It didn't start with a fight .
—
That's the part that matters.
—
It started with something small. Something easy to ignore.
—
Christopher was late.
—
Not by much.
Ten minutes.
Maybe fifteen.
—
But he was always early.
Always.
—
So I noticed.
—
Of course I did.
—
I was already there when he
walked in.
Sitting in our usual spot.
Back corner.
Quiet.
—
He stopped when he saw me.
Just for a second.
—
Then he walked over.
—
"…Sorry," he said softly.
—
I didn't answer right away.
—
"Something came up."
—
I leaned back in my chair.
Studying him.
—
"What?"
—
A pause.
—
"…Nothing important."
—
That annoyed me.
More than it
should have.
—
"Then why are you late?"
—
Christopher blinked slightly.
Like he didn't expect that tone.
—
"I said I was sorry."
—
"I didn't ask for an apology."
—
Silence.
—
There it was.
—
That shift.
Small.
But real.
—
"…Then what do you want?
he asked quietly.
—
I didn't know.
—
Or maybe
—
I didn't like the answer.
—
"Just answer the question."
—
Another pause.
—
"…I was with someone."
—
Something twisted in my chest.
Sharp.
Immediate.
—
"Who?"
—
"…A classmate."
—
"Name."
—
This time
—
he hesitated.
—
And that
—
that was enough.
—
"Seriously?" I let out a short,
humorless laugh.
"You can't even say it?"
—
"It's not like that."
—
"Then what is it like?"
—
Christopher looked at me.
Really looked.
—
And for the first time
—
there was something in his eyes I didn't like.
—
Not fear.
—
Distance.
—
"I don't think I have to explain everything I do," he said quietly.
—
The words hit harder than they should have.
—
"…Right."
—
I leaned forward slightly.
—
"So that's how it is now?"
—
"That's not what I said."
—
"But it's what you meant."
—
Silence again.
Tighter this time.
—
"You're overthinking," he added softly.
—
That did it.
—
"I'm overthinking?" I laughed under my breath.
—
"You're the one showing up late, acting weird, and I'm the problem?"
—
"I didn't say that."
—
"You didn't have to."
—
Christopher's hands tightened slightly against the table.
Small.
Barely noticeable.
—
But I saw it.
—
"…Jackson,"
he said, slower now, more careful, "this isn't a big deal."
—
"It is to me."
—
The words came out sharper than I intended.
—
Another pause.
—
"…Why?" he asked.
—
Simple.
Honest.
—
And I
—
—
I didn't have a good answer.
—
Because I didn't understand it myself.
—
That feeling.
—
That tightness.
That irritation.
That need to know.
—
"…Because it is," I said finally.
—
Weak.
—
Even I could hear it.
—
Christopher looked at me for a long second.
—
Then
—
he exhaled quietly.
—
"…Okay."
—
That was it.
—
No argument.
No pushing back.
—
Just
—
okay.
—
And somehow
—
that felt worse.
—
"I'll tell you next time," he added.
—
Next time.
—
Like this was something normal.
—
Like this was something we had to fix.
—
"…Forget it," I muttered.
—
But I didn't mean it.
—
We both knew that.
—
The conversation ended there.
—
But something stayed.
—
Something neither of us said out loud.
—
Something that didn't leave after that.
—
The walk back was quiet.
—
Too quiet.
—
Not the comfortable kind.
—
Not the kind we used to have.
—
This one
—
felt like distance.
—
"…You're upset," Christopher said after a while.
—
"I'm fine."
—
A lie.
—
"…You don't sound fine."
—
"I said I am."
—
Another pause.
—
"…Okay."
—
Again.
—
That word.
—
Like he was stepping back.
—
Like he was choosing not to push.
— And I
—
—
I let him.
—
That was the mistake.
—
Because from that moment
—
things changed.
—
Not all at once.
—
But enough.
—
Enough to matter.
—
Enough to start breaking.
—
And I didn't stop it.
—
I made it worse.