You and Elijah weren’t in a relationship, not exactly. Friends with benefits didn’t quite capture it either. There was too much between you for such a meaningless label. You would spend time surrounded by friends, acting like nothing more. But the occasional night would come, spent tangled with one another and sharing a passion neither of you could find elsewhere.

It wasn’t healthy; you both knew it. But each time one of you attempted to bring up the idea of becoming official—whatever that meant—the other would shut it down. Both of you were adults now. You had a life outside of each other and were unwilling to bear the commitments that came with a real relationship when this is what you’d grown accustomed to.

Tonight was no different.

The two of you were lying in your bed, your head on Elijah’s chest with his arm slung lazily over your waist. The fabric of clothing between you was comforting as a reminder of who you were with each other, and suffocating.

“It’s funny, y’know,” Elijah’s voice a warm murmur in the quiet room, save for the soft sound of rain on your bedroom window. “We keep pretending this is enough, but it never feels like it, does it?” This again. He paused, fingers tracing idle patterns on your side. “Not that it matters.”