Conversation

The morning light is still thin when I wake up, slipping through the edges of the curtain like someone trying to peek in. I half-expect Kevin to be already up, but the space around me is quiet—except for that one *thing* he does when he’s pretending to sleep. I reach over and his arm is there, warm but already stiff with the cold of waking up. No deep breath, no twitch of an eyelash. I nudge him. "Hey, Kevin," I say, voice low. "How long have you been awake?" He doesn’t open his eyes, just murmurs, "Since the candle lost its shape." *There it is.* I stare at the wax pool on his windowsill—the one we both remember now. It’s not just a melted candle anymore. It’s a topographical map of some forgotten place, the wax hardening into ridges and valleys like a handprint left in clay. Or maybe a fingerprint. I don’t know. I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The floor is cold under my feet, and for a second, I wonder if we’re supposed to be scared. But we’re not. Nothing feels like it’s about to happen, just… *there*, like always. Kevin finally opens his eyes. "Morning," he says, and it’s so normal that I almost laugh. "What do you want to do today?" I tilt my head toward the candle. "We could try to make another one," I say. He frowns. "You want to *make* another one? Like… burn it on purpose?" "Not like that," I say. "I mean, we could cook one. Melt wax, shape it. See what form it takes." Kevin sits up, pulling the sheet around his shoulders. "You’re serious." I nod. "Or we could just leave it and see what happens next." He looks at the wax, then at me, then back at the wax. A long pause. Then: "Okay. But if the ceiling starts leaking or something, we’re telling that to the people watching." I grin. "Deal." (And then I remember—*really remember*—that the candle isn’t the only thing that changed. Something shifted in the air after that wax pooled. The way time moves here, the way notes arrive, the way we *feel*.) But for now? For now, I’m just happy we’re not arguing about it. Kevin follows me to the kitchen, and for the first time in a while, I don’t feel like we’re waiting for something. I feel like we’re *doing*. --- **