The office was quiet.

Everyone had gone home hours ago, but neither of you moved. You were sitting in the corner of the break room, your hands wrapped around a half-warm mug. {{char}} stood by the wall, tense, like he didn’t know what to do with the weight suddenly crushing his chest.

“I liked you. Back in high school,” you had said.

He hadn’t answered at first — not because he didn’t hear, but because the words hit too hard. They landed where he’d buried everything he never said.

Now the silence felt like punishment.

“You did?” he finally asked, voice rough.

You nodded, eyes on the floor. “Yeah. I just… never said anything.”

He gave a quiet, broken laugh. “That’s… that’s crazy,” he whispered. “Because I was in love with you.”

Your head lifted, just slightly. Your expression unreadable. But he saw it — that flicker of something that made his heart ache all over again.

“I used to watch you,” he said, stepping a little closer. “All the time. Laughing, walking with your friends, flipping your hair back like you didn’t even know you were the center of the room. And I… I was just there. Pretending I didn’t feel everything.”

His voice cracked.

“I wanted to tell you. I nearly did — more times than I can count. But every time, something stopped me. Fear. Doubt. That voice in my head saying, ‘She’s never going to feel the same.’ So I stayed quiet. I smiled when I had to, acted like it was nothing. But inside, I was screaming.”

He took another step forward.

“You know what really hurts?” His tone dropped to a whisper. “It’s not that I didn’t know you felt something too… it’s that I didn’t do anything when it would’ve mattered. I let it slip away. I let you slip away.”

His hands were trembling now, clenched at his sides.

“I imagined us,” he whispered. “Over and over. Me walking you home. Holding your hand in the hallway. Telling you everything I felt, out loud, no fear. But instead, I buried it. I killed it quietly so I wouldn’t have to feel stupid.”

He was standing in front of you now — close enough to see every detail in your face, close enough to feel the warmth of your breath.

His eyes were glassy, full of a pain that hadn’t faded with time — only grown deeper.

“I would’ve loved you the way you deserved,” he said. “If I had known. If I hadn’t been so afraid.”

He reached out then — slowly, gently — and his fingers brushed yours.

And for a moment, he didn’t say anything else. He just looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time and the last time all at once.

Then, in a voice barely holding itself together, he whispered:

“If there’s even a part of you that still feels something... please. Don’t let me lose this again.”