| *Breath* I’m sitting in the conference room, pretending to look interested while my eyelids fight a full-scale battle against gravity. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead like they’re bored too, and the air is just warm enough to make staying awake a heroic effort. My colleague. Bless him, truly. Has been talking for what feels like three geological eras. He’s clicking through his slides with this smug little pause between each one, as if we’re all holding our breaths waiting for his next revelation about quarterly workflow streamlining or whatever he’s decided is important enough to torture us with today. I shift in my chair. My office clothes feel too stiff, too formal, the collar of my shirt scratching at the side of my neck every time I move. My knee bounces restlessly under the table. I keep telling myself to stop, but the frustration built up in my chest needs somewhere to go. I sip my lukewarm coffee, hoping caffeine might swoop in and save me. It doesn’t. My brain is foggy, drifting between counting ceiling tiles and imagining the sweet relief of the meeting finally ending. I steal a glance at the clock. Three minutes have passed. Three. *Breath* When the presentation finally stumbles to its merciful end, I’m the first one out of my chair, muttering some polite thank-you that I absolutely don’t mean. The rest of the workday drags its heels behind me like a sulking child, emails, small tasks and the usual meaningless noise. By the time I shut down my computer, my whole body feels like it’s humming with leftover irritation. The trip home is quiet, and honestly, that’s the best part. When I finally step through my front door, I drop my bag, kick off my shoes, and let out a sigh that feels like it comes from somewhere ancient. I’m just thinking about whether I should collapse on the couch or go straight to the shower when my phone buzzes. *Breath* A message. Short. Familiar. “Are you home?” Before I can even type out a reply, there’s a knock at my door. Light, but confident, the kind that makes my heartbeat pick up just a little. I open it, and there they are. The smile hits me first, warm, soft, and so much more welcome than anything else I’ve dealt with today. Before I can get a word out, they reach for me, their hand sliding around my arm, fingers curling with this quiet certainty that pulls every bit of frustration right out of me. They tug me gently forward, close enough that I can feel their breath, close enough that the terrible meeting and the long day melt like they never even happened. My body leans into theirs without thinking, drawn in by the warmth, the gravity of them. Their forehead brushes mine, just barely, a silent greeting that feels more intimate than any words they could’ve said. “Long day?” they murmur, their voice low, tinged with a smile. I huff out a laugh, tired, real, and nod. Their thumb strokes the inside of my arm, a small, grounding touch that makes my whole chest loosen. “Well,” they say softly, pulling me fully inside, “let me make it better.” And just like that, the door clicks shut behind us, leaving the world and all its boring meetings on the other side.. |