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I step forward before I can stop myself. ‘Hey,’ I whisper.

A wide, bright smile takes over her face, and then she’s on me, arms around my neck, face pressed into my chest, as if she’s been holding in that hug for weeks. I wrap my arms around her, careful at first, then tighter. I forgot how small and warm she is. I bury my face into the side of hers, inhaling. My body relaxes, as if it finally understands where it is. She smells of soap and something soft underneath, something that’s just her: a lavender, flowery smell.

My eyes close without asking for permission, and the tiredness crashes over me all at once. It’s heavy now that I’m not fighting it anymore. My hands curl into the fabric of her singlet, feeling the heat and smoothness of her skin beneath it.

Her house is silent around us. There are no TVs blaring, no one yelling, no doors slamming. Just the soft whir of something electrical, and the faint tick of a clock somewhere. It feels wrong that a place this quiet exists.

‘You’re exhausted,’ she murmurs, like she can feel the fatigue leaking out of me.

‘Yeah,’ I exhale. ‘Long ride.’

I don’t tell her how close I was to falling asleep standing up. How my hands were shaking on the walk over. How the only thing keeping me upright was the thought of this exact moment. She shifts slightly, her cheek brushing mine, and my whole body lights up at the contact. My exhaustion doesn’t matter to me. I’d stay awake for days if it meant standing here with her, breathing her in, pretending for a second that I belonged in this quiet, clean place.

‘I missed you,’ she whispers.

‘Yeah,’ I say, still surprised to hear words like that come from such a beautiful girl. Words directed at me. ‘Me too.’

I pull the flowers out from behind my back and hold them out to her, suddenly unsure of them. They look pathetic in this house. Her eyes drop to them, then back to me.

‘Oh,’ she breathes.

She takes them like they’re something precious, her fingers gentle on the stems. Her smile is soft and genuine, much to my relief.

‘You picked them,’ she says.

‘Yeah.’

‘They’re gorgeous, thank you.’

Relief bubbles through me. She doesn’t think I’m stupid. She appreciates the thought. Bryn grabs my hand then, pulling me deeper into the house.

‘Quick. Isla’s in her room and Helen is still here. She won’t stay long.’

I let her lead me through corridors, taking in the crisp white walls and the way everything smells faintly of lemon and polish. There’s nothing out of place. There are no scuffed corners, no fingerprints on the light switches. My footsteps sound too heavy on the floorboards, even though I’m tiptoeing as soundlessly as I can.

Bryn moves confidently, her fingers tight around mine. We pass a doorway and I catch a glimpse of a bedroom with a made-up bed, its cushions lined up just right. Another hallway opens into a second living area – there’s one downstairs, I saw it through the window. Just one of them is the size of my kitchen, dining room and bedroom combined.

She guides me toward her room at the end of the hall. Her door’s already ajar, light spilling out from the gap. When we step inside, she closes the door quietly behind us. Her room isn’t as spotless as the rest of the house. Clothes are draped over a chair, a few books are scattered across a desk, and there’s a mug on the bedside table. She finally lets go of my hand. I stand there, unsure of what to do with myself, while she turns to me, her eyes kind and searching mine. For a second, neither of us speaks. The quiet presses in, thick and expectant.

‘It feels like I shouldn’t be here,’ I murmur, but I step closer anyway.

Her eyes flick to the door, then back to me, like she’s measuring the risk and deciding it’s worth it. The knowledge that I shouldn’t be here makes this feel forbidden and dangerous, which shouldn’t excite me as much as it does. Bryn reaches out, brushing my wrist before sliding her hand into mine again.

‘You should,’ she whispers. ‘Because I want you here.’

I don’t answer straight away, because I can’t get the words out. My throat tightens, as if my body doesn’t quite know what to do with that kind of certainty. I’ve never felt wanted or accepted like this before. No one ever said things like that to me when I was a kid. I learnt early in life not to expect this, not to need it, because need turns into disappointment real quick. So I learnt to be quiet. To take up less space. To leave before anyone could tell me to.

But Bryn’s words spread through me now, filling me with warmth. I swallow and nod, because if I try to speak, my voice might give me up. I grip her hand without thinking about it, brushing her knuckles with my thumb. I drop my forehead to hers, breathing her in again.

‘No one’s ever said that to me,’ I admit quietly.

She embraces me tighter, and I’m humiliated to admit that tears fill my eyes. The tiredness comes back then. She notices before I do, her hand sliding up my arm, steadying me.

‘You can sit,’ she murmurs.

I let out a shaky breath, something between a laugh and a sigh, and let her guide me down onto the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under my weight, much softer than what I’m used to. She sits beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. Her singlet fits her snugly, hugging her body, and her nipples pebble through the thin material. My eyes trace over her bronzed skin, and my hand moves to lightly touch strawberry-blonde hair. It’s softer than I expect. I let the strands slide between my fingers. I’ve always noticed her hair, the way it frames her face. It’s the kind of colour you don’t forget. I very rarely see anyone else with this exact shade. It’s beautiful and utterly Bryn.

‘Your hair,’ I murmur, quieter than I mean to. ‘It’s …’ I rub the end of it between my fingers. ‘Beautiful.’