Let-s-not-stay-friends -

The coffee was lukewarm, much like the conversation. Across the scratched oak table, Mark was doing that thing with his thumb where he traced the rim of his mug, over and over. It was a nervous habit Elias used to find endearing. Now, it just felt like a countdown.

We can still be friends, Mark said. His voice was hopeful, the kind of hope that felt like a heavy blanket on a humid day. I mean, we know each other better than anyone. It would be a waste to just… stop. let-s-not-stay-friends

Elias stood up and pulled his coat from the back of the chair. He didn’t wait for Mark to respond. He knew if he stayed, the resolve would crumble. He knew the pull of familiarity was a powerful, dangerous thing. The coffee was lukewarm, much like the conversation

No, Elias countered softly. That’s what we did. But if I do those things now, I’ll be looking for the version of you that loved me. I’ll be waiting for you to reach across the table and take my hand. And when you don’t, because we’re 'just friends,' it’ll break my heart all over again every single Tuesday. Now, it just felt like a countdown

I am hurt, Elias admitted, leaning forward. But that’s not why. If we stay friends, I’m going to call you when I have a bad day. I’m going to want to tell you about the promotion I might get, or the weird dream I had last night. And you’ll listen, because you’re a good person. So? Mark asked. That’s what friends do.

Mark looked down at his coffee. I don’t want to lose you entirely.

If you'd like to adjust the tone or direction of this story, let me know: Change the (e.g., first-person from Mark's perspective)