Dexter
A scene plays out on the screen, the glow flickering across the room as I reach for the popcorn and lean back into the couch.
“I like Noah,” I say.
“You do?” she asks, amused.
“Yeah. He’s got balls. Look at the guy she’s on a date with.” I shake my head, eyes still on the screen as Noah hangs from the Ferris wheel. “He’s weak. Not even fighting for his girl.”
Lexy huffs softly. “Some women would call this stalking.”
I turn toward her just as she lifts her soda. “I call it foreplay.”
She chokes instantly, soda spraying out as laughter bursts from her, bright and unfiltered. “Oh my God, Pan, you’re incorrigible.”
I hand her a napkin, completely unfazed. “Nope. Just saying it like I see it.”
She shakes her head, still laughing, wiping at her mouth. “I’m not even going to touch that.”
“Smart.”
The movie keeps playing, the sound filling the space between us as the teasing fades on its own, slipping into something quieter, softer, until neither of us is really talking anymore.
At some point, she shifts closer, her shoulder brushing mine, light at first, like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
I feel it immediately.
And I don’t move.
I could. It would take nothing to shift away, to put space back where it belongs, but I don’t. I let it stay, let the warmth of her settle against my side like it doesn’t affect me.
Like I don’t notice.
By the time the ending rolls around, the room has gone still, the kind of quiet that settles deeper than silence, pressing in around us as something heavier takes its place.
My eyes stay on the screen, but my jaw tightens as the weight of it sinks in.
“They went together…” I mutter, more to myself than to her.
Beside me, Lexy barely moves. “Yeah…” she says, soft and distant.
I glance at her.
She’s still looking at the screen, but her eyes are glassy now, tears slipping down her cheeks without her wiping them away, and something in my chest pulls tight, sharper this time, immediate in a way I don’t like.
My hand twitches before I catch it.
I force my gaze back to the screen.
She shakes her head slightly, like she’s trying to steady herself. “I think my parents would have been like that…” she says quietly, her voice thinner now. “If my dad ever got to grow old… you know.”
Yeah.
I know.
The thought lands heavy, settling somewhere deep and uncomfortable, because I can hear it in the way she says it. Not just missing him. Missing everything that was supposed to come after.
I don’t answer right away. I don’t know how to touch something like that without breaking it further, don’t know how to fix a kind of loss that isn’t fixable.
