I stay silent as Lukas helps me climb out of the car. Not because I don’t have anything to say, oh no. Internally, my brain is running at full volume. Screaming, actually. Shit, shit, shit. This is going to be so embarrassing. So awkward. Why can’t the ground just swallow me alive? That kind of silence. The horribly loud kind. We head inside and I hobble my way over to the couch and sit down with a dramatic sigh that’s only partially for effect. The rest is from sheer emotional dread. Lukas stays standing in front of me, arms loosely folded, his expression frustratingly neutral. He looks calm. Collected. Like he’s not even a little bit freaked out which is totally unfair.
“Well?” He asks, voice even.
“Am I going to pick up Roxy and come back here… Or are we finally going to actually talk things out?” He finishes. Ugh. I hate how reasonable he sounds. I sigh again, louder this time. I’ve been avoiding this conversation ever since that first kiss. And okay, I’m not dumb, I’ve had multiple suspicions since then that Lukas was waiting for a moment to bring it up. He never said anything directly, but the man reads minds. He knows I didn’t want to talk about it. He knows how many times I’ve panicked and buried the thought the second it floated too close to the surface. But he also knows we can’t keep dodging this forever. And honestly? He’s been more than patient. Even now, he’s still giving me an out. I KNOW if I say that I don’t want to talk, he really WILL go get Roxy and come back here like nothing happened. And he’ll do that every single night, and every morning, back and forth, until we settle… Whatever this is between us. Because what Lukas is doing right now isn’t forcing my hand. It’s just making it clear that not talking might actually be more work than facing the truth. And that’s so deeply unfair. Because he’s right. And I hate that he’s right. I drag a hand down my face and let out one final, defeated breath. Then I shift to the side and gesture to the cushion next to me.
“Fine. Come sit.” I say quietly. I guess it’s time to talk.
I expect Lukas to sit right next to me like he always does. But instead, he settles at the far end of the couch, about as far away as the cushion allows. I scrunch my face in confusion. He catches the look and gives a slight shrug.
“The point is for us both to talk, and… I think it might help if I’m not reading your mind. You can just tell me what you want to tell me. And I’ll have to guess your thoughts just as much as you guess mine.” He explains.
“Oh.” I say quietly. That makes things… Simultaneously easier and harder. On the one hand, it’s a relief to know he’s not silently listening to every messy, spiraling thought tumbling through my brain. But on the other hand, it means I have to actually make sense of those thoughts. Organise them and even worse, say them out loud. Lukas waits patiently.
“I think, for the first time in my life… I genuinely have no idea how to start a conversation.” I say awkwardly. My voice is light, joking. Too light. Lukas gives me a small, almost smile.
“I’ll start then.” He decides. Lukas sits back slightly.
“Can you please explain to me exactly why you got so upset that night I went home?” He asks. I take a second to think my answer through, at least I try to. But once I open my mouth, the words just start falling out.
“I guess because… I know everything’s going back to normal. We’re going back to work, and once my ankle heals and I get a new car... That’s it. This whole weird, in between time is over. And once that happens, we’re probably barely going to see each other anymore.” I tell him. Lukas opens his mouth, but I keep going.
“And I KNOW that you’re going to say ‘we’ll see each other at work’ or something like that. But we worked in the same company for over a year and we never really crossed paths. So clearly that doesn’t mean much. Sure, maybe I’ll have to fix your computer again, or maybe we’ll get lunch once in a while, but it won’t be the same.” I tell him. The words are coming faster now, and I can’t seem to stop them.
“If we don’t have a reason to see each other regularly, it’ll just fade. You’ll just… Forget about me. That’s how this works. It always works that way…” I trail off, breathless. For a second, there’s nothing but silence. Lukas takes a breath.
“No, Clare.” He says finally, and his voice is tight, frustrated.
“You’re completely wrong. That is not how it works.” He tells me. I open my mouth, heat rising to my face.
“But-” I start.
“No.” His tone is soft, but firm.
“It’s my turn to speak. Please let me finish.” He says gently. He still sounds almost angry. I nod, heart pounding. I don’t like it when Lukas sounds angry, not because I think he’ll yell, but because it means I’ve hit a nerve. I don’t like making him unhappy. He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes meeting mine.
“You told me what you think might happen. So now I want to tell you what I’ve been expecting.” He draws in another breath, and I can see him forcing himself to stay calm.
“I know that you like me.” He says bluntly.
“But it seems like you haven’t realised that I like you just as much. Probably more.” He adds. I blink, stunned. He just… Said that. Out loud. So casually.
“I don’t understand the problem here.” Lukas continues.
“I know we haven’t had a proper talk until now, but… I kind of thought we were already together. Or at the very least, heading that way.” He explains and I feel my chest tighten.
“You said we won’t see each other much unless we have a reason to, but… Can’t this be the reason? Can’t the reason we see each other be just because we want to?” He asks.
My heart is racing. I want to believe him, desperately. That just WANTING to see each other will be enough. That we won’t slowly drift apart. That this, us, can actually work. But how can I be sure? I always seem to care more about other people than they do about me. I love them more. I give more. And it never feels like enough to make them stay. What’s to stop Lukas from getting tired of me, or distracted, or busy with life? Because I know myself, and I won’t be able to stop falling even harder for him. I’m already so in deep it terrifies me. Depending on him more than I already do? That would be disastrous. Because the idea of watching him gradually pull away, even if he doesn’t mean to, even if it’s slow and quiet and unintentional, would be unbearable. I would be agony in small doses. And I’d see it coming, too. I’d notice every shift. Every silence. Even worse, I KNOW that he wouldn’t even do it on purpose. But eventually, other things would take priority. He’d need more space. More quiet. More time without me. And I’d still be there. Trying. Clinging. Hoping to keep his attention, to matter enough. To not become annoying. Not become too much. And then one day, I’d push too hard. And he’d leave, he would start to hate me. And then I’d hate myself for letting it happen.