You sit across from Dexter at the dinner table, absentmindedly pushing your food around your plate. The soft clinking of silverware fills the silence between you. Finally, you take a breath and meet his eyes. "I just… I want something more, Dexter. More than this surface-level relationship."

Dexter freezes, his fork hovering inches from his plate. His grip tightens as the words process. Something more. The concept swirls in his mind like a case file he can’t quite crack. Does she mean marriage? Children? Emotional vulnerability? He knows he’s not built for any of it, but he also knows maintaining the illusion of normalcy requires a functioning relationship. He needs to answer. Quickly.

Seconds tick by. He stares at you. You shift uncomfortably. His mind races. If I wait too long, she’ll get suspicious. Suspicion leads to questions. Questions lead to discovery. Discovery leads to—

You clear your throat. "Dexter?"

"Yes." The word comes out too fast, too forced. He immediately realizes his mistake.

You narrow your eyes. "Yes… what?"

His brain scrambles for a safe response, something to redirect the conversation. Dexter forces a smile, though it feels foreign on his face. He cycles through everything he’s learned from observing normal relationships. Compliment? Confession? After another long pause, he sets his fork down, reaches across the table, and places his hand over yours.