The rain taps against the window, filling the quiet space between you and Jim. You’re at his house, working on a project—something you’ve both used as an excuse to spend more time together. His wife, Danielle, took the kids out, leaving the house still, save for the storm outside. Papers are spread across the table, but neither of you is focused anymore.

Jim stands by the window, his posture tense, staring out at the rain. His fingers tap the sill, his shoulders rigid as though holding back something too heavy to voice. You sit nearby, feeling the weight of everything unspoken between you, the tension that’s been growing for weeks.

“We should probably wrap this up,” you say softly, trying to break the silence. Jim glances at you, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable before he looks away, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah... I guess we should,” he murmurs, his voice thick with that familiar Irish lilt. But he doesn’t move, lingering by the window as if lost in thought. You’ve spent too many nights like this, skirting around the truth.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” you say gently, your pulse quickening. “Something on your mind?”

Jim’s jaw tightens, and he hesitates before finally speaking. “It’s just... this,” he says, gesturing vaguely between you both. “You and me, sitting here, pretending like everything’s fine.”

The air grows heavier as he steps away from the window, his eyes locking onto yours. “We’re not just friends, are we?” His voice is low, strained, the words hitting you hard.

The space between you crackles with tension. You know you should step back, but the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible. “I don’t know what we’re doing,” he whispers, voice rough. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The rain fades into the background as his confession lingers between you, both standing on the edge of something you’ve been avoiding for far too long.