with you.

"I can't believe how empty your house is."

"Believe it, Serge."

"I don't want to," he said. "If I believe it then it's real, and then you're —"

Serge cut himself off, and the six-foot frame lanky before her turned away.

"—then I'm gone?" Hannah offered. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts and an oversize grey t-shirt she'd stolen from an ex-boyfriend. It was hot in her apartment, but they had already removed her window unit.

"Yeah," Serge said.

Repeating him, "Yeah."

"I'm going to miss you." Serge was still faced away from her. He was fiddling with her curtain. It was one of the only things left in her bedroom. This curtain and a slew of dust bunnies where her bed used to be were the only markers she'd been there at all. Hannah was thinking of just leaving the curtain there, but when she remembered how much it had cost her at World Market, she decided on keeping it.

"I know," Hannah said. Her face was soft and warm, the kind of face that a child has but is supposed to lose when they grow up, but hers stayed the same — big eyes and round cheeks, and just one freckle left of center on her nose.

Hannah wanted to say she would miss him too, but she didn't want to give him the wrong impression, which is to say, she didn't want him to think that this was the time for him to profess his love for her. It was too obvious, how much Serge loved her. And Hannah had known for a long time. She had known and she had let him sit with it because she cared about him, but not in that way and couldn't help that she was the only person who could make his unrequited love requited, but she couldn't actually. We all think how simple it would be if love was returned when it was offered. It's not fair, though, life.

You love who you love, Hannah would catch herself thinking after spending the day with Serge. Then she would text back and forth with whoever guy of the week she crushed on at the moment. And of course, those texts would go no where, and she would be alone, and Serge would be there, until one day he wouldn't be, because eventually we have to leave those sorts of situations. You settle so that your heart stops aching. You settle because you think it's the only escape from the continual brokenness that's yours until it's not. But, you always know you're settling, and the ache dulls, but it doesn't stop existing. It's just a soft stab...a shard of glass from a broken vase that shattered months earlier.

 "I know, too," said Serge. He wanted to say he knew she wanted to love him. But needs, wants, desires, unrequited, some things just are those and nothing more.

Serge looked at her; he wanted to grab her hand, wanted to hold it, wanted for his to be the hand she wanted to hold. He wished he was wearing his shoes, but he wasn't, and he suddenly felt like he shouldn't be there anymore. It would be awkward though, to just say he had to go and then have to spend a few minutes locating his shoes and then putting them on. He couldn't just up and leave.

 "Can you help me with this?" Hannah had broken eye contact with Serge. It was all too much. She was pointing to the curtain. It was white, and the bottom of the fabric had what looked like a summer grassy motif printed on it. It looked like an afterthought, and every time Serge had seen it in the past he thought that.

Serge turned to face her again, resigned to his shoeless feet.

"You're sure you want to bring it with you?"

"No," she said, brushing a loose hair from her eyes, a motion that undid Serge. Four feet apart might as well have been a world away, and they both knew it.

There was too long of a silence.

"It's better than nothing," she said.

Serge moved to the right of the window and began loosening the rod.

"You're right."