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There's a moment that flickers across your mind. A thought. Should you pull the trigger— answer the question.
It's not a new scene, but something about the heat of the coffee mug in your palms, him leaning on the counter bracing his weight on his hands—large and warm and crooked in strength—that leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
"Why? You interested?"
You shouldn't be, is the honest truth. But you've thought about him since you met back in first year, when a chance meeting in the hallway left your books and papers strewn across linoleum. When he was too busy brushing a lock of hair from his girlfriend's face. When that action kept him distracted to the point that he'd mistook the distance between you and him.
A clash of bodies that shifted your entire world but seemed to be nothing but a blip in his.
So the question.
"... you interested?"
You wonder what your days might be like if you say yes. It's overwhelming. You thumb at the thought. Turning it over—everything, like a coin— to make little sense of it. If you took all those instances, all those times after that initial collision and tried to spell out how you felt— you might find that it spells out the inevitable fall into love. And that love has clung to you, squeezing at the base of your throat, at your heart until it feels impossible for you to exist without hurt.
Uttering yes, with a false bravado, could lead to your false happiness. Where maybe instead of holding back you could be held. It's a leap, a chance. A chance where your name is spoken with fever, burning hot, his voice carried across your skin, licking the shell of your ears.
"Lucas, Lucas, Lucas."
Like a prayer. A prayer that sounds like a plea for direction, because he gets lost on you. Fingers that would map out your skin like it is home. He'd kiss you in steps.
The first touch to steal your breath. You might come to realize he'd continue to seal your lungs shut for every moment that was to come after.
The second slant of lips, deepened and thrumming with desire. You'd be overwhelmed, unable to separate where you ended and he began.
Maybe you'd gain an understanding. Where a memory that never happened might be the answer. You say yes and he invites you over and you go feeling giddy because he's opening this door— allows you to see so much of him.
He's not just a friend, but something more.
And that something pulls you in and you're both high off a feeling.
It's not clear why your heart beats so undetermined, a war song that stutters whenever he looks at you. You've already lost against his smile, feeling dazed because he can look at you with so much love and care and so much devotion it scares you.
It scares you because it could all be real and yours and saying yes means you can't run. You say yes and there's teasing. Absolute mirth as he crowds your smaller frame, he picks you up and shows you he's not done picking you apart. That first kiss, that second that seals your breath and seals your fate, trails after the third step, where he kisses until you've learned how he spells out love— the way his fingers grip until he leaves indents, crescent shaped marks all over you, he soothes with his tongue and teaches you care.
That you deserve it, that you're worth it. He makes you laugh, unadulterated. You throw your head back and your joy is working, he's kissed your neck like it is the point of connection— kisses like he's famished.
When he runs you give chase. It's a dance, a tangle of limbs. You would be torn apart and pieced back together by his tenderness, where he puts you first and that feeling is euphoric.
He might say, "You're interesting."
And he'd tell you stories of a parallel universe. You led different lives. Where every decision made could lead to a different you.
You could feel his desire, his need to tell you, "I like interesting people." And the want is strong in you. It becomes a need to keep his interest.
The butterflies inside you transcend these transparent fields of decisions unmade. They flutter inside you despite the yes or no answer. Flutters inside you when a yes means you get to tell Yann and Arthur, and Basile,
"Hey, this is Eliott." Your boyfriend. There's the high pitched excitement that you feel coursing through you at every turn manifested in the squeals; the flapping of arms; shooting looks; and grins wide.
It makes your cheeks heat. You barely manage to stop yourself from gripping at your own stomach because the fluttering always makes you sick.
Sick in the way you would feel even if you said no because just the thought, the wanting, to be able to say, " This is Eliott", he's yours— it makes your stomach turn.
He asked, "Why? You interested?"
Your choice flashes before your eyes— a split second to devour what you've decided. To digest what it means to say no. Because to say no, you would have thought long and hard about how Eliott loves more because his heart is big. It's accepting that you wouldn't be the only one to hold his attention. That had you might say yes, this could be your fate. Your role. To fill just that small place in Eliott's heart, but you might lose yourself by accepting this. And that's just the way Eliott gives himself away.
Piece by piece and never whole. If you said no with a smile on your face, eyes crinkled shut in a sham of a smile so you wouldn't find yourself in his bed, curled in on yourself because you knew the moment you got up, your warmth would not have stayed there in his sheets. Instead it would be replaced by a brown haired beauty.
That girl who you saw by his side at the very first meeting. She was there and she never left. That girl with the name he'd call out with a voice that was dipped in soft tones.
"Lucille."
And you'd cradle your head, pretending to sleep, if you'd said yes, while you ache deeply. In his bed, his arms holding you like he holds another. You ache as if you had a wound that wouldn't heal.
A yes meant you are not a permanent fixture by his side, but you're gifted with a part of him.
You hear his question and your world narrows down to a pinpoint. You teeter back and forth on a razor thin edge. In his and not in his life. In what capacity you wonder. You take that answer and you take all that longing, all that love, and you push it down, ironclad in a locked box— sinking it like a ship. A laugh and a no with a shake of your head, your hair so unruly, your heart so protected— it would make his laugh, eyes crinkling, dispel anything awkward that wedged its way between you both.
You'd say no and have to thank him for keeping things normal between the both of you in a way that you can't. Because you wouldn't have been able to laugh away his rejection, not the way he did yours.
With that answer there would be a distance. One that grew in length in a short time. Where you'd once found yourself calling him up, texting, to grab coffee. To eat lunch. To just be in each other's spaces— those moments would be taken away. A no, would test your will. Test just how well you could adapt. How Eliott might just walk by you, at the center of his group of his friends. And maybe before he'd bound up to you with a smile, a joke, a laugh. And a welcomed air. But no meant eventually he'd walk by and one day he'd forgot to stop. You'd be left to stand there, waiting for something that wasn't coming. Left there just on the outside, looking in; looking at him, at his back. Reaching with everything you had but never managing to close the gap. The distance between you would feel impossibly wide— something you couldn't fix.
And Eliott would have his arm around her shoulders, and his laugh and smile would be directed at someone other than you.
It breaks you one way. But a no means a protection of a different kind. A no is playing it safe— it was you saying you would put yourself first.
Like you deserved.
Safe as could be and yet layered and weighed down by unhappiness.
He asked, "Why? You interested?"
Interest is a simple term. You are swallowed up with want and love. The coffee still burns when you drink it down. It grounds you.
You say, "Yes."
Safe is safe, and safe isn't living. But he might not know how to handle the fragile organ that beats wildly in your chest. You can only hope he'll take it easy when he breaks your heart.