The bathroom mirror was not his friend tonight.

Christopher Jackson stood at the sink, cold water running, and looked at himself the way you look at something you already know is going to cause damage. Clear-eyed. Resigned.

You know exactly what you are, he thought. You’ve always known.

“Chris?” Her voice through the door. Soft. “You good?”

“Yeah.” He turned the faucet off. “Coming.” She was cross-legged on his bed when he came out, hair loose, lamplight on her face. She looked up and smiled and he stood in the doorway and genuinely considered telling her to get out and never come back.

He sat on the edge of the bed instead.

“I need to say something,” he said.

“Okay.”

“You shouldn’t be with me.” Flat. No drama. “I’m not — I don’t do things halfway. I get obsessive. The kind that eventually becomes your problem. I’m telling you that upfront.”

She stared at him. “Are you breaking up with me or warning me?”

“Warning you.” He exhaled. “I should be breaking up with you. That’d be the sane call.” He looked at her then, which was always a mistake. “But I can’t make myself do it. That’s the whole fucking problem. I’m sitting here telling you to run and I don’t actually mean it.”

Silence.

“You feel like a goddamn addiction,” he said quietly. “I don’t mean that poetically. I mean I saw you talking to some guy at Dre’s party and I had to leave the room. Not because I don’t trust you — I do. I just couldn’t stand it. That’s not normal.”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s not.”

“So now you know.”

He waited for the exit. He’d handed it to her, gift wrapped. She put her hand over his instead.

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

“Excuse me —”

“You just described being crazy about me and called it a red flag.”

“Because it is —”

“Christopher.” He shut up. “I’m not scared of you. I’m not running.”

Please, he thought. Please just run. But his hand had already turned over. Already holding hers.

“You should be scared,” he said.

She looked at him. Steady. Certain.

“Too late,” she said.

He pulled her in by the back of her neck, pressed his forehead to hers, and said nothing. There was nothing to say. Just her and the quiet and his own chest aching with how thoroughly he was done for.

“I’m sorry in advance,” he muttered. “For the shit I haven’t pulled yet.”

She laughed softly. “I’ll keep a tab.”

He closed his eyes. Held on. Too late, he thought. Yeah. For both of us.