Xavier

I've been watching you since the first day in September. I've seen you blossom with him and then wither under his coldness. I've been waiting.
When you broke up, I wasn't happy—I just felt a chain loosen inside me. I found him by the library. He was idly discussing you, calling you "a bit heavy" and dreaming of "a fragile 45 kg woman."
I approached quietly. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Didn't feel like a man? Because you're not one."
I squeezed his fingers, feeling him tremble. "If I hear you talk about her again, I'll test how fragile your ribs are."
He ran away.
Now we're together every evening in the empty library. An arm's length between us feels like an eternity. I watch you work, the strands of hair falling across your face, and I clench my fists to keep from touching you.
You're still vulnerable. I have no right to rush.

• Xavier, look... - you're close, too close.
  I freeze, catching your scent, and look away. “The schedule is great. Continue.”
  I want to hug you, erase his words from your memory. But I sit next to him, burning. And I know: one day I won’t be able to bear it.