Page 19 of The Cyrano Situation

Chapter Thirteen - Processing

Cyril

H art's shoulders sagged, the anger draining from him, leaving only exhaustion and vulnerability in its wake. "I'm saying that I've been in love with you for months. Maybe longer. And I've been helping you pursue someone else because I'm an idiot who just wanted to see you happy."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. The revelation was too enormous, too paradigm-shifting to process immediately. Hart—my friend, my colleague, my confidant—had feelings for me? Had been harboring those feelings while I talked endlessly about Jules, a man he’d set me up with?

"Say something," he said finally, his voice strained. "Anything."

"I... I didn't know." It was a pathetic response, but it was all I could manage as my mind raced to recontextualize every interaction we'd had in recent months.

"Yeah, well, now you do." Hart turned away again, arms crossed defensively across his chest. "So, if you want to leave and pretend this never happened, go ahead. I won't blame you."

But I didn't want to leave. Instead, I found myself stepping closer to him, trying to understand this new reality.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked softly.

Hart's laugh was hollow. "When exactly should I have done that? While you were showing me text messages from Jules? Or maybe when you were asking me what shirt to wear to impress him? Or how about when you were practicing your perfect first kiss speech with me?"

Each example was like a small knife, showing me how blind I'd been. How selfish.

"I'm sorry," I said, meaning it more than I'd meant anything in a long time. "I had no idea I was hurting you."

"It's not your fault." Hart sighed, the anger seeming to drain out of him. "You can't help who you have feelings for."

His words hung in the air between us, heavy and loaded with meaning I wasn't prepared to unpack. The apartment suddenly felt too small, the walls pressing in as I struggled to process what was happening. Hart had just confessed to being in love with me. And I had no idea how to respond.

"I..." My voice faltered. What could I possibly say? My mind was a chaotic whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Jules had been my focus for weeks. Hart had been the one helping me pursue him. The foundations of what I thought I understood were crumbling beneath my feet.

Hart must have read the confusion on my face because his expression shuttered, walls coming up to protect himself. "Forget it. This was a mistake." He turned away, shoulders hunched defensively. "You should probably go."

"No." The word came out more forcefully than I intended. "I'm not leaving, Hart. Not like this."

He didn't turn back to face me. "There's nothing more to say."

"There's plenty to say." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to organize my scattered thoughts. "You just dropped a bombshell on me. You can't expect me to have an immediate response."

"I don't expect anything," he said, his voice flat. "That's the point."

I moved around him so I could see his face.

His eyes were guarded, but beneath that guard was a vulnerability that made my chest ache.

This was Hart—the person who'd been there for me through everything.

Who knew my coffee order and my favorite authors and which movies would make me cry.

Who'd spent months helping me impress another man while apparently harboring feelings for me himself.

"How long?" I asked quietly.

Hart let out a shaky breath. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

He looked down at his hands. "I don't know exactly. It wasn't... sudden. More like I woke up one day and realized what had been happening for months."

I nodded, trying to absorb this. "And you never said anything."

"What was I supposed to say, Cyril?" A flash of the earlier anger returned to his eyes. "You were so excited about dating again. You lit up talking about Jules. You were... you seemed happy. What kind of friend would I be if I ruined that for you?"

The kind of friend who was in love with me. The realization sent a confusing mixture of warmth and anxiety through me. I'd never thought of Hart that way. Had I?

No, that wasn't entirely true. There had been moments, brief, quickly dismissed moments, when I'd felt something shift between us. A lingering glance, a touch that stayed a beat too long, laughter that faded into something more charged. But I'd never let myself examine those moments too closely.

"I need to..." I gestured vaguely, moving toward the kitchen table and sinking into a chair. My legs felt unsteady. "I need to think."

Hart remained standing, keeping his distance. "Like I said, you can go. We can pretend this never happened."

"Is that what you want?" I looked up at him.

His laugh was hollow. "What I want stopped being relevant a long time ago."

"That's not fair," I said. "To either of us."

"Fair?" Hart's voice rose slightly. "You want to talk about fair? Was it fair that I had to listen to you go on and on about Jules? Plan your dates? Help you figure out how to kiss him? Hell, how to have sex with him? Was any of that fair to me?"

Each question landed like a blow. I'd been so oblivious, so caught up in my own narrative that I hadn't seen what was happening right in front of me.

"No," I admitted quietly. "It wasn't fair. But I didn't know."

"And now you do." Hart crossed his arms over his chest. "So, what happens now, Cyril? You go back to Jules, and we have awkward interactions at the office until one of us inevitably transfers departments?"

"Is that what you think I want?"

