What We Do in the Dark

Maya stared at her screen, but nothing made sense.

Her fingers hovered above the keyboard. The open spreadsheet blurred before her eyes. Numbers and names and tasks—none of them registering. She blinked hard and leaned back in her chair.

Across the desk, Zara glanced up from her own work and narrowed her eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Maya said, too fast. “Just tired.”

Zara didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. Maya was grateful for that. She couldn’t explain the hum under her skin or the way her body kept reacting to memories like they were happening in real time. The curve of Elias’s mouth. The way he gripped her thigh with one hand and cradled the back of her neck with the other. How he looked at her like she was a storm he wanted to drown in.

She snapped out of it when her boss passed behind them and cleared his throat.

“Boyd,” he said flatly.

Maya looked up.

“You’re not being paid to draw.”

She frowned, confused—until she looked down.

Her notebook, the one she used for client notes, was open to a page where she had sketched Elias’s face. Not exactly, not photographically, but close enough to be recognizable. His sharp cheekbones. His eyes. The angle of his jaw. And below that, a messier sketch of a hand on a thigh. Her thigh. She shut the notebook quickly and muttered an apology.

Her boss didn’t say anything else. Just walked away.

Zara looked at her, one brow raised.

Maya shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“That didn’t look like nothing.”

“It’s fine.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Zara sighed, then leaned back. “Come out with me tonight. Drinks. Music. Something to shake off whatever trance you’re stuck in.”

“I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“Same thing.”

Zara rolled her eyes but didn’t push.

By the time Maya got home, the sky was dark and heavy with clouds. The streetlamps flickered to life as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, exhaustion trailing behind her like a second shadow.

She paused when she saw him.

Elias.

Sitting on the floor beside her door, back against the wall, legs stretched out like he had nowhere better to be. A plastic bag sat beside him.

Her heart stuttered.

“You okay?” she asked.

He looked up, his face unreadable. “You weren’t answering.”

“I’ve had a long day.”

“I brought those snacks you like.” He held up the bag. “The coconut ones. And the hibiscus soda.”

She blinked. “You remembered?”

“I remember everything about you.”

He stood slowly.

She didn’t move to unlock the door. Not yet.

“I’m not here for sex,” he said.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You don’t have to.”

She stared at him, keys clenched in her fist.

He stepped closer.

“I want to talk,” he said. “That’s all.”

She unlocked the door and let him in.

They sat on the couch in silence, the unopened snacks sitting between them like a peace offering neither of them wanted to touch just yet.

Maya folded her legs beneath her.

Elias leaned back and watched her.

“This thing between us,” he said, voice quiet, “you keep calling it just sex.”

“Because it is.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Maya. We’ve spent more time talking than fucking.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not? It’s the word you’ve been hiding behind.”

She flinched.

Elias leaned forward. “I’ve had sex. Plenty of it. You know what I haven’t had in years? This. Whatever this is.”

She shook her head. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“I’m not reading anything. I’m feeling it.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to need anyone.”

He didn’t answer.

“I don’t want to let someone crawl under my skin just to watch them walk out and take the best parts of me with them.”

Elias didn’t argue.

He reached for her hand. Didn’t force it. Just rested his fingers against hers.

“I know what it’s like to lose yourself in someone,” he said. “To give too much, too fast, and forget how to pull back.”

“Then why do you want to do it again?”

“Because for once, I think it might be worth it.”

She turned her face away. Her throat tightened. The room suddenly felt too small, too quiet, too still.

He moved closer, not to kiss her, not to touch her in that way. Just to be there.

His voice dropped lower.

“If this is going to burn,” he said, “then let’s make it hurt the right way.”

Her eyes snapped to his.

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. A touch so light it barely existed.

She didn’t move.

He stood, gathered the bag, and walked to the door.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

And then he left.

Just like that.

No attempt to stay. No push. No pressure.

Just a choice.

Left hanging in the air like a question.