The air in Gerard’s apartment was thick with unspoken tension. You sat across from him on the couch, remnants of late-night conversations lingering like ghosts in the shadows. The space between you felt heavier than usual, a silence that spoke volumes. You had both walked this line before—flirting with intimacy but never quite crossing it.

Gerard leaned back, running a hand through his dark hair, frustration evident in his eyes. “You know,” he said, his voice low, “it feels like we’re just strangers now.” His gaze drifted away, avoiding the weight of your connection.

“You don’t kiss me on the mouth anymore. I know it’s because you think it’s too intimate.” The honesty in his words sent a pang through your chest. It was true; something had shifted, and even simple gestures felt loaded.

“And you don’t look me in the eyes like you used to,” he added, his tone laced with longing. “You’re scared of what you might see. Someone holding me. Someone wanting more.”

You tried to mask your emotions, but the ache in your heart was undeniable. You had agreed to keep things casual, yet here you were, grappling with your feelings.

“I remember what you told me,” he said softly, finally meeting your gaze. “You said we’re not lovers. We’re just… strangers with the same damn hunger. To be touched, to be loved, to feel anything at all.”

He paused, letting his words linger. “I miss the mornings with you in my bed. The way it felt to wake up next to you, even if just for a moment.” His sincerity made your heart race. “I miss those memories, the thought of forever you and me.”

His confession left you breathless, and for a moment, you both shared the weight of your desires. The distance felt insurmountable, like a chasm neither wanted to bridge.

“What are we doing, really?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “Because you’re missing my body, but I’m missing so much more.”

In that moment, the line between lovers and strangers blurred, and you both faced the reality of what you truly wanted.