inkspresso

Jack moves as the light turns green. "You know, if there's one book I haven't read, it's Emma by Jane."

"No way."

Jack nods. "I'm more on a Kafka vibe now."

"Oh?"

"I'm reading Letters to Milena."

"You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love." He quotes dramatically.

Jack smiles. "It's beautiful. How can he have such a vision of life and be so devastatingly in love with her? It's art."

"Definitely a favourite of mine. It's so... pure, so raw. It explains what love is, I think. It's such a vague concept."

Jack shrugs. "I don't think you can take his letters as a definition of love. Only you know what it means. Because everyone loves differently."

Zach takes in his words. "I see." He hums. "So, to know what love is, one has to be loved."

"Not necessarily. You can look at your parents and see that they love each other. Or a random old couple in the park. The love is there. But it's different from everyone else's."

He nods slowly. "What's love to you?"

"I'll let you figure that one out yourself." Jack smiles softly. "Maybe one day I'll tell you." He shrugs.

Zach whines. "Ugh, don't be mysterious." They chuckle as Jack parks the car in front of the coffee shop.

Jack turns it off. "I'm letting you explore the mystery because I don't know what love is, just yet." He moves to hold his hand. "Not that it means with you, at least."

The brunet feels his lips contort into a smile. "That was so cheesy." He chuckles.

He rolls his eyes. "I'm trying to be romantic here." He squeezes his hand.