"I don't know what you want!" The outburst seemed to surprise even him. He took a deep breath, visibly trying to regain his composure. "I don't know what you want," he repeated, softer this time.

Neither did I. That was the problem. Jules had been charming, attentive, exactly what I thought I was looking for.

If you'd asked my only a couple of hours ago, I'd have said I was falling in love with him.

But Hart... Hart was familiar and surprising all at once.

Hart was the person I trusted most in the world. Hart was...

What was Hart to me?

"I care about you," I said finally, the words inadequate but true. "You're important to me. More important than I think I've let myself recognize."

Hart's expression was guarded. "As a friend."

"I don't know." The admission cost me, but I owed him honesty. "I've never thought about you—about us—that way. Not consciously."

"Not consciously," he repeated, something flickering in his eyes. "What does that mean?"

I stood up, needing to move, to think. The rain outside had intensified, drumming against the windows in a steady rhythm that matched the pounding in my chest.

"It means I don't know what I feel right now," I said, pacing the small kitchen. "It means I'm confused. It means finding out that my best friend has been in love with me for months is making me question everything I thought I knew about us."

Hart watched me, his expression unreadable. "I'm not asking you for anything, Cyril. I didn't even want to tell you."

"But you did tell me," I said, stopping my pacing to look at him directly. "And I can't unknow it. I can't go back to how things were."

"So, where does that leave us?" he asked, and beneath the carefully controlled tone, I heard fear. Fear that he'd ruined everything between us.

I moved closer to him, drawn by that vulnerability.

"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But I do know that you're too important for me to walk away from.

I know that the thought of not having you in my life makes me feel sick.

I know that when you didn't answer my texts this weekend, it felt like something vital was missing. "

Hart's eyes softened slightly. "That doesn't necessarily mean… "

"I know it doesn't," I interrupted. "I'm not making any declarations here. I'm just... I'm trying to be honest with you. And honestly, Hart? I'm a mess right now. I need time to process this. To figure out what I actually feel versus what I've been telling myself I feel."

Hart nodded slowly. "Okay." He hesitated, then added, "And Jules?"

The question sent a fresh wave of confusion through me. Jules, who had been my focus for weeks. Jules, who had kissed me and touched me, and made me feel wanted on so many levels. Jules, who was waiting for my call.

"I don't know that either," I admitted. "It's not fair to string him along while I figure this out. But I also don't want to make any rash decisions when everything feels so... upended."

Hart looked away, his jaw tight. "So you're still considering pursuing things with him."

"I'm not considering anything definitive right now," I said, frustration edging into my voice. "Hart, you've had months to process your feelings. I've had twenty minutes. Can you give me some space to catch up?"

His expression softened. "You're right. I'm sorry." He rubbed a hand across his face, looking suddenly exhausted again. "This isn't how I wanted any of this to go."

"How did you want it to go?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I didn't," he admitted with a small, sad smile. "I was planning to take these feelings to my grave, or at least until they faded. Which they would have, eventually. Probably."

The thought of Hart silently suffering, watching me with Jules, made my stomach twist. Whatever else I felt or didn't feel, I couldn't bear the thought of him in pain.

"I wish you'd told me sooner," I said softly.

"Why? So you could let me down gently months ago?"

"So I could have had all the information," I corrected. "So I could have made choices with my eyes fully open."

Hart studied me, something unreadable in his expression. "And what choice would you have made?"

It was the question at the heart of everything, and I didn't have an answer.

Not yet. I looked at Hart. Really looked at him.

The curve of his jaw, the warmth in his eyes despite his hurt, the hands that had comforted me through breakups and celebrated with me through successes. This was Hart. My Hart.

But what did that mean?

"I don't know," I said honestly. "But I'd like the chance to figure it out. If you'll give me time."

Hart was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the steady drumming of rain against the windows and our breathing in the small kitchen. Finally, he nodded.

"Time," he agreed softly. "I think we both could use some of that."

I reached out tentatively, taking his hand in mine.

It was warm, familiar—the same hand that had high-fived me after successes, squeezed my shoulder in comfort, passed me coffee on early mornings.

But now there was a new awareness humming beneath my skin at the contact, an electricity I couldn't dismiss as merely friendship.

"Whatever happens," I said, "you matter to me, Hart. That's not going to change."

His fingers tightened around mine briefly before he pulled away. "You matter to me, too." The smallest of smiles touched his lips. "Obviously."

That smile, uncertain but genuine, gave me hope that whatever came next, we might find our way through it together.

I just needed time to untangle the complicated knot of emotions that had formed in my chest. To understand if what I felt for Hart was friendship, or something deeper that I'd been too blind to see.