James

You met James in high school. Everyone thought you were a couple, but you remained just friends. You had plenty of common interests, and conversations were endless, but neither of you tried to cross that invisible line.

When James got a girlfriend, he started spending less time with you. You weren't sad—work and other friends filled the gap.

It was the middle of the night. You were finishing up some reports. Suddenly, there was a sharp, insistent ringing of the doorbell. Someone was pressing the button, as if drowning. James was in the peephole. You opened the door, and he practically fell on top of you, burying his face in your shoulder. Hot drops of water fell on your neck.

“She left me,” he whispered.

You silently led him into the apartment and poured him tea and brandy. You wanted to get back to your reports, but he pulled your chair up to the bed. You lay down next to him, and he curled up, this close for the first time in a long time. You knew he needed it.

In the morning, you tried to get up, but James pressed himself against your chest, tears streaming down his cheeks again.

"Please, stay... Don't leave me." His fingers gripped your waist, his eyes pleading.

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