Free Story Plot Ideas

How Many Times?

Muse A slammed the diner door open so hard the little bell above it fell silent.
Rain clung to their hair and jacket. Again. Always the rain.
They stalked to the corner booth where Muse B sat, like always, idly stirring their coffee with a crooked little smile.

Muse A didn't bother sitting.
"Stop playing with me," they snapped.

Muse B arched an eyebrow and leaned back, calm as ever. "Good evening to you, too."

"I know you know," Muse A hissed, fingers curling into fists. "You've been watching me — every day. I try to leave town? You're at the bus stop. I run to the woods? You're already there. I—" Their voice cracked. "I kissed you once just to see if it would break this and you laughed. So stop pretending."

Muse B tilted their head. For the first time, their smirk faded into something quieter. Sadder.
"Fine," Muse B murmured. They set down their coffee and met Muse A's eyes. "How many times has it been for you?"

The question cut through Muse A like a knife.
"...Thirty-four," they admitted. Their voice was barely a whisper now. "Thirty-four sunrises. Thirty-four nights that never last. And you—" Their breath hitched. "You just sit here. You watch me fall apart like it's nothing."

Muse B's fingers drummed against the tabletop. Then they stood, slowly, and stepped closer.
"It's not nothing," they said, softer now, like they were confessing something they shouldn't. Their hand hovered at Muse A's cheek but didn't touch. "For me, it's been... longer. Much longer."

Muse A froze.

Muse B smiled faintly — a tired, wistful thing.
"You think thirty-four is bad?" They laughed once, without humor. "Try three hundred. Try a thousand."

Muse A blinked, suddenly cold all over.
"...What?"

"I stopped counting," Muse B admitted, finally letting their hand rest lightly on Muse A's shoulder. "But at least now... I'm not stuck in it alone anymore."