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Deliberate.
Oh.
That was a mistake.
A big one.
“You don’t want this,” I repeat.
He stands.
Now we’re even closer.
No space.
No air.
No excuses.
“You really want me to say that?” he asks quietly.
My pulse spikes.
Traitor.
“Yes.”
Lie.
He knows it.
I know it.
We both ignore it.
“Fine,” he says.
A beat.
Then—
“I don’t want this.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Charged.
I swallow.
Hard.
His eyes track it.
Again.
Always.
