“Roads might open tomorrow morning,” Bennett said.
Jasper smiled, something bittersweet and real. “Good.”
Bennett studied him. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“I am,” Jasper said. “I just know some things end even when they’re not finished.”
Bennett’s chest tightened. “This is not finished.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Jasper looked at him carefully. “No.”
It wasn’t a question.
Bennett did not correct himself.
That night,as they lay in bed with careful space between them, Jasper stared at the ceiling and let himself feel hopeful.
The room was dark except for the faint glow from the window, snow reflecting ambient light from somewhere outside. The quiet felt thick, intimate in a way that had nothing to do with proximity.
“You still awake?” Bennett’s voice came from the darkness.
“Yeah,” Jasper replied.
“Can’t sleep?”
“Just thinking,” Jasper said.
Silence stretched. Then Bennett spoke again, quieter this time.
“What are you thinking about?”
Jasper considered lying. Deflecting. Making a joke.
Instead, he told the truth.
“I’m thinking about how different this is from what I expected,” Jasper said. “When we got stuck here, I thought it would be three days of tolerating each other. Maybe some forced politeness. Professional courtesy.”
“And instead?” Bennett prompted.
“Instead, I keep wanting to know more about you,” Jasper admitted. “Which is inconvenient.”
Bennett was quiet for a long moment. Jasper wondered if he’d said too much, pushed too far.
Then Bennett spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s inconvenient for me too.”
Jasper’s breath caught. The admission hung in the air between them, fragile and significant.
“Yeah?” Jasper said.
“Yeah,” Bennett confirmed.
Neither of them said anything else. But the space between them felt different now. Charged with possibility and acknowledgment.
Jasper smiled into the darkness.
