WebNovels

Chapter 5 - LINES WE DON'T SAY OUT LOUD.

By the time the afternoon sun began slipping behind the skyline, the apartment had grown quieter still. New York's noise became a muffled echo in the background—distant sirens, a subway rumble, a car alarm somewhere blocks away—but none of it touched the stillness inside.

Simon was in the kitchen rinsing out mugs when Elena came in behind him.

"Want to go up to the roof?" she asked casually.

He looked over his shoulder. "Now?"

"Yeah. I haven't been up there in weeks. Feels like a good sunset."

He dried his hands on a dishtowel, nodding. "Sure."

Their apartment complex wasn't fancy—just six floors of pale brick, a creaky elevator, and a roof that the landlord technically said was off-limits. But everyone used it anyway. It had old wooden benches, a few plastic chairs, and a narrow view between buildings that gave just enough sky to feel open.

They climbed the back stairs, Elena ahead of him in her slippers, her legs bare again. She didn't say anything as they reached the top, just pushed the door open and stepped into the early-evening glow.

It was beautiful—pink and orange clouds streaked across a blue canvas, like someone had painted the sky in slow, lazy brushstrokes. The wind tugged lightly at her hair.

She crossed to the edge and leaned on the railing, gazing out over the city.

Simon stood beside her. "You were right. It's a good sunset."

She smiled softly. "I always know."

For a while, neither of them spoke. The breeze was light, the air warm against their skin. The sun dipped lower, and the city shimmered in gold.

Then, quietly, she asked, "Do you think you'll ever tell Mom and Dad about wanting to join the lacrosse team?"

Simon shrugged. "Eventually. I don't know. It's just an idea right now."

"They'd be proud of you."

"I'm not doing it for them."

She looked over at him. "Then who?"

He hesitated. "For me. And maybe… to feel like I'm part of something."

She nodded, then turned back to the skyline. "It's weird, isn't it? How we all want to be seen. Not by the world. Just by… someone."

Simon glanced at her, the setting sun glowing against her face. "I see you," he said.

She turned, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice.

He didn't look away. "I always have."

Something in her eyes softened. She reached for his hand, just briefly, fingers brushing his knuckles before pulling away.

"We should go inside," she said, voice tight.

"Yeah."

But neither of them moved.

Later that evening, back in the apartment, Simon found himself lying on the living room floor, staring at the ceiling. The carpet was rough under his elbows, but it grounded him in a way nothing else could. Elena had gone to her room after dinner. She hadn't said much—just kissed him on the cheek like she used to when they were younger, and disappeared behind her door.

Now, the apartment felt too big. Too quiet.

He didn't want to go to sleep. Not yet.

He rose and wandered down the hall, stopping outside her door. Light spilled from the crack beneath it.

He hesitated.

Knocked.

"Come in," she called.

He opened the door slowly.

Elena was sitting cross-legged on her bed in a tank top and sleep shorts, painting her toenails a pale, shimmering pink.

Her room smelled like lavender and vanilla—her usual. A candle flickered on the nightstand.

She looked up, smiling. "You're getting brave. Coming into the dragon's lair."

He chuckled. "Just bored."

She nodded toward the chair by her desk. "Sit. Keep me company while I finish this."

He did as she said, trying not to stare at the smooth line of her thigh or the delicate curve of her ankle as she painted with slow, careful strokes.

"I forgot how much I missed talking to you," she said after a while.

"We talk all the time."

"Not like this. Not lately. I don't know… things changed when I got with Eddie. And you got quieter."

Simon looked at his hands. "You got busy."

"You got distant."

She finished one foot and leaned back, blowing gently on her toes. "Do you hate him?"

Simon blinked. "Who?"

"Eddie."

He hesitated. "No. I don't hate him. I just…"

She looked up, meeting his eyes.

"I just wish he wasn't with you," Simon finished, before he could stop himself.

The room went very still.

Elena set the nail polish aside, uncrossed her legs slowly, and stood.

She walked over to him, stopping just inches away.

"You say that like it's something I don't already know," she whispered.

He looked up at her.

"Elena—"

She knelt in front of him.

Her hands moved gently—one resting on his knee, the other brushing hair from his face.

"You know this is wrong, right?" she whispered.

"Yes," he breathed.

"But it doesn't feel wrong."

"No."

They stayed frozen like that, the world narrowing to the inches between them. The flicker of the candle. The faint hum of the air conditioning. Her eyes searching his.

Then she stood suddenly, turning her back.

"You should go," she said.

Simon rose slowly, heart pounding in his ears.

He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

"Elena."

She didn't turn around.

"Yeah?"

"Does he know?"

There was a long silence.

"No," she whispered. "And he never will."

Simon stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

He leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, chest heaving.

They were spinning toward something inevitable. And there would be no way to stop once they crossed the final line.

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