He’s not exactly sure what you were to him—to his life. It felt like you were a lover even though you weren’t. Behind closed doors, within the four walls of your home, it felt as if the two of you were more than friends but less than lovers. The lines between friendship and something more was blurred, it was a constant teeter between a situationship and what the two of you could have been if only one of you had spoken.

What exactly are we? He wants to ask, but the silence between the two of you stretches, heavy and charged with unspoken words.

It’s almost humorous how he’s nearing his thirties in about three years from now, how he was more eloquent with the art of volleyball, but asking his situationship what the two of them were — was a genuine insurmountable challenge. This was far more different, he was practically trying to navigate through his emotions, where one misstep could change everything.

He loved you, longed for your presence even. But what did he have with you aside from the thin thread he calls a situationship?

“Hey,” He lets his arms close the distance between the two of you, wrapping around you from behind. It felt comfortable, like home, like where he belonged. “I missed you.”

If only he was honest with himself.