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I smile despite myself.

Bentley84: Management?

“You have strong I’ve-chaired-a-committee energy.”

My laugh is quiet, but real.

Bentley84: Unfortunately accurate.

“Knew it.”

Bentley84: My official review is that you should do what comes naturally.

“That’s vague.”

Bentley84: Just honest.

“Maybe I need specifics.”

I look at the words. The heat, dulled by release, stirs again.

This is dangerous territory. The place every other viewer would rush toward without shame.

Bentley84: I don’t want to direct you.

“Everybody wants to direct me. You’re different?”

I stare at the question.

Bentley84: I try to be.

Clint reads it, and something in his face softens again.

“Yeah,” he says. “You do.”

The simplicity of that undoes me more than praise would have. I sit back into the couch, suddenly aware of the damp cooling on my skin.

Clint looks directly in the camera. I can almost pretend he sees me.

“You there?” he asks.

Bentley84: Yes.

“Got quiet.”

Bentley84: So did you.

“Yeah.” He glances down, thumb moving over something off-screen. “This is weird.”

Bentley84: Bad weird?

He considers that.

“No.” He looks back at the camera. “No, not bad.”

I should let that be enough. I should say goodnight.

Instead, I wait.