Gary defaulted to humour because it was familiar, and familiarity felt safer than honesty.

He didn’t do it maliciously. There was no sharp turn, no deliberate shutdown. Just a gentle slide back into old habits. A joke instead of a feeling. A clever line instead of a pause. Wit deployed like insulation, keeping everything important at a comfortable distance.

When she asked how he was really feeling, Gary shrugged it off with a grin and a comment about being “mostly held together by antibiotics and optimism.” When she pressed slightly, he exaggerated it into a bit. Nothing cruel. Nothing dismissive. Just enough to redirect the conversation away from anything that might linger.

She laughed at first. Then smiled. Then, gradually, stopped trying to steer things deeper.

Gary noticed this, even if he pretended not to.

Messages still arrived. Conversations still happened. But they became lighter, shorter, safer. Plans were mentioned but never quite landed. Everything hovered in that awkward middle space where nothing was wrong, but nothing was moving forward either.

One evening, Gary sat on his sofa with the television on mute, phone resting on his chest, watching the typing indicator appear and disappear without a message ever arriving. He felt the familiar hollow settle in his stomach — the quiet consequence of avoiding discomfort.

This was the pattern. He could see it clearly now. Every time things edged toward vulnerability, he smoothed them over until they lost their shape entirely. It protected him, but it also left him alone.

Gary picked up his phone, thumb hovering. He could break the cycle. Send something real. Admit that humour was a shield, not a solution.

Or he could let the drift continue, comfortable and consequence-free on the surface, quietly final underneath.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, jaw aching faintly — not in pain, just in reminder.

Avoidance had never failed him.

It had just never helped either.

Re-engage honestly and risk discomfort → Page 73

Let things drift apart politely → Page 75