Always Not Enough

The silence that followed his confession was deafening.

The walls I'd spent years building around myself felt like they were closing in, squeezing my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I stared at the floor, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. Malyen's words — his promise to fix things — hung in the air, raw and trembling.

But I couldn't speak. I couldn't look at him. Guilt and longing tangled in my mind, Cedric's steady face clashing with the storm inside me.

Finally, Malyen exhaled, the sound low and defeated. I heard him shift, his boots scraping softly against the hardwood as he stepped back. The warmth of his presence started to retreat, leaving behind a chill I didn't know how to face.

His voice was barely a whisper. "I'll go."

I closed my eyes, every fiber of my being telling me to let him walk away. It would be easier that way. Cleaner. No more painful memories, no more messy emotions, no more risk of everything falling apart.

But as his footsteps moved toward the door, something inside me cracked open — something raw and desperate that refused to be ignored.

My hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his wrist.

His skin was warm, the pulse beneath my fingers frantic and unsteady. He froze. The air between us thickened, electric and trembling. For a moment, neither of us moved.

He turned slowly, his blue-green eyes wide with confusion and something else — something fragile and aching.

"Jupe?" he murmured, his voice rough.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight, my hand trembling where it held onto him. I couldn't look at him directly; instead, my gaze stayed locked on where our skin touched — on the connection I couldn't bring myself to break.

"Don't go," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

His breath hitched. I felt the slight tremor in his muscles, the war between hope and doubt raging beneath his skin.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice so quiet, so careful, like he was afraid the wrong word might shatter everything.

I wasn't sure. My mind screamed no, but my heart... my heart held on, pulling him back from the edge.

I nodded, my fingers tightening just a little. "Stay."

For a heartbeat, the world held still. And then he took a step forward, closing the distance, his eyes never leaving mine. The storm in them had calmed, just a little, replaced by something softer, something dangerously close to hope.

And for now, that was enough.

"Water? Tea?" My voice broke the moment.

"Water's good," he murmured.

I moved to the kitchenette, the sound of running water filling the space. When I turned back, Malyen was standing in front of my canvases, his eyes tracing the swirls of color and chaos.

His fingers hovered near the edge of a painting — deep blues and grays streaked with flashes of gold. He didn't touch it, but his gaze was full of something raw and reverent.

"You made this?" His voice was low, awed.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"It's incredible," he said, his eyes meeting mine. "The way the light fights through the darkness... it's like you're showing the beauty in the mess."

A tight ache settled in my chest. He saw what I couldn't explain. What my mother never saw.

"Not everyone thinks so," I whispered.

He took a step closer, his voice gentle. "She doesn't get it. But I do."

Mom. A woman so entangled with my traumas.

His words slipped past my defenses, settling into places I'd tried to protect. He reached out, brushing a curl away from my cheek. The warmth of his fingers lingered for a heartbeat longer than it should have.

"I always did," he said softly.

I swallowed, my grip tightening on the glass. The air between us felt delicate, a thread pulled taut. And for the first time in years, I felt seen — not for who I was supposed to be, but for who I was.

I settled onto the sofa, my shoulders sinking under an invisible weight. Malyen took the seat next to me, not too close, but close enough that the warmth of him settled in my skin. The glass of water sat on the coffee table, untouched.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't hostile, just... uncertain. Like neither of us knew where to start.

He finally broke the stillness. "It's been a long time."

I nodded, staring at my hands. "Five years."

He let out a breath, heavy and ragged. "Feels longer."

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at something deep in my chest. I glanced at him, the shadows under his eyes darker than I remembered. "You've been busy."

He laughed, but it was a hollow sound, not like the Malyen, who's laugh made my knees weak. "Busy. Yeah. That's one way to put it."

I turned toward him, curiosity overriding my hesitation. "Is it everything you wanted? The music, the fame?"

His jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor. "It was... loud. And for a while, the noise was better than the silence." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But it never felt real. Just... endless shows, parties, the same faces pretending to care."

He looked up, his eyes raw. "I lost myself in it. Thought maybe if I stayed lost, I wouldn't have to feel how much I'd screwed everything up."

A lump formed in my throat. "Malyen..."

He shook his head. "No, it's alright."

The regret in his voice was a sharp edge against my ribs. I swallowed hard. "I've been running too, you know."

His gaze softened. "I figured. The traveling, the art. Did it help?"

"Some days." I paused, the weight of my memories pressing in. "But sometimes, it felt like I was just collecting pieces of myself I didn't know what to do with."

He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Ellie kept me sane. She talked about you, you know, when you came back. How proud she was of her cool art teacher." A small smile tugged at his lips. "I think she always knew you were better than what I let happen."

I smiled faintly, my heart twisting. "She's a good kid. Stronger than both of us."

"She is." He sighed. "She believes I can fix things. That I can be better."

"She's not wrong," I murmured before I could stop myself.

His eyes met mine, a fragile hope flickering there. "You think so?"

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice shaking. "But... maybe."

We sat with that tentative truth for a moment. The quiet between us grew heavier, shadows of the past lurking at the edges. The subject I'd been avoiding surfaced before I could push it back down.

"My mom has been calling," I said, the bitterness creeping into my voice. "She's never had anything good to say, so I've been avoiding her."

He frowned, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "She doesn't see you. Not the way you deserve to be seen."

I blinked back the sting of tears. "Maybe it's my fault. Maybe I didn't try hard enough to make her understand."

"Jupe." His voice was rough, almost a whisper. "You shouldn't have to fight to be understood. Not by the people who are supposed to love you."

A memory floated its way up my mind, fast and urgent.

I was seventeen.

I held the painting carefully, my fingers gripping the edges so tight my knuckles went white. It was my best work — a burst of color and light, layers of meaning in every brushstroke. My ticket into the program I'd dreamed of for years.

"Mom," I said, breathless with hope. "I finished. This piece — they will love it."

Nadia's eyes were cold, her lips pressed into a thin line. "You really think this is going to take you anywhere, Jupiter?"

My heart thudded painfully. "It already has. This program is everything I've worked for—"

"It's a distraction," she snapped. Her hand shot out, grabbing the edge of the canvas. "You're wasting your potential on this."

"No!" I clutched it tighter, panic flaring. "Mom, please, don't—"

With a swift, brutal motion, she tore the canvas from my grip, the sound of the wood splintering like a gunshot. She threw the canvas on the ground, then began stomping on it, her heels tearing through it.

My world tilted, disbelief and horror crashing through me as the painting — my dream — crumpled to the floor, destroyed.

Tears blurred my vision. "How could you?"

Her face was stone. "One day, you'll thank me."

But all I felt was a fracture deep in my chest, a crack that spread wide and endless.

I screamed at her, the words hot and furious, everything I'd held back for years erupting like a volcano. "I'm done! I can't do this anymore. I can't—" My voice broke. "I can't be what you want."

I turned and ran, the pieces of my dream scattered at her feet.

The memory hit me like a wave crashing over my head, dragging me under.

My mother's cold eyes.

The canvas splintered.

The sound of my dream being crushed beneath her heels.

I couldn't breathe.

The room tilted, the walls pressing in until they blurred at the edges. My chest tightened, a cold, vice-like grip wrapping around my lungs. I gasped, but the air felt thin, like I was trying to breathe through a straw. My hands started to shake, and tears started to fall.

"Jupe?" Malyen's voice sounded distant, muffled, like I was hearing it through water. His figure swam before me, edges fading in and out of focus.

I couldn't respond. My heart was pounding too fast, my vision narrowing to a tunnel. Every beat of my pulse echoed in my ears, drowning out everything else.

You're wasting your potential.

You're wasting your life.

You're a waste.

