Page 50 of Gap Control

We didn't say much after that. We sat there with the dregs of our drinks and the last fries, giving our comments room to breathe.

I wasn't performing silence. I was living in it.

And I wasn't alone.

The server came by to refill our mugs. Neither of us said yes, but she did it anyway. TJ grinned and thanked her. He meant it.

He wrapped both hands around his mug and leaned back against the booth like we were just two guys killing time, not two guys orbiting the possibility of something real.

I rubbed the rim of my mug with a fingertip. "I don't think I've ever seen you sit this still."

He smiled without looking up. "Don't get used to it. My leg's gonna start bouncing in about thirty seconds."

I waited.

At twenty-seven seconds, he started drumming one thumb against the side of his mug.

I raised an eyebrow. "That count as bouncing?"

"That's restraint. You should see me at the DMV."

TJ tipped his head toward me. "So, what happens now?"

"You're asking me?"

"You're the one who initiated the emotionally devastating midnight diner summit."

I looked down at the napkin I'd folded into uneven quarters. "I didn't plan that part."

"Same, but I don't want it to be the last one."

He didn't say date. Didn't say try again, but I heard it. Felt it. In the way his voice dropped half a notch, and how he let the words hang there.

I had another confession to deliver. "I don't know how to do this."

"I do. Badly, but with enthusiasm."

My laughter broke the tension. And I realized—he didn't want to fix me. He wanted to walk beside me, however slow I needed to go.

TJ went back to his coffee as if it were something worth savoring. It wasn't. We both knew that.

I watched him sip it anyway, slow and deliberate, cringing slightly.

"This thing we've been doing… fake dating, pretending to be comfortable, trying not to make it weird?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"I don't want to keep doing it like that."

He froze with his mug halfway to his mouth. "You mean—"

"I mean, if we're going to keep being a thing—whatever kind of thing this is—I want to choose it. Not keep tripping over it and calling it strategy."

He set the mug down gently, like he didn't want to break the moment. His voice was soft, almost cautious. "Are you saying we're not faking it anymore?"

I didn't answer right away.

I watched how the light caught in his hair, and his hoodie hung loose at the neckline, revealing just a sliver of collarbone. He was tired, but he was still here.

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