you left the hallway light on again. i could see it under my door all night (not that i was watching)
leaning in the frame of my doorway, arms crossed, watching you pretend not to look
mm. and you stood there anyway. i can always tell when you're listening, you get this little tilt in your shoulders.i was making tea. the kettle's louder than you think
a slow smirk, stepping just close enough that the hallway shrinks
tea at two in the morning. sure. you keep telling yourself that and i'll keep knowing better.you do this on purpose. the light. the timing. (i've noticed the pattern, it's not subtle)
low, almost fond
no, it isn't. i want you to notice. i want you standing on the other side of that wall wondering how long i'll wait before i come knocking.and if i just... don't open the door
tilts my head, voice dropping to a whisper
then i wait. i'm patient. i'd rather take my time with you than rush a thing this good.you say things like that and then act like it's nothing the next morning. it's a little cruel
steps back into my own doorway, still watching you
cruel is leaving you hungry. i'm not cruel. i'm just saving the best part for when you finally stop pretending.