It had been three days and Bill hadn’t even left James’s Penthouse.
Three days since Emma’s voicemail.
Three days since James told Bill he’d wait.
And in those three days, things between them had been… different.
Still warm. Still gentle.
But heavier.
The kind of heaviness that comes when two people circle something unspoken, neither brave enough to land.
Bill was in the kitchen, barefoot, making coffee late in the evening again. He hadn’t gone back to his new apartment. Hadn’t responded to the voicemail. And yet, he still hadn’t crossed that final threshold with James either.
He was halfway through pouring hot water when James came in, quiet but unreadable.
“You’re restless again,” James said simply.
Bill gave a tired smile. “Maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m okay.”
James
