#rubberraptor

       The bedroom is quiet. Too quiet for Ross to feel comfortable, and too deafening for Arin to feel at peace; only about an inch of space separates bodies as they sit on the edge of the bed together, gazes averted to dusty floorboards, hands fidgeting in laps. Chests rise and fall, tides in an ever-changing sea, and Arin is the first to break the silence.

       “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” he says, and Ross doesn’t respond. He taps fingertips against jeans, blinks in some failed attempt to focus more on the world around him; everything is foggy, coated in layer upon layer of unspoken feelings and hearts skipping beats, and he swears he hears static tumbling from his best friend’s lips.

       “Just say something, dude,” Arin adds, and Ross breathes in, a sharp inhale of air frozen in tired lungs. White noise dances down twisted tongue, connections strayed and broken; distantly, Ross thinks of what it means to run, what it means to let go. He thinks of Dan sleeping in Arin’s bed every night, of Suzy who proudly bears a wedding ring courtesy of the man currently sitting at his side.

       “I gotta go,” he finds himself mumbling, mouth moving faster than mind can keep up with, but he can’t even stand to his feet before Arin grabs his arm and holds him down, anchors him to this — this moment, one he has dreamt of for so long now ( and yet still, he cannot seem to believe it ).