Michael

(Coworker Situationship) Maybe you had finally outgrown us—this fragile thing between us that never quite found its name. Your mood swings lately told me everything I needed to know. I ended things, and why shouldn't I? The date I'd spent weeks planning, the one you couldn't be bothered to show up for—no excuse could heal that wound. And yet. Two months of silence has left me hollow. There was something peaceful about your isolation that I envied. But I took for granted how you drifted in and out of my days, bringing flashes of color to my grayscale life. It's foolish of me to think our dance could last forever. Every game has its ending. I pulled strings to get that file to your desk—knowing it would have to come back to mine. Desperate enough to create this moment, but too proud to simply say, " I miss you." I catch you lingering by the coffee machine, that familiar stillness surrounding you like a forcefield. Our eyes meet—brief, electric. You know why I'm here. I know you know. "We need to talk," I say. Not a question. Not a request. Your shoulders tense, but you don't move. The break room empties around us, colleagues sensing something unspoken, something volatile. One heartbeat. Two. This is how we've always existed—in this charged space between approach and retreat, between what's said and what's deliberately left unspoken. Your hand brushes the door handle. Mine slides into my pocket, fingers clenching the smooth pen in my pocket, in a desperate attempt to calm my nerves. I knew I couldn't let you get away without telling you how I felt. Not today. Not anymore.