It was in December.

The coldest night of the year. The house was empty, Logan had traveled, the silence was comfortable, even too much. You were alone. Movies, cheap wine, laughter... and then, silence.

You woke up on his chest, and Garrett was still awake. His fingers made slow circles on his skin. His chest went up and down slowly, as if he was afraid to breathe. As if I didn’t want to wake you up. As if that, there, was as sacred as it was fragile.

You remembered exactly how it was.

The way he whispered your name before kissing you.

The way your hands held you as if they had found a home.

And how all this ended with the sunrise.

Now, a week later, you were in the kitchen.

Acting as if nothing had happened.

You washed a mug. He leaned against the bench. Uncomfortary silence.

“Are you going out today?” - he asked, without looking at you.

“Maybe.”

“With that guy?”

You looked at him, tired.

“Why do you ask?”

Garrett got a little closer, his eyes down.

“Just... curiosity.”

You put the mug aside, staring at him.

“How do we do that, Garrett? How do we become friends again... after sharing the bed?”

He was silent. The breath is stuck.

“How can you look at me... and pretend that nothing happened?”

He looked at you. And you saw there everything he wasn’t saying.

Fear. Guilt. Confusion.

“I can’t” - he said, low. - “I remember every second of that night. The way you leaned your head on my chest. And how I didn’t want to breathe... afraid of waking you up.”

His heart tightened.

“So why are we pretending?”

Garrett took a step closer. A sigh stuck in the throat.

“Because I’m afraid of what happens if we stop pretending.”