Page 76 of The Valentine Agenda

He knocked, the sound too loud in the quiet hallway.

"Just a minute!" Hannah's voice came through the thin door. He heard movement inside—not many steps needed to cross her small studio—then the door opened, revealing Hannah standing beside a cardboard box, holding a photo frame half wrapped in newspaper.

His world tilted sideways.

"Hannah." His voice came out raw, desperate. She looked up, startled, as he stepped into her apartment without waiting for invitation. In the small space, her presence felt overwhelming. It was like pure oxygen when he had been starved of air.

She blinked at him. He looked wrecked, he knew—everything about him undone.

"James?" Her voice was soft with confusion. "What are you—"

"Please." The word felt like it was being ripped from his chest. "Just... tell me where you're going. I need to—" He broke off, unable to finish. Unable to say: I need to know where you'll be. Need to make sure you're taken care of. Need to find ways to show up for you even if you never want to see me again.

Hannah set down the frame carefully. "Are you okay? You look..."

"No." He laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "No, I'm not okay. I haven't been okay since I heard you were leaving, and I know I don't have any right to ask you to stay, and I won't. But I just—I need—"

He was babbling. James Park, who always knew exactly what to say, was falling apart in Hannah Miller's tiny studio while she watched with those gentle eyes that saw too much.

"James." She stood slowly. "What are you talking about?"

"You're moving." The words felt like glass in his throat. "I heard you tell Sophie, and I know it's my fault, I know I ruined everything, but I just—please, Hannah, please. I need to be with you. Wherever you're going. Need to make sure you'll be—"

He couldn't finish. Couldn't say all the things crushing his chest. Couldn't tell her how the thought of her leaving felt like dying. How he'd finally learned to love someone properly, only to lose her. How he—

"James," Hannah said again, and something in her voice made him look up. "I'm not leaving."

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"Upstairs?" James repeated the word like it was in a foreign language. "You're moving... upstairs?"

"5C to 8B." Hannah watched emotions chase across his face—confusion, realization, relief so profound it seemed to physically affect him. "Better windows. More storage space." She paused, then added softly, "A view of the park you said you liked watching change with the seasons."

James sank into the nearest chair like his legs couldn't hold him anymore, dropping his head into his hands. His shoulders shook with what might have been laughter or something dangerously close to tears. "I am," he managed finally, voice muffled, "the single dumbest man who has ever lived."

A sound escaped Hannah—something between a laugh and a sigh. Then another. Soon she was actually giggling, the kind of helpless laughter that bubbled up from somewhere real and unguarded.

"You're not leaving," James said again, lifting his head to stare at her like she might disappear if he looked away. His hair was a disaster from running his fingers through it, his usually pristine button-down wrinkled and half-untucked. He looked completely undone. "You're just... moving upstairs."

"Yes." Hannah's eyes were soft with something that made his heart stutter. "I'm staying right here. In this building. Where I straighten paintings and help with groceries and—"

"And organize art shows," James cut in, his voice rough. "And listen to people when they need to talk. And make everything better just by existing in it."

He stood abruptly, pacing her small living room like he couldn't contain the excess energy of his relief. "I've spent three days thinking I was losing you. Planning how I could somehow convince you to let me follow you wherever you were going. Imagining having to walk through this lobby knowing you weren't—"

He broke off, running shaky fingers through his already destroyed hair. "I couldn't bear it. Even if you never wanted meagain, I needed to be wherever you were. Just to know you were okay. To make sure you had someone to fix things and notice details and—"

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" Hannah's voice was gentle. "Because you thought I was leaving?"

"I wasn't avoiding you," he protested weakly, finally stopping his pacing to look at her properly. "I was... strategically relocating myself to minimize exposure to spaces that would remind me I was losing you. Again." He paused. "Although now that I say it out loud, that sounds exactly like avoiding you."

Hannah's laugh this time was quieter, but no less real. She moved closer, close enough that James's breath caught. "James Park," she said softly, reaching up to smooth his disastrous hair. "For someone so smart, you can be remarkably stupid sometimes."

He caught her hand before she could pull it away, pressing it against his thundering heart. "Only about important things," he admitted. "Only about you."

Hannah was smiling at him—really smiling. Not her careful teacher smile or her polite neighbor smile, but the one that had made Sarah reach for glitter paint, trying to capture its sparkle.

"You ran up five flights of stairs," she said, her free hand straightening his collar, "and burst into my apartment like a romance novel hero... because you thought I was moving away?"

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