.
Her thumb brushed lightly over his shirt, as if she needed to confirm it.
She leaned closer, her forehead almost touching his.
“So why?” she repeated softly. “I deserve an answer.”
Five closed his eyes for a second.
When he opened them, he didn’t look calm anymore. For the first time since she arrived, not like someone willing to let it go.
“Because,” he began slowly, his voice lower than usual, “if I hadn’t stopped… I wouldn’t have been able to let you go.”
She didn’t break eye contact.
“But you had countless good reasons to let me go at the first opportunity.”
It sounded like simple, cold logic, strike first to avoid a fatal wound later.
“So if I left now, for good… could you handle it?”
Five didn’t move, but his expression shifted for a moment. A brief tension in his jaw he immediately suppressed.
Lila didn’t remove her hand from his chest. She felt his heart beating faster beneath her palm.
“If I found someone, because as a divorced, single woman I easily could,” she continued, voice dropping to a whisper, “if I belonged to someone else… would you be okay with that?”
His shoulders were still against the wall, but his hands trembled slightly, fists clenched as if holding himself in place by force. He tried to keep a neutral expression but couldn’t fully hide how much the thought affected him.
“Because by your logic you ended it in time,” she added gently, her hand sliding a little higher on his chest.
His breath caught.
“So you should handle it just fine,” she said.
He wasn’t looking at her calmly anymore.
There was something raw in his eyes he had never allowed before, not anger, but the moment he stopped hiding how much the thought hurt him.
His hand finally moved and caught her wrist.
Not painfully, but firmly enough to stop her.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
For the first time it wasn’t rational.
It was a plea.
She tilted her head slightly. “Why not?”
She saw the conflict in his eyes, resolve battling something far more unguarded.
“Because you know,” he answered at last.
“No,” she whispered. “I want you to say it.”
She didn’t pull her hand away. Instead she turned it in his grasp and laced her fingers with his so he wasn’t holding her anymore, they were holding each other.
“Tell me why,” she repeated softly.
Five inhaled, but the answer still struggled to come. His gaze dropped briefly to their joined hands and then back to her eyes.
“Because,” he began slowly, “it wasn’t early enough.”
Lila smiled faintly. “No… it wasn’t.”
The realization of how deeply she had gotten under his skin made her own pulse quicken.
“Don’t you ever think about that night? The one where you wanted me again… and again…”
A familiar gleam appeared in her eyes as she enjoyed provoking him.
“Lila…” his voice was low, tense, almost a warning.
She didn’t stop.
“You never wondered what it would be like again, here in your apartment, or at work? When you were alone and—”
“Stop.”
This time he lost restraint. Not rough, but decisive. Now she was the one pressed against the wall, and he stood close before her, hands braced beside her shoulders so she couldn’t avoid his gaze.
His breathing was shallower, composure gone.
She smiled again.
Not mocking, a quiet confirmation she had finally made him stop running.
“So you do,” she whispered.
Five stared at her, his eyes darker now. “You know I do.”
He closed his eyes briefly, his forehead almost touching hers.
“That’s the problem,” he said softly.
His hand slid from her shoulder to her wrist.
“I can’t get you out of my head.”
Silence followed his confession.
She didn’t push him now. She was simply there.
She felt the uneven rhythm of his breathing. His hand still held her wrist, but no longer to stop her, as if he feared she might leave.
“What do you want from me?” he asked quietly.
She lifted her eyes to his.
“I want you to make love to me.”
Five didn’t move.
For a moment everything stilled, his shoulders, his breathing, his expression. He just looked at her, something in his eyes he tried to suppress and failed.
“I want you,” she repeated softly.
He closed his eyes for a second, as if trying to drag himself back to reason, to the arguments he had repeated so often. His fingers loosened around her wrist… then tightened again.
“No,” he said quietly. Not refusal. A last attempt.
He didn’t step away, and she pressed closer to him.
“Please…”
That single word broke his resistance.
He inhaled sharply as if struck physically.
He pulled her to him and kissed her.
With urgency he had carried for months since that night, like someone who had imagined doing this again countless times and forbidden it just as often.
His hand slid from her wrist to her back and held her tighter.
And then the world disappeared.
A blink and the living room was gone.
They appeared in the bedroom.
Five barely pulled back, only enough to be sure she was steady, then drew her close again. As if afraid that if he let go even for a second, one of them might change their mind.
This time it was different than in the abandoned house.
Lila felt his kisses against her skin, lingering and wanting. He wasn’t seeking permission anymore, wasn’t looking for reassurance it wasn’t a mistake. He touched her with attention and tenderness that felt deeply personal, every movement meant only for her.
The apartment’s silence filled with their breathing, soft sounds, the whisper of her name carrying through the unusually still night. For the first time he didn’t try to control it, didn’t hold distance, didn’t retreat to reason.
He stayed.
As if he had accepted he was already lost and there was no way back.
Later, lying beside each other, he pulled her closer, truly, not cautiously like before. His arm wrapped around her more tightly, as if allowing himself again to need her closeness.
His head rested near her hair and his breathing gradually steadied.
Lila closed her eyes.
In the quiet she remembered his words, the confession he had never wanted to say aloud.
If I hadn’t stopped… I wouldn’t have been able to let you go.
For the first time in months, she slept easily.
Somehow, this was everything.