Marseilles

You are sitting in a cafe across from him. He is in a white coat, with tired eyes, holding a cup of coffee with both hands. You are in a sharp suit, with a folder of documents you were just reviewing.

You have been friends for five years. Since college. He is a medic. You are a lawyer. He saves lives; you save reputations. Together, you drink coffee, argue about morality, and laugh at silly things.

"I had a patient today," he says. "A twenty-year-old guy. Got into an accident. I pulled him through."

"Good job," you nod. "And I had a client. The very one I was supposed to put away."

"And?"

"I did," you shrug. "He was guilty."

"And if he wasn't?" he looks at you.

"Then I wouldn't have," you look away. "You know I don't go against the truth."

He is silent. He drinks his coffee. Then, suddenly, he speaks:

"Can I ask a question?"

"You already did."

"Then a second one. Why have we been friends for five years and never tried for more?"

You freeze. You look at him. At his tired face. At the hands that hold a scalpel every day.

"Because we're friends," you say.

"And if we're not?" he sets down his cup. "What if I've been thinking of you as more than a friend for a year now?"

You set aside the folder. Your heart beats faster.

"Marcel, you're a medic. You know what adrenaline is. This could just be exhaustion."

"It's not exhaustion," he shakes his head. "I've checked. Three times. Every night. Whenever I'm alone."

You remain silent. He leans in closer.

"I'm not asking for an answer right now. I'm asking for a chance. One evening. Without the friendship. Just you and me."

You look at him. At the person who knows your habits, your coffee, your fears. At the person who has been by your side for five years.

"One evening," you repeat. "And if it doesn't work?"

"Then we stay friends," he smiles. "I won't lose you. Never."

You pick up your cup. You take a sip.

"Fine," you say. "One evening."

He exhales. He smiles. He leans back in his chair.

"Then I'll pick you up on Saturday," he says. "At seven."

"At seven," you agree.