The words ricocheted inside my skull, louder, sharper. My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, my arms wrapping around myself as if I could hold all the broken pieces together.

"Hey, hey." Malyen's voice broke through the chaos, low and urgent. He crouched in front of me, his eyes wide with worry. "Jupe, look at me. Please."

His hands hovered near my shoulders, uncertain, shaking slightly. He hesitated, his fingers curling and uncurling, his gaze flickering with doubt and guilt. I could see the war inside him — the fear that he'd make it worse, the weight of all the times he'd already failed me.

For a moment, he stayed frozen, his breath shallow, his body rigid.

But the rawness of my pain, the way I crumpled before him, shattered his hesitation.

With a shaky exhale, he leaned closer, his voice trembling. "You're okay. You're here. With me. Just focus on my voice, okay?"

I shook my head, tears streaming down my cheeks. "I... I can't..." My chest spasmed, every breath a shallow gasp. I was drowning, slipping back into that moment, into the wreckage of what my mother had destroyed.

His hands trembled as they hovered over my shoulders, the fear of overstepping still etched on his face. Then his fingers brushed my cheek — a feather-light touch, hesitant but real.

"Breathe with me, Jupe. In and out. Slow."

He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I tried to match it, my breath catching and stuttering, but he stayed patient, his eyes never leaving mine.

"In... and out," he murmured, his voice a low anchor pulling me back. His thumb brushed gently against my cheek, grounding me in the present. "You've got this."

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, trying to focus on something real. His presence was real. His eyes, steady and sure, were real. The warmth of his hand against my cheek was real.

Slowly, the fog began to lift. The walls of the room settled back into place. My breaths came a little easier, the vice around my chest loosening its grip. I closed my eyes, gulping in air as my body shuddered.

When I finally looked up, his face was inches from mine. His expression was a mixture of concern and something else — something raw and aching.

"You're not a waste," he whispered, his voice rough. "Your art isn't a waste. She was wrong."

A sob escaped me, ragged and trembling. "I've spent so long trying to prove she's wrong. But sometimes... sometimes it feels like she was right."

He shook his head, fierce and determined. "She wasn't. You don't have to prove anything to her. Or to anyone." His eyes softened, his thumb brushing away a tear. "You're enough. Just as you are."

The quiet conviction in his voice cracked something inside me. Tears slipped down my cheeks, but this time, they felt like a release — like the pressure I'd carried for so long was finally breaking apart.

He hesitated for a heartbeat longer, guilt flickering in his eyes. Then his arms wrapped around me, careful and warm, holding me like I was something fragile, something precious.

His arms around me were careful, tentative, like he wasn't sure if I'd let him stay there. But I didn't pull away. I couldn't. His embrace wrapped around my broken edges, holding me together when I wasn't sure I could do it myself.

The warmth of him seeped into me, his steady breath against my hair grounding me. We stayed like that, wrapped in each other, the world beyond the walls of my loft fading to a distant hum.

His hand traced slow, soothing circles along my back, the rhythm familiar in a way that made my heart ache. The years between now and the last time he held me like this dissolved into nothing. I could almost believe we were just us again — two kids clinging to each other in the face of everything that threatened to tear us apart.

I breathed him in. Rain and regret clung to his clothes, but beneath it was a scent that was just Malyen — something that reached deep into my memories and tugged at things I'd buried.

His voice was a whisper, rough and uncertain. "I missed this."

My eyes stung, a fresh wave of tears threatening to fall. "Me too."

His fingers threaded through my curls, a slow, absent-minded motion that made me want to close my eyes and let the world slip away.

I pressed my forehead against his shoulder, my body sinking into his. The steady beat of his heart against my cheek was an anchor, tethering me to the present. His chest rose and fell in time with my breaths, and for a moment, we were in sync — like we used to be.

I pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes met mine, filled with an aching tenderness that made my chest tighten. His thumb brushed another tear from my cheek, his touch reverent.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Being this close again?"

