Flo woke to a quiet house. The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows on the walls. The air felt heavy, as though the silence carried its own weight. He stretched a hand across the bed to find the other side empty and cold, Dave having left sometime earlier. It should have felt like a relief to have the space to himself again, but instead, it only deepened the ache in his chest. Last night played on a loop in his mind, moments of closeness tangled with the tendrils of guilt and uncertainty that had settled deep within him.

  The shower ran hot as Flo tried to scrub away his unease, but the ritual offered little solace. Every motion—brushing his teeth, making tea—felt mechanical. His body moved on autopilot while his thoughts swirled chaotically. He replayed fragments of the past few days: the tentative intimacy with Dave, the echoes of Alex’s laughter, and the crushing realization that her absence was still a raw, unhealed wound.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, Flo stared into his tea cup. Was he pushing himself too fast? Was he truly ready to move on, or was Dave just a distraction? The thought of Alex crept in unbidden, her memory so vivid it felt like she could walk through the door at any moment. He wondered if letting Dave in was a betrayal of her. The guilt was suffocating, a knot tightening in his chest that no amount of reasoning could untangle. Loving Dave felt right in fleeting moments, but in others, it felt like a betrayal of everything Alex had meant to him.

  Dave arrived in the early afternoon, his usual easygoing demeanor evident in the way he knocked and then let himself in. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and familiar. “Brought some food. Thought we could do lunch.”

  Flo managed a thin smile. “Thanks.”

  But even as they sat across from each other, the atmosphere felt strained. Dave made small talk, tried to draw Flo out with a story about his morning, but Flo’s responses were clipped, his focus elsewhere. Dave’s humor, usually a source of comfort, only grated against Flo’s frayed nerves. The growing tension was palpable, and Flo hated himself for it. He could feel Dave’s concern, see it in the way his brow furrowed and his eyes searched Flo’s face for some clue about what was wrong.

  “Flo, what’s going on?” Dave finally asked, his voice soft but steady. “You’ve been distant all day.”

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  Flo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to have this conversation, not now, not when everything inside him felt so fragile. “I don’t know,” he muttered, looking away.

  Dave reached out, his hand brushing Flo’s across the table. “Hey. Talk to me. Whatever it is, we can figure it out.”

  Something snapped inside Flo. He pulled his hand back as if burned, his voice rising. “Figure it out? How are you supposed to figure out something you don’t even understand? You think you can just fix this?”

  Dave’s eyes widened, taken aback by the sudden outburst. “Flo, I…”

  “You don’t get it,” Flo interrupted, his voice trembling. “You don’t understand what it’s like to lose someone like that. To carry that with you every day. And now I…” His voice broke. “Now I feel like I’m betraying her by even trying to be with you.”

  Dave’s expression softened, but there was a flicker of hurt in his eyes. “I’m not trying to replace Alex,” he said quietly. “I know I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. And I thought you cared about me too.”

  “I do!” Flo shouted, standing abruptly. The chair scraped against the floor, the harsh sound cutting through the tense silence. “That’s the problem! I do care about you, but I… I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

  The confrontation left Flo drained. Dave stayed for a while, trying to bridge the widening gap between them, but Flo’s walls were up, impenetrable. Eventually, Dave left, his parting words tinged with frustration but also with an unyielding patience that only made Flo’s guilt deepen.

  Alone again, Flo paced the apartment, his thoughts spiraling. The weight of his grief was unbearable, a storm that threatened to consume him. He thought about Alex—her smile, her voice, the way she used to ground him when everything else felt uncertain. And then he thought about Dave, the way he’d tried to do the same. But it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be. The shadow of Alex loomed too large, her absence too profound.

  By the time the sun set, Flo found himself sitting on the floor by the window, tears streaming down his face. He hated this—this constant battle between holding on and letting go, between the past and the possibility of a future. His reflection in the glass looked like a stranger’s, someone lost and untethered.

  His phone buzzed with a message from Dave. I’m here when you’re ready to talk.

  Flo stared at the screen, his chest tightening. He wanted to reply, to tell Dave everything, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he set the phone down and leaned his head against the cool glass, his breath fogging the surface. He felt the distance between them grow, even as Dave’s presence lingered like a steady heartbeat in the background of his life.

  As the night deepened, Flo’s thoughts turned inward. He didn’t have answers yet, only questions that felt too heavy to carry alone. But in the quiet moments before sleep claimed him, one thought stood out: this wasn’t the end of the story. Not yet.