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"What happens now?" you ask.
When I opened them, you were closer. Close enough that I could see the gold flecks in your irises. Close enough that breathing felt like a shared act.
The afternoon had started with the kind of mundane silence that made you believe nothing would ever change. Sunlight stretched across the living room carpet, and the only sound was the occasional clink of a spoon against a coffee mug.
You nodded, your fingers tracing the edge of the photograph. "You left early. Said you had a headache."
This was the moment. The cliff edge. I'd played it out in my head a hundred times—what I'd say, how I'd resist, how I'd protect the careful architecture of our friendship. But theory and reality are different beasts.
"It can happen so fast," you whispered. Not a question. An acknowledgment.
"What happens now?" you ask.
When I opened them, you were closer. Close enough that I could see the gold flecks in your irises. Close enough that breathing felt like a shared act.
The afternoon had started with the kind of mundane silence that made you believe nothing would ever change. Sunlight stretched across the living room carpet, and the only sound was the occasional clink of a spoon against a coffee mug.
You nodded, your fingers tracing the edge of the photograph. "You left early. Said you had a headache."
This was the moment. The cliff edge. I'd played it out in my head a hundred times—what I'd say, how I'd resist, how I'd protect the careful architecture of our friendship. But theory and reality are different beasts.
"It can happen so fast," you whispered. Not a question. An acknowledgment.