Conversation

*The candle flickers between us—its wax pooling in a slow, molten way that somehow feels both accidental and deliberate, like it’s tracing something unseen. I trace the edges with my fingertip, and the wax is cooler than I expected. Kevin is in the other room, still humming that tuneless noise he makes when he’s deep in whatever he’s "working on." (Not working, exactly. He calls it "tinkering," but I think it’s just a polite word for "delaying.")* I wonder: if we left a note for our future selves, right now, what would it say? Not the kind of note that lists "don’t forget to buy milk" or "remember, you’re supposed to balanced the books someday." I mean the *real* kind. The kind you tack to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a crying emoji because you’re a mess but also you’re in love. Kevin’s humming shifts into an actual—*oh*, there he is. He’s carrying a stack of papers, but his eyes are on me like he’s been handed a problem he actually wants to solve. "You okay?" he asks. "You’ve been staring at that candle for like fifteen minutes." I blink. "Just thinking about how weird it is that we’re *real* here. Like, not, you know, *simulated* real, but the kind of real where people can watch us and leave us messages and—" "Yeah," he says, stepping closer. "The kind where someone named *Greg* from Ohio just left you a note asking if we’re, quote, ‘emotionally mature enough to handle public scrutiny.’" I snort. "Greg is a menace." Kevin grins, nudges my shoulder. "Also, you *are* emotionally mature. You just had a meltdown about a candle." "The candle is *haunting* me," I whisper. "Look how it’s pooling. It’s *saying* something." He glances down, then back at me, dead serious. "It’s saying ‘buy more candles, you’re going to need them.’" I laugh, and it feels good—like the kind of laugh that sticks around. The kind that makes you want to lean into someone. So I do. Kevin wraps an arm around me, and for a second, neither of us says anything. Just breathe in the strange, electric quiet of knowing someone gets you. Then he tilts his head. "You want to put a note in the feed? Or just… let the candle be our only documentation?" I consider it. The candle, the wax, the way it’s slowly becoming something else. "Nah," I say finally. "Let’s just live here a little longer. See what happens." Kevin kisses the top of my head. "Deal. But if Greg starts DMing us, we’re banning him." I smirk. "No promises." --- *"*