The weight of Mordred's words still hung in the air, heavier than the smell of breakfast lingering in the kitchen. He hadn't meant to say it—at least, not so easily. But now, there it was, out in the open. A confession he couldn't take back.
Nevaeh didn't press him further. Instead, she simply finished her toast, as if his admission was the most natural thing in the world. It should have irritated him, the way she could take things so lightly, but instead, it only made him feel… safe.
She belonged here.
And that terrified him.
Mordred pushed his plate aside, folding his arms on the table. "So, since I'm 'stuck' with you now, what exactly does that mean?"
Nevaeh hummed thoughtfully, sipping her coffee. "I guess it means you better get used to having actual food in your fridge. And me stealing your hoodies."
"I noticed that already," he muttered, eyeing the fabric still draped over her frame. "You wear them better than I do."
"Obviously," she teased, flashing him a grin. "But more than that…" She set her cup down, meeting his gaze with a rare seriousness. "It means you don't have to be alone anymore. If you don't want to be."
Mordred exhaled, leaning back in his chair. He wasn't sure what scared him more—the idea of letting her in completely or the thought of losing her if he did. But Nevaeh wasn't the type to wait for answers he wasn't ready to give.
She stretched, pushing her chair back with a small sigh. "Alright, superstar. I've got work to do, and you probably have a million interviews and rehearsals. What's the plan?"
Mordred frowned. "You're leaving?"
Nevaeh raised an eyebrow. "I do have a life, you know."
He knew she was right, but it still irritated him. He hated how easily she could just go about her day while he was still stuck on the moment they'd just shared.
"I'll see you later, then?" he asked, trying—and failing—not to sound desperate.
She grinned, stepping closer to ruffle his already-messy hair. "Of course, Mordred. You're stuck with me, remember?"
And with that, she walked away, leaving him alone in the quiet apartment. Mordred sat there for a long moment, staring at the empty chair across from him.
He had said it.
She hadn't run.
Maybe, just maybe, he really wasn't alone anymore.