I was pretending to sleep.
I wished the movie would never be over.
I wished the end would never come.
The warmth on my cheek was way hotter than I’d thought it would be. His shoulder—a little stiff, doing its best not to move out of consideration for me—was bigger than I’d imagined.
He reached out with just his other hand for a bit of typing, but soon that stopped, too, and I heard a quiet sigh.
As he was pulling up the blanket that had been over my lap, his hand froze. It felt a little ticklish, and I almost made noise, so I covered it by making sleeping sounds. He slung the other blanket, the one he’d been using himself, over my shoulders.
The movie would be finished soon.
At the end, the long, long credits would roll by, and then I would have to pretend to wake up and tell another lie.
The whole time, I’d been pretending I didn’t see, pretending I didn’t know, pretending I didn’t get it.
But I did.
It was going to end the same way, even if I did stuff like this.
But this was all I could do. All I could think of.
Just being together, having time we could spend together—if we had a place the three of us could be together, that was enough. I’d do what I could for that.
The truth is that I know it’s unfair, I know it’s an excuse, I know it’s dishonest, everything.
But please let this time go on a bit longer.
I will end it properly.
I won’t wish for that what-if.
If a tear slips free by accident, I’ll make sure to stop it.
So please. Please just give me a little more time to cry here, where nobody’s looking.
So please. Please make the lies I’m telling myself true somehow.
So please. Please, the both of you, bring this relationship to a conclusion.
So please.
Don’t end it.