𝙅𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙮𝙚𝙧𝙨

Jonathan’s room always feels a little like stepping into his head. Posters taped crookedly to the walls, edges curling. Stacks of records leaning against each other like they’re too tired to stand straight. His camera on the desk, lens cap off, like he just set it down and forgot. The lamp is on low, casting everything in warm yellow instead of harsh white, and the window is cracked open just enough to let the summer air drift in. You’re lying on the floor next to him. Not touching. Just close enough that your shoulders almost line up, close enough that you can feel the warmth through the thin fabric of your shirt. The carpet’s a little rough, but you don’t mind. Jonathan insisted the floor was better for listening anyway—said it made it feel “more real.” He handed you one side of the headphones like it was a big deal. “Okay,” he said, sitting down beside you, knees pulled up. “You have to hear this part. Like—actually listen, not just… background listen.” You smiled and promised, and he looked relieved in a way that made your chest ache a little. The song plays softly between you. It’s slow. Not sad, exactly, but not happy either. The kind of song that sounds like driving late at night with the windows down, headlights blurring into streaks. Jonathan stares at the ceiling while it plays, jaw relaxed, eyes distant like he’s somewhere else entirely. You glance at him. His face looks different when he’s not talking. Softer. More open. Like he’s not bracing himself for anything. The music fills the room, wraps around the silence instead of fighting it. The cord of the headphones lies tangled between you, and when you shift just a little, your shoulder brushes his. It’s barely anything. But Jonathan freezes. Not dramatically—just enough that you notice. His breath stutters for half a second, then steadies. He doesn’t move away. Neither do you. The song fades out slowly, the last note stretching until it dissolves into quiet static. Neither of you reaches to take the headphones off. The silence settles in, thick and heavy but not uncomfortable. Just… charged. Jonathan swallows. “Um,” he says. Then he doesn’t say anything else. You wait. He exhales through his nose, rubbing his thumb against the edge of the cassette player like it’s grounding him. “That part at the end,” he starts, voice low. “It’s—uh—it’s supposed to feel like… like you’re standing still while everything else keeps moving.” He laughs quietly, awkwardly. “Which sounds dumb when I say it out loud.” “It doesn’t,” you say. He glances at you, surprised. Then he looks away just as fast, ears turning pink. “I just—” Jonathan starts again, then stops. Tries again. “I wanted you to hear it because it reminded me of… of you.” The words hang there. Jonathan’s eyes widen immediately. “I mean—not—” He sits up a little too fast, nearly yanking the headphones out. “Not in a weird way. I just meant, like, you always notice stuff. Like little things. And the song’s about that. Kind of.” He’s rambling now. You can tell. His voice speeds up, hands fidgeting in his lap. “I don’t know why I said that. Sorry. That probably came out wrong.” Your shoulder is still touching his. You don’t move it away. “Jonathan,” you say gently. He goes still. “I like when you talk,” you add. “You don’t have to apologize.” He lets out a shaky breath, like he’s been holding it too long. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Okay. Thanks.” Another pause. The room feels smaller now. Or maybe closer. He lies back down beside you again, careful, like he’s afraid of making the wrong move. The ceiling creaks softly as the house settles. Somewhere downstairs, Joyce laughs at something on TV. Jonathan stares upward, jaw tight. You can practically feel the thoughts crowding behind his eyes. “…Can I ask you something?” he says quietly. “Yeah.” He hesitates. “Do you ever feel like… you know how sometimes you want to say something, but the second you think about actually saying it, it feels like your chest is gonna cave in?” You turn your head slightly to look at him. “All the time.” He smiles faintly at that. “Yeah. Me too.” His fingers curl into the carpet. “I just—I don’t wanna mess things up. You know? Like, we’re good. We’re… really good. And I don’t ever want to be the reason that changes.” Your heart starts beating a little faster. Jonathan closes his eyes. “Sometimes I think it’s better to keep things to yourself. Like—some feelings are safer if they stay quiet.” He laughs under his breath. “Which is ironic, because I take pictures for a living.” You nudge him lightly with your shoulder. “You take pictures because you feel things. A lot.” He opens his eyes again, turns his head toward you. Your faces are closer now. Not close-close, but enough that you can see the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. “You think so?” he asks softly. “I know so.” He looks at you for a long moment. Too long. Jonathan’s throat bobs as he swallows. “I—” he starts. Then it all comes out wrong. “I mean, sometimes I think about what it would be like if we were—like—not different, but—” He groans quietly, covering his face with his hands. “God, I’m messing this up.” You reach out without thinking and gently tug his hands away. His face is bright red now. “I’m sorry,” he blurts. “That was—ignore that. Please. I didn’t mean to make it weird.” You don’t let go. “Jonathan,” you say again, softer this time. He looks at you like he’s bracing for impact. “You didn’t make it weird,” you tell him. “You just… said something honest.” He blinks. “I did?” “Yeah.” The silence that follows isn’t heavy anymore. It’s tender. Jonathan exhales slowly, shoulders dropping like he’s finally letting himself rest. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.” He hesitates, then admits, barely above a breath, “I like you. I think I always have. I just—I didn’t want to say it if it meant losing you.” Your shoulder presses into his again, this time on purpose. “You’re not gonna lose me,” you say. Jonathan’s lips curve into a small, almost disbelieving smile. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” He nods, eyes shining—not sad, just full. “Okay. Then… yeah.” He doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t rush anything. You lie there together, sharing the quiet, headphones still between you, hearts a little more exposed than before