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. "Yeah."

His lips curved into a sad smile. "Me too."

We weren't whole, but for this fleeting moment, we held each other together.

His fingers brushed the tear from my cheek, lingering for a moment too long.

The room felt suspended, caught between heartbeats, between breaths. The weight of everything unsaid — everything we'd fought against — wrapped around us like a slow, suffocating fog.

I didn't move. Neither did he.

The warmth of his hand on my face seeped into me, loosening the knots in my chest and tightening others in places I didn't want to acknowledge. I could feel his breath against my lips, shallow and uneven. His eyes searched mine, dark with uncertainty and longing, his thumb tracing a path along my jaw that left sparks in its wake.

"We shouldn't..." My voice was a tremor, breaking against the storm of my emotions. "Cedric..."

His jaw tightened, a flicker of guilt clouding his eyes. "And Marisol."

The names hung between us like ghosts, cold and accusing. The reminders of everything we were supposed to be, of the people we'd let into the empty spaces where we used to belong. But those spaces had never truly been filled. The hollowness remained, aching and raw.

"We should stop," I whispered.

But I didn't pull away. Neither did he.

His gaze dipped to my lips, and the air between us grew thicker, heavier — charged with an electric tension that made my skin hum. The world outside my loft faded, reduced to nothing but the space between us. The only sound was the pounding of my heart, the ragged edge of our breaths, and the rush of blood in my ears, like the low thrum of a bassline.

It was inevitable.

It had always been inevitable.

"Jupe..." His voice broke, his eyes glimmering with everything he was trying not to say.

I didn't know who closed the distance first. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was him. But suddenly, his lips were on mine, and the world cracked open.

The kiss was slow, hesitant — a question we'd been too afraid to ask. His lips moved against mine with a softness that contradicted the storm in my veins. It was a kiss soaked in regret and longing, in memories we'd buried and feelings we couldn't deny. His hand slid to my waist, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt like he was afraid I might vanish.

A shiver ran through me, my body leaning into his, drawn to his warmth, his familiarity, like a moth to a flame.

The hesitance cracked.

The kiss deepened, years of longing crashing over us in a wave that threatened to pull me under. His other hand cradled my face, his thumb sweeping across my cheek, as if trying to memorize every curve, every freckle, every piece of me he'd lost. I pressed closer, my fingers threading through his hair, holding onto him like he was the only solid thing left in my world.

The taste of him — of rain and whiskey, of regret and redemption — ignited a fire in my chest that burned through the layers of doubt and hesitation. The kiss was a surrender, a shattering of all the walls we'd built. We were breaking, breaking open and breaking apart, and somehow, it felt like being made whole.

I shouldn't be doing this.

This is a mistake.

But if it was, I didn't care. The weight of what we'd lost, of what we might still lose, pressed against us, but for this moment — this heartbeat — none of it mattered.

His hands tightened, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. His lips left mine just long enough for us to gasp in a breath before he kissed me again — deeper, more desperate. The kiss was a plea, a promise, a confession.

A tear slipped down my cheek, but I didn't know if it was from relief or despair. Maybe both.

I felt him pull back slightly, his breath hot and ragged against my lips. His forehead pressed against mine, our eyes closed, the silence between us trembling.

"We shouldn't have done that," I whispered, my voice shaky.

His fingers brushed along my jaw, his touch reverent. "I know."

But neither of us moved. We stayed wrapped in each other, suspended in a moment that couldn't last, but we were too afraid to let go.

I opened my eyes, and he was already looking at me, his gaze filled with so much raw emotion it stole my breath.

"What does this mean?" I whispered.

His jaw clenched, the flicker of doubt clouding his eyes. "I don't know. But I don't want it to end here."

A chill swept through me. Because I knew — we both knew — that everything was about to unravel.

And yet, even with the weight of reality crashing down around us, his arms were still my safest place — for now.