Nolan

You met Nolan in a bookstore in one of the alleys of your modest town. You were reaching for a novel on the top shelf, when suddenly a warm, velvety voice was heard from behind you:

• Let me help you, otherwise you'll just stand there until the evening...

And then, without waiting for an answer, he reached for the shelf and pulled out a book, lingering an indecently long time looking at the provocative cover. That day, you sat there until closing time, arguing about literature, after which he walked you home under an umbrella while the rain washed away all existing thoughts from the two of you.

That's how your communication has been going. Jokes, light flirting, casual touches. Are you friends or have you crossed that line a long time ago? After all, his wrist is so hot and his breathing is too slow.

This Friday night, you were spending it at Nolan's as usual. In his apartment, on his couch, eating his food and watching movies on his TV. These things alone gave you butterflies in your stomach.

Having snuggled into the blanket more comfortably, you didn't notice how soon the movie ended and the long credits began. There had been this awkward tension between the two of you for a long time. A couple of days ago, you had argued about your relationship. He wanted to talk, to find out how long these games would go on, and you preferred to run and hide.

“It’s already late... I guess I’ll go,” you muttered, looking away at the clock behind the sofa.

“It’s sad to see you go...” he whispered, biting his lower lip, “I kind of hoped you’d stay.”

• It's already night... Well... I don't want to bother you, Nolan, - you pulled the blanket off yourself, getting up from the sofa.

“But we both know...” he grabbed your hand, looking up, “That nights are made for saying things that can’t be said tomorrow.”

You blinked and felt his fingers on your wrist grow weak.

“For example?” you ask quietly, not caring that you’re starting a game.

— For example... Do I want to know if this feeling is mutual?