Gary didn’t send the message straight away.

He paced the flat first, jaw aching faintly as if reminding him that avoidance had already cost him once. When he finally picked up his phone, his hands felt clumsier than usual.

I’ve been distant, he typed. Not because I don’t care. Because I do.

He stopped. Read it back. Grimaced. Then kept going.

I’m scared of messing this up while I’m not fully myself. That’s probably not fair on either of us.

The reply didn’t come immediately.

Gary sat down heavily, heart thumping louder than the dull pulse in his jaw. This was worse than silence. This was waiting.

When the message finally arrived, it was longer than he expected.

Thank you for saying that. I thought I was imagining it.

They talked. Properly this time. Slowly. Awkwardly. There were pauses. Missteps. Clarifications. But it was real in a way the past few weeks hadn’t been.

Gary admitted he didn’t know how to be vulnerable without humour. She admitted she wasn’t sure how much space to give him without disappearing entirely. Neither of them pretended this was simple.

By the end of it, Gary felt wrung out and oddly lighter.

This didn’t fix everything. It didn’t guarantee anything. But it reopened a door he’d nearly let close.

He had choices now. Take it slow, deliberately, without hiding. Or retreat again, laughing it off and pretending honesty had been a one-time experiment.

Take it slow and stay open → Page 81

Deflect with humour and retreat again → Page 74