I mean – [He looks down at the smushed and battered and remembers that softness that he let crop up in the quiet moments when it was easy to close his eyes and let go and breathe. And maybe, just remember that he isn’t cheating on Maria for the fucking thrill. And anyone within a city block could tell that.
Easier to get calls in the middle of the night. Easier to sneak over when everyone’s sleeping. Easier to disappear for a week and tell no one that he’s one door over. To ghost his way through this than to admit any semblance of depth.
He shakes his head at it.] – I don’t really give a shit, but if it makes you feel less weird for bringing me fucking flowers.
[The laugh he chokes out is nervous at best and he doesn’t even want to think about what it sounds like at worst.] I thought-- [No, it doesn’t matter what he thought. He tucks those words away for later, when they can both laugh about them with a little less at stake.]
I’m just-- Sorry. You know--
[He shakes his head and glances around; too used to having the privacy of his apartment to say whatever he wants aloud in.]
I shouldn’t say this here, but you know... what you mean to me. More than him. So much more. And I saw flowers, so--















