“It has strong opinions.”
“You moved out of the bedroom for me.”
“I gave you space.”
“You exiled yourself to a broken couch.”
“Exile suggests punishment.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
Noah studied me.
“You don’t have to protect me from every honest answer.”
I looked down at my hands.
The knuckles carried small cuts from work. Resin remained beneath one thumbnail despite washing.
“Sleeping here made me sad,” I said.
His expression softened.
“But waking up in the same building as you made me grateful. Both can be true.”
“You could have asked whether I wanted you gone.”
“You didn’t know me.”
“I know you now.”
“You know me differently.”
“Yes.”
He ran his fingers over the sweater collar.
“Does that make it less real?”
“No.”
The word came immediately.
“No.”
I reached for his hand.
He gave it.
“You do not have to become the man you were for anything between us to count.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Sometimes.”
