"I really don't wanna hurt you..."

"I know."

"I just really don't want to jeopardize our friendship, you know? 'cause you mean a lot to me."

"Yeah, I know."

"And it's just.. there's too much at stake. Our friendship.. but I promise, it's not you! It's entirely my fault."

"I know."

She shot him a cool glance. "Excuse me?" Slowly, Henry turned his head to face her.

"You said you didn't wanna hurt me. I know."

Jenna scoffed. "No, you just said it was my fault!"

Henry frowned. "I--"

But before he could speak, Jenna got up and gave him an icy stare, her fingers curled into fists by her side. "You're such an asshole," she yelled, and Henry saw tears well up in her eyes. Next thing he knew, she had stormed past him and slammed the door, and soon he could hear her footsteps on the stairwell leading down to the street. Henry simply sat, hands in his lap, and waited until the front door slammed faintly in the distance. Then he got up and moved to the window, and watched Jenna stalk away, her long, brown hair whipping in the angry autumn wind.

"I guess I am," he mumbled to himself, but he could not find a way to really believe it. This wasn't the first time he had seen her storm off in a huff; in fact, he had seen it more than fifty times now, in the exact same way, her hair blowing across her face as she fought to keep her tears back as she hurried away from his apartment - to be alone, or to be with friends... or perhaps to fall into the arms of some late-night bar hopper. Anything to soothe the ache that Henry invariably left in her. He sniffed, and went to make himself a cup of tea. He knew from bitter experience how this would play out. At this point, all he could do was wait.

It was a special purgatory, he mused as he sat in his armchair with the tea steaming up his glasses, to be locked in this cycle of events. At first it had seemed impossible, like a strange dream that went on for far too long, but eventually he had decided that he had either gone insane, in which case he was fucked no matter what, or he had indeed, by some cosmic machination, been wrapped up in an eldritch temporal loop; one week, from October 19th to October 26th, starting with the first time he had ever kissed Jenna. It had been a seminal day, and for 48 blessed hours, they had made love over and over in every room of his home, rounding every base of whatever baseball metaphor you might like to use. It had been amazing, astronomical-- and then she had shown up on the third day, as she had today, and wanted to stop. To go back to the way things were beforehand. Just Friends.

Just friends. As if his yearning for her was that easily extinguished. And part of him refused to believe that hers was, either; the last time they had been together, she had kissed him so deeply and so tenderly that it had seemed as if she was trying to attach herself to him via the lips. A merging of two bodies and two souls-- and now she wanted to be friends. Just Friends.

Bullshit.

Henry ran his lips over the rim of the mug, and breathed in the fragrant vapors of the tea. Tomorrow, he would call her - he always did, on Wednesday - and