She's on the fence

She exhales slowly, her green eyes holding mine like she's mapping the edges of this new truth. "It matters," she echoes, almost to herself, her thumb still circling my skin in that absent rhythm. The patio buzzes around us, clinking glasses, a child's laugh cutting through the humid air, but it feels distant, muffled by the weight between us. "You've got this thing in your head, pulling strings, and you're telling me to rebuild trust? God, I don't know if I can wrap my mind around it yet." Her voice wavers, not breaking but fraying at the ends, a flicker of fear shadowing her freckles.

I nod, keeping my grip steady. "You don't have to. Not all at once. Just know I'm not weaving you in. Ever."

We linger over the cooling pizza, picking at slices while the conversation drifts to safer ground. Work gripes, the trail hike she took last weekend, the ridiculous deadline Mark dropped on my desk Friday. Her laughter comes quieter now, tentative, but it comes. By the time the check arrives, the sun has shifted, casting long shadows across the gravel patio. She pays her half, a small wall rebuilt in that simple act of independence, and as we stand, she brushes against my arm. "Walk me to my car?" she asks, softer.

The parking lot behind the brewery is scattered with sedans and a few trucks, the asphalt radiating heat. Her sundress sways as we move, ponytail bouncing lightly. At her door, keys in hand, she hesitates again, eyes flicking to mine. "This scares me," she admits plainly, leaning against the Honda's fender. "Not just the app, but what it could make you." But her fingers snag my shirt front, holding me there. "Text me later. Maybe come over tonight? We can just talk, keep it casual. No pressure."

Relief tightens in my chest, and I lean in, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "Yeah. I'd like that." She slides into the car, waves once, and drives off, taillights fading into the Sunday traffic. I walk the three miles home, the exposure humming but silent, my phone heavy in my pocket. The apartment building looms familiar, brick facade baking under the noon sun. I climb the stairs two at a time, mind replaying her hand in mine, the flush on her cheeks from Lila's gaze. For the first time in days, the symbiote's pull feels distant, a low thrum rather than a demand.