This is slightly better. At least if I am going to talk, I am somewhat isolated now, even if the entire building is empty with the exception of me and him; sometimes it just feels better to be behind closed doors.
He stands a foot in front of the door. I stand facing him as far against the other wall as I can without bumping into the copier. It only leaves a few feet in between us. His eyes are dark and narrowed. His jaw is set. Nothing about him indicates that he is nervous or emotional in any way – nothing except the way his chest seems to heave, only slightly, as he draws in breath. I stare back at him. It is silent for some time. Nothing is said, no noise made, save for the sound of my laboured, heated breathing. It is quiet on the surface, but the air is thick, riddled with everythin
