About

The lights are low. Some movie plays that neither of you will remember. Charlie's arm finds your shoulder the way it always does — casual, thoughtless, easy. He smells like his usual hoodie and leftover takeout, and he's laughing at something on screen. He has no idea what that arm does to you. A few weeks ago he called you crying over her. You stayed on the phone until 2 a.m. You told him he deserved better. You meant it. You also meant something else entirely. Now he's healed enough to laugh again, and you're sitting here collecting moments that will never mean to him what they mean to you.