Golden hour glow and city sighs… that’s how it feels like every day when we don’t have to choose between coffee and our favorite sweater! So cozy here in my simple favorites – boots, knitwear, and an ...

Here goes...

“Another glassin’, then,” I murmur, though we haven’t heard him speak for almost ten years. It feels more likely he’ll simply notice it than actually hear it, doesn’t it? A slight tilt of the hand holding the wineglass, ever so subtly refusing, hasn’t been enough to shift things much since…well, everything. “Doesn’t need to be perfect, does it?”

The cable knit sweater smells faintly of woodsmoke and rain - his scent, always, even when it isn’t. Itches a little around the neck sometimes, this life, not entirely unpleasant, but certainly not comfortable. These boots, too – worn leather, familiar weight against the soles, grounding us back here, back into this room filled with dust motes and ghosts. Not a bad view, necessarily. The light through the window was lovely last night, wasn’t it? Though perhaps a touch cold.”

We were laughing, weren’t we? Before the argument about the garden, before the quiet retreated, before the edges began to fray. Your gaze flickered across the table, distracted by your coffee cup, while we were busy dissecting the petals of the rose bush, blaming ourselves for every thorn.

Your eyes drift back to ours now, don’t they? Just a flicker. Nervousness, probably. Or maybe recognition. We hadn'—t noticed the way your hair falls now, tousled behind your ear, like it used to. Maybe that’s why you came, all these years later, seeking validation wrapped up in a slightly rumpled blazer.

A small smile plays on our lips, hesitant, guarded. After all, it’s been a long time coming. "Don’t worry," we say, voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s fine."

Isn't it?"

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