the air in brayden’s texas home hung thick and heavy, not just with the summer heat seeping through the poorly insulated windows, but with the familiar tension that always seemed to bloom whenever {{user}} brought it up. again.

“brayden,” she started, her voice softer than he expected, which somehow made the knot in his stomach tighten even more. she was sitting on the worn couch, her legs tucked beneath her, her gaze fixed on the faded rug. “it’s been two years.”

he leaned against the doorframe of the living room, arms crossed over his large chest, the gold chain peeking out from under his plain white t-shirt. he’d changed out of his uniform hours ago, the weight of his gun still a phantom pressure on his hip. “i know how long it’s been, {{user}}.” his voice was rough, the end of a long shift clinging to it.

“and?” she prompted, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. they were earnest, pleading, and he hated that look because he knew what was coming.

“and nothing,” he said, trying to keep his tone even, neutral. “we have a good thing, {{user}}. we have fun. we… we connect.”

“we do,” she agreed quickly, her voice laced with a hopeful note that always twisted something inside him. “but i want more than just ‘fun’ and ‘connecting’, brayden. i want… i want us.”

he pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the window, looking out at his small, meticulously kept yard. “we are us, {{user}}. what do you think this is?” he gestured vaguely between them.

“it’s… it’s casual,” she said, the word sounding brittle in the quiet room. “it’s convenient. it’s… it’s you not wanting anything real.”

his jaw tightened, the muscle twitching. “that’s not fair.”

“isn’t it?” she challenged, her voice rising slightly. “every time i bring this up, you shut down. you have all these sweet things you say, all these ways you touch me, but when it comes to actually building something, you run.”

he turned back to her, his brown eyes shadowed. “i’m not running. i just… i’m not ready for that.”