Halcyon

Between December and January

A/N: Because I am a sadist. Haha, no, I got this wonderful idea, of blending both versions, but obviously, they are not the same thing. This is rawer. (Is that a word?)  Left is Her POV and Right is His POV.  I wanted to try a story-like version about a love-story. Am I having this story out in as a short novella? Hmm, maybe. Maybe not. Just to be clear, January's Gamble is Her POV, December's is his POV, and between December and January, is where the secrets lie. *sigh and sigh*

Her

In each class, I see your eyes stray,
searching for me from across the room,
as if every word spoken is a signal,
an unspoken dance we play—
only the two of us know the rhythm,
and the teachers—bless them—
unaware.

Yet your eyes speak a different language,
no longer casual, no longer passing.
With every glance, you tighten the web,
even when it's meant to be harmless.

Him
It's not meant to be this way,
not in front of the whole class.
The glances, the smiles, the warmth—
they feel like secrets I'm trying too hard to hide.
I know the price of attention—
but it feels too easy to give in,
too easy to find comfort in something that doesn't exist.

I should pull away,
but with every joke from my friends,
I feel the pull get stronger.
Maybe it's wrong to leave you with hope
but what else can I do when it's this tangled?

Her
Laughter is shared between us,
only it's never simple.
I hear them tease you—
and a part of me wants to laugh along,
but instead,
I hold my breath.
Your name comes too freely from their lips—
and every time they joke,
it feels like you're sinking deeper into something
I can't quite name.

I tell myself, this is it—
we are nothing more than we were before,
but why do my thoughts betray me?
I shouldn't be feeling this,
not with the way you distance yourself
when you see others watching.

Him
I try to pull away in every class,
desperate for air—
but it's not enough.
Your laughter,
your smile,
your softness—that innocence you wear so openly.
It pulls at me like gravity.

But each moment,
each exchange that feels too close to real
shifts me into something colder.
I try to withdraw—
make it seem like it's just words,
just routine,
but I see the hope in your eyes
and I know
it's already too late.

Her
I sense it.
That shift.
The distance grows where once there was closeness.
You seem less eager,
but I can't stop myself.
I text—pointless, empty words,
seeking something
I know won't be found.

How did we come to this?
This space between us so wide—
and yet, I still crave the feeling.
Why can't I stop falling deeper?
Even though,
deep down,
I know this isn't the person I want.

You don't love like this,
but why does it feel so much like love when it's happening?
I'm desperate to keep the words flowing,
to somehow bridge the silence.
I'm lost beneath it.
But I still find myself here.

Him
I'm scared of what I've done to you.
With every text, every step I take closer,
I can feel it—
your world, too soft,
and I'm at its edges,
half-stepping into something
that's just going to hurt.

They keep teasing me,
but do they know the guilt that's already in me?
Do they know that every moment I string you along
is pulling me down deeper,
deeper than I wanted to go?
I don't want to leave you wondering—
but how can I not?

There is power in distance,
and I need it,
before I sink into something that isn't me.
I need this to be over.

Her
I can't stop thinking of you.
It's supposed to be simple,
but nothing about this has ever been simple,
has it?
Every moment you step closer
leaves me looking further,
finding nothing but the same ache,
the same hollow, unspoken words.

There's comfort in the waiting.
Comfort in the spaces where we drift—
we both know this isn't a real thing,
but isn't it safer when the edges are blurred?
When everything is kept in shades of grey?

I know better.
I don't need to tell myself again and again.
But when you reach out,
I still find myself trying to hold onto it,
despite everything I know.
Maybe, this is the thing I'll never be able to get right.
Because the more we drift,
the deeper I fall,
the harder it becomes to pull away.

Him
I know this can't end well.
But I've never wanted to leave you stranded,
caught between truths and games we both play.
In every space we find,
I wonder,
if I could just be that version of me—
someone who never made a promise,
never meant to care.
But that's not how this feels anymore.

I see you get tangled in something I never wanted for you,
and I wonder:
was it worth it?

Was this worth sacrificing the line I once drew?

But like a fool,
I can't seem to stop.
I find the push and pull
between us
far too comfortable.

I keep walking away,
but the thread always brings me back.

And there you are,
waiting.
Waiting for me to pull you in.
But I'm falling further.