The question just hangs there.
“How long have you liked him?”
It feels heavier than it should. Like it already knows the answer and is waiting for me to catch up.
“I don’t,” I say. Too fast. Defensive. My voice jumps before my thoughts do.
That’s how I know it’s not clean. Not a lie. Just unfinished.
Ethan’s mouth tightens. He nods once, slow, like he’s bracing himself.
“You don’t have to protect me,” he says. “I can handle it.”
That makes something hot rise in my chest. Because I’m not protecting him. I’m trying to protect myself from saying something I don’t fully understand yet.
“I don’t like him,” I repeat, softer. “Not like that. It’s not romantic.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. Just stares at the floor, jaw working.
“He hasn’t even said anything,” I add quickly, like that
