What if he was mine - Part 4: The Dark Makes It Easy

Sometimes, the truth only slips out in the dark—when the power’s out, the walls are down, and your best friend is sitting way too close. In Part Four, Drew finally lets a little of his guard down. But wanting more? That’s a risk Jamie isn’t sure he can take… not unless it’s real.

Part 4: The Dark Makes It Easy

He was never supposed to want more. Until now.

Drew

The power goes out around nine. One second the TV’s flickering through some rerun we’re not even watching, and the next, everything goes dark, except for the flash of lightning behind the windows.

Jamie curses under his breath and reaches for his phone. “Well, that’s fun.”

I pretend to care, muttering something about the fuse box and getting up to check, even though we both know it’s not that. Just a summer storm strong enough to knock out the whole block.

By the time I come back, he’s on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, phone flashlight pointed at the ceiling like it’ll help. “You coming, or are you gonna stand there looking all broody?”

I sit. Closer than I probably need to. He lifts the blanket without a word, and I slide under it like this isn’t the closest we’ve been in weeks.

The room’s quiet, except for the storm outside and the soft rustle of fabric as we shift. His knee brushes mine, and I don’t move.

The dark makes it easier. To watch him. To let myself look without pretending I’m not. His profile is lit only when lightning flashes, and every time it does, it catches on his smile, his jaw, his eyes when he glances at me and doesn’t say a word.

I’ve known this face forever. But something’s shifted. Maybe in me. Maybe in both of us.

I don’t think he knows I’m watching. Or maybe he does, and he’s letting me.

Either way…

I don’t want the lights to come back on.

We sit in silence for a while, the kind that would be awkward with anyone else. But not him. Not Jamie.

With Jamie, the quiet is… full. Like it’s got weight. History.

Lightning flashes again, and I catch the way he’s tucked into the blanket, socked feet curled up beneath him, hands wrapped around a mug he probably forgot to drink. I can feel the heat of him next to me, steady and familiar. And it does something to me I’m not ready for.

“I used to hate storms,” I say suddenly, surprising even myself.

Jamie glances over. “Yeah?”

I nod. “When I was a kid, I’d crawl into my closet and sit with my hands over my ears until it passed.”

“Jesus,” he murmurs, not teasing, just listening.

“I don’t hate them anymore,” I add quietly.

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches me like he knows there’s more.

And there is.

“I think…” I shift slightly, my hand brushing the edge of his thigh under the blanket. “I think it’s ‘cause I don’t feel alone in them anymore.”

Jamie’s lips part, just slightly.

“I’ve never really said this out loud,” I admit. “But being around you? It’s the only time I don’t feel like I have to keep everything locked up.”

My throat tightens, but I force the next part out anyway.

“You make things quieter. In my head. In my chest. Even when you’re being loud and chaotic and driving me insane… it still feels easier somehow.”

He doesn’t blink.

“I don’t know what that means,” I finish. “But I know I don’t feel like this with anyone else.”

And there it is.

Not everything. Not yet.

But enough that the air between us shifts again, heavier, sharper, and full of something I’m finally brave enough to want.

The silence between us hums louder than the storm.

Jamie doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look away either. His eyes are locked on mine, wide and unblinking, like if he moves, this whole moment might crack apart.

And maybe it will.

But I can’t stop now.

My hand shifts under the blanket, fingers brushing his. Not fully, just enough to test the line we’ve drawn a hundred times and never crossed.

He doesn’t move.

Not away.

Not closer.

Just… still.

My heart’s beating so damn loud I’m sure he can hear it. The air’s thick with everything we haven’t said, all the near-misses and what-ifs and nights I laid awake wondering if he’d ever feel this too.

“Jamie,” I whisper.

His breath hitches, and I swear it echoes in my chest.

I turn my palm up, barely touching his, waiting. And when his fingers slide against mine, slow, deliberate, trembling, I forget how to breathe.

He’s looking at me like he’s not sure what this is. Like he’s afraid to hope.

So I lean in, just enough that I can feel his breath on my lips. Just enough to give him a chance to stop me.

He doesn’t.

Not right away.

Not until his hand tightens around mine, and he whispers, barely audible.

“Don’t.”

My stomach drops. But I don’t pull back.

Not yet.

“Don’t do this,” he says again, voice shaking now. “Not unless you mean it.”

It lands like a weight in the space between us.

And I do mean it. I do.

But he’s right.

If I cross this line, there’s no going back.

So I don’t say anything.

I just stay there, close enough to want, but not enough to take.

And let him be the one who moves first.

Jamie’s hand stays tight around mine. His voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts straight through me.

“Don’t do this unless you mean it.” He repeats.

He pulls back just enough to break the spell. Just enough to breathe, but not enough to run. His eyes are glassy, too bright, too guarded. Like he’s bracing for impact.

I feel everything I should’ve said catch in my throat. All the years I wanted him but buried it beneath every joke, every shoulder bump, every “you’re my best friend” I weaponized to keep the distance safe.

But it’s not safe anymore. Not after the other night. Not after that call. Not after I watched him come home with someone else’s name on his lips.

“I do mean it,” I say softly, but it sounds thin. Like hope laced with apology.

His jaw tightens. “You’re drunk half the time you say things that matter.”

“I’m not drunk now.”

“Still doesn’t mean you won’t regret it tomorrow.”

I flinch. Because he’s not wrong. I’ve spent years pretending I didn’t feel what I did, and now I want to rewrite the rules without warning.

“You’re not a rebound,” I tell him, voice rough. “You’re not a game. You’re—”

He cuts me off with a shake of his head. “Then don’t treat me like one.”

My chest aches at the look on his face, half-breaking, half-hoping. Like he wants to believe me. Like he’s afraid to.

“I’m not trying to ruin us,” I whisper. “I just… I can’t unfeel this anymore.”

Jamie breathes out, long and unsteady. He looks away, toward the window where lightning flashes behind the curtains, washing the room in flickers of pale light. He’s trembling. So am I.

“I’ve waited so long for you to see me,” he says, barely audible. “And now that you do, I don’t know if I trust it.”

Silence stretches.

Then, just as the thunder rolls again, he stands. Pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“I can’t do maybe, Drew. Not with you.”

He walks toward his room, pausing just long enough to glance back.

“Figure it out.”

And then he’s gone.

Leaving me there on the couch, every word still burning in my chest.

To be continued… Come back tomorrow for Part Five later today..

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

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First Edition: September 2025

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