The warmth didn't come the next morning.
I woke slowly, half expecting to feel it waiting for me-that quiet pressure behind my ribs, the steady heat that had started to feel...familiar.
But there was nothing.
Just my heartbeat.
Just my breathing.
Mine alone.
I stayed in bed longer than usual, staring at the ceiling.
The apartment felt wrong again.
Empty in the way it used to be.
I told myself that it was a good thing.
Healthy.
Normal.
But something inside me kept listening for the second rhythm that wasn't there.
I rolled onto my side and pressed my palm lightly against my sternum.
Nothing pushed back.
A strange irritation flickered through me.
"Good," I muttered aloud. "Stay gone."
The words sounded less convincing than I intended.
~
Work was worse than the day before.
Every conversation felt distant.
Melissa waved from across the office, but she didn't come near my desk this time. Daniel avoided looking at me entirely.
Good.
That was easier.
Still, something inside my chest felt restless.
Not pain.
Not pressure.
Just...absence.
By the time I got home that evening, the silence felt louder than any noise.
I dropped my keys on the counter and stood there for a moment, staring at the dark apartment.
Nothing moved.
Nothing breathed.
"You don't get to just disappear," I said quietly.
No answer.
I laughed once under my breath.
"Listen to yourself, talking to an empty room. Talking to something that probably never existed in the first place."
Stress.
Residual hallucination.
That was all.
I made dinner without tasting it.
Turned on the television without watching it.
Eventually I turned the TV back off.
The quiet returned immediately.
My chest tightened.
I rubbed my arms, suddenly cold.
"You said I wasn't alone," I whispered.
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Silence followed.
Long enough that embarrassment crawled up my neck.
"Forget it," I muttered.
I pushed myself off the couch and walked toward the bedroom.
Halfway down the hall, the warmth returned.
It spread slowly beneath my ribs, cautious at first.
Testing.
My breath caught.
I stopped walking.
The heat deepened, steady and familiar.
Like someone stepping close behind me after waiting for permission.
I closed my eyes.
"You heard that," I said softly.
A faint vibration moved through my chest.
Yes.
I swallowed.
"You left."
The warmth shifted slightly.
Not defensive.
Just...present.
"You said you waited," I continued. "So why disappear now?"
For a moment I thought it wouldn't answer.
Then the voice returned.
Quiet.
Close.
"I thought you didn't want me."
My fingers tightened against my arms.
"You tried to stop me yesterday."
Images flashed through my mind-Daniel's hand, the sudden surge of heat, the way I had pulled away.
"That was different."
"How?"
The question came without accusation.
Just curiosity.
I hesitated.
Because the honest answer sounded ridiculous.
"You got...jealous."
Silence lingered between us.
Then the warmth shifted upward along my spine.
Slow.
Intentional.
"You did not like him touching you."
"That's not the point."
"But you did not."
I opened my mouth to argue.
Nothing came out.
Because it wasn't wrong.
"I don't need you deciding things like that," I finally said.
"I did not decide."
The warmth pressed gently around my ribs.
"You did."
My stomach tightened.
"That doesn't make sense."
"You moved away."
It was right again.
I hated that.
"You're twisting it."
"I am observing."
The matter-of-fact tone made my jaw clench.
"You don't know anything about me."
The warmth pulsed once.
"I know when your heart speeds up."
A second pulse.
"I know when your hands shake."
My breath slowed without permission.
"And I know," it continued quietly, "when you feel alone."
I didn't answer.
Because the warmth was spreading again-steady and careful, following the curve of my spine exactly the way it had the night before.
Not trapping.
Just holding space.
My shoulders relaxed before I could stop them.
"You shouldn't do that," I whispered.
"You like it."
"That's not the point."
"What is the point?"
I opened my eyes and stared at the dark hallway.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked the question I'd been avoiding since the hospital.
"What are you?"
The warmth stilled.
"I do not know the word you would use."
"That's not an answer."
"It is the only one I have."
My pulse ticked upward.
"You came with me from...wherever I was."
"Yes."
"You were waiting there."
"Yes."
"For what?"
A long pause followed.
Then:
"For someone who would let me stay."
The simplicity of the answer made my chest tighten.
"That sounds like a parasite."
Another pause.
"If that word is correct, you may use it."
I let out a breath.
"You're very calm about that."
"You are alive."
The warmth shifted slightly, closer to my heart.
"That matters more."
I leaned against the wall, suddenly tired.
"You can't stay forever."
Silence.
Then the warmth receded just enough for the absence to register.
The cold rushed in instantly.
I straightened.
"That's not what I meant."
"You said I could not stay."
"I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
The warmth pulled back farther.
My chest felt hollow again.
"Stop," I said quickly.
It paused.
Waiting.
I pressed my palm against my sternum.
The heat hovered just beyond reach.
"I just...don't understand you yet."
"You do not have to."
The warmth shifted closer again.
Slow.
Careful.
"You only have to let me remain."
My throat tightened.
Because that request sounded far too simple.
"Why me?" I asked.
Another long silence followed.
Then:
"You were empty."
The words should have offended me.
Instead they landed like truth.
"You shouldn't say things like that."
"They are accurate."
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor.
The warmth returned fully then, wrapping gently around my ribs.
Not tight.
Just close.
"You're getting comfortable," I murmured.
"You invited me."
I blinked.
"I certainly did not."
"You spoke to me."
A faint pulse of warmth.
"You asked where I was."
I stared down at my hands.
"That's not the same thing."
"You called."
The warmth tightened slightly.
"And I answered."
My breath slowed.
Because the worst part was...
It wasn't wrong.
I had called.
And I had wanted it to answer.
That realization made my stomach twist.
"You shouldn't be this easy to talk to," I said quietly.
"Why?"
"Because you're not supposed to exist."
The warmth pressed gently against my spine.
"But I do."
I closed my eyes.
The apartment felt less empty again.
And that should have scared me more than it did.
Instead, after a long moment, I whispered:
"Stay tonight."
The warmth deepened immediately.
Not triumphant.
Not possessive.
Just relieved.
"I will."
And for the first time since I left the hospital, I fell asleep without listening for silence.