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2025-09-20 02:55:42
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contractually yours 29
Layla almost talked herself out of going. She wasn’t in the mood for a party, not really. Not after last night, not after tossing and turning until dawn with thoughts of Ethan and that gym story. But her best friend Nora had texted her three times, insisting she show up to the party. Ethan had called too, saying he’d swing by her place so they could go together. And still, Layla sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the shoes in her hand, wondering if it was worth it.She preferred quiet nights, a blanket, a good book or a messy project to edit. But Ciara had begged, and Ethan… well, Ethan had said it would be “fun.”Fun. With him, that word carried danger. She sighed and slipped on the shoes, grabbing her bag before she could change her mind.When Ethan knocked, she opened the door and found him leaning in the frame like he always did...too casual, too confident. His hair was still damp from a shower, and his shirt fit just right across his shoulders.“Wow,” he said, giving her a sl
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Layla was curled up in bed with her laptop still glowing on the blanket beside her. The apartment was quiet, except for the faint hum of her old fridge in the corner. It was late, too late really, but she could not sleep. She had finished editing photos earlier and had told herself she would go to bed early for once. Instead, she had fallen into the trap of endless scrolling.Her thumb flicked lazily across her phone screen, one post after another. Makeup tutorials. A recipe video. A meme that made her snort quietly into the dark. She kept scrolling, her mind half here and half on the ceiling.And then she saw it.Ethan’s story.Her stomach tightened without warning. She tapped it, not really sure why, maybe curiosity, maybe habit.The first clip was simple enough. He was at the gym, camera tilted upward, sweat dripping down his temple. His caption read “Late night grind”. He looked good. Too good. She hated that she noticed.The next clip made her freeze. Ethan wasn’t alone. He was s
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Ethan wasn’t supposed to care this much.That’s what he kept telling himself the whole way home after leaving Layla’s apartment.She had looked at him with those wide eyes, asking why he cared. He’d nearly told her the truth right there, that she mattered more than he wanted to admit. But then he’d cracked a joke instead, because jokes were safe.Safe was easier.But the truth was, the second he’d seen her story yesterday, that blurry glass across the table, the ache in his chest had been real. Stupidly real.He hated Derek on principle. Hated the way the guy had hurt her before. Hated that Layla had agreed to see him again at all. But what burned the most was knowing Derek had still been sitting across from her, smiling at her, talking to her. And Ethan hadn’t.By evening, Ethan was pacing his living room, restless. He’d tried working out, but even the punching bag hadn’t helped.His phone buzzed on the counter. A message from Layla."Got the photos sent off. Deadline met. I’m offici
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Layla’s phone buzzed while she was still wiping down her tiny desk. She almost ignored it, until she saw the name.Derek.Her ex.She hadn’t seen his name in weeks, months even. And yet, the moment it appeared, all those old knots in her chest tightened."Hey. Been a while. Want to grab lunch?" The message said.Her thumb hovered over the screen. She should ignore it. She knew she should. Derek was her past, and for good reason. But some part of her, the stubborn part, the scared part, whispered that maybe meeting him was a good idea. A reminder.A reminder that Ethan wasn’t real. That whatever was happening between them was temporary, pretend. That she couldn’t afford to get swept up in something that would only break her later.So she typed back. "Sure. Lunch is fine."---The café smelled of coffee beans and buttered bread. Derek was already there, lounging back in his chair like he owned the place. Same easy grin, same pressed shirt, same cologne that once made her weak in the kne
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Ethan stayed leaned back against the couch, eyes on the ceiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. But Layla could see the way his jaw worked, the little tic that always showed when he was holding something in. Her apartment was still, except for the faint hum of the fridge and the muffled noise of cars outside. After hours of moving things around, the silence felt heavier than it should. Layla hugged the pillow tighter to her chest. She tried to look relaxed, but her body buzzed like she’d had too much coffee. Every detail of the last hour kept replaying in her mind....his hand on her waist, his eyes catching hers, the way their fingers had locked too long over the box. She couldn’t stop feeling the ghost of his touch on her skin. “You’re quiet,” Ethan said finally, turning his head toward her. His voice was calm, but softer than usual. Layla shrugged. “Just… tired, I guess.” “Tired?” He smirked. “You made me do all the work.” That pulled a laugh out of her, and the ten
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Layla wasn’t exactly sure what had possessed her to text Ethan that morning. Her studio apartment wasn’t a mess, not really, just small, cramped, and filled with more books, clothes, and random knickknacks than the square footage could politely handle. She’d been meaning to rearrange the place for months, convince herself she could “open it up” somehow, make it feel less like a shoebox. But the truth? She could have handled it herself. She usually did. Still, when her thumbs hovered over her phone, the words that came out were: "Hey. Any chance you’re free later? I could use an extra pair of hands to move stuff around my apartment." Extra pair of hands. Right. Totally innocent. Not at all an excuse to see him again after their nonstop texting yesterday. When his reply came back within minutes, "Sure.", her heart had skipped like she was sixteen again. Now, hours later, she stood in the middle of her living room-slash-bedroom-slash-office, biting her lip and rearranging throw pil
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