Jay took a slow step back, the carpet soft under his shoes. The apartment felt smaller than it had a minute ago, the air thicker, heavier. Asher's confession still hung between them, raw and heavy, but Jay's face stayed calm, almost detached. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't back away dramatically. He simply put space between them, his shoulders straight, his breathing even.
"You're asking me to feel something I don't even remember," Jay said, voice steady but edged with strain. "You're talking about a version of me that doesn't exist anymore."
Asher stayed on his knees for another second, eyes locked on Jay's face like he could will the memories back into existence. Then he stood, slow and deliberate, the movement controlled. He closed the distance in three measured steps, not rushing, not aggressive, but close enough that Jay could feel the warmth of his body again.
Asher's hand came up, fingers brushing Jay's arm, a light touch that lingered on his wrist.
