They talked about small things first—coffee, the bus schedule—like wading in from the shallow end on a cold day. Then the big thing: how safety isn’t just locks and alarms, it’s tone and timing, it’s knowing your softness won’t be weaponized for laughs.
“I want to be with you,” she said. “But not with the version of you that needs applause.” “I want to be with you,” he said. “Full stop.”
They didn’t touch. They didn’t run. They let the air hold the conversation up by its corners until it could stand on its own.
