When you knock on his door again tonight, he’s already awake. Staring at the wall. Waiting. My words ring in his ears, cloud his mind, and he doesn’t like that. He’s never had to think about this before. He’s always just accepted it because he loves you and any part of yourself you’re willing to give him. He’s never wondered if you love him back. He’s never imagined you might be the one who wants more.
You knock a second time before he gets up to answer. He opens the door and doesn’t say your name, just looks at you with those bedroom eyes of his, looks right through you, and for the briefest of moments, you falter. Sorry, wrong room. It’d be that easy, just turn and walk away. He’s not following the script. He’s supposed to be half asleep and he’s supposed to yawn now, cover his mouth wi
