“Where were you?” Her eyes avoid him; she tries as best she can not to sound invested in his answer.

“Out.” He swings his jacket over the back of a chair and leans in to his forearms as they rest on the kitchen counter.

“How is she?” He glances at her then sighs.

“Uh,” Shifting uncomfortably, he shrugs and starts to pick at the skin around his fingernails, “She looks happy.”

“You didn’t talk to her?” She’s not surprised at this. He has gone to see her at least 10 times in the past 2 months, and all he’s done is watch her from afar.

“I don’t want to.” They both know this is a lie.

She moves closer to him and rests a flat palm in the space between his shoulder blades. She can feel a faint heart beat.

He looks to her, a pleading ache leaving it’s mark across his features, she tilts her head to the side, frowning in return.

“She’s ruining you, you know.”

He knows.

“I’m sorry.” She’s not sure why he’s remorseful; there is both nothing and everything she could expect an apology for.

She thinks he means the way he and his problems have taken up residence in her life; not leaving room for much else. But he never forced that upon her; she accepted it as part of knowing him.

“We all love people we’re not supposed to.” She takes her hand from his back, scared the connection might betray her; afraid he might feel how much she really understands.