I step closer, deliberately closing the space.
“It means you’re not as unaffected as you want to be,” I say.
“That changes nothing.”
“Sure.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
She exhales sharply, frustration flickering through her expression.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That,” she says, gesturing slightly. “Turn it into something it’s not.”
I study her for a moment, letting the silence stretch.
“You pulled away,” I say.
“Yes.”
“But not before you stepped in,” I reply.
Her gaze locks onto mine, sharp and steady.
“That was a mistake.”
“Then why didn’t you stop it?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer right away, and the silence that follows stretches longer than it should.
“That’s not relevant,” she says finally.
“It is if it changes how we work together,” I reply.
“It doesn’t.”
I step closer again, closing the remaining space between us.
“You keep saying that,” I say quietly.
“Because it’s true.”
“Or because you need it to be.”
Her breathing quickens, just slightly, and I catch it.
“I don’t need anything,” she says.
“Yeah,” I reply. “That’s what worries me.”
She drags a hand through her hair, forcing her focus back into place.
“We’re getting off track,” she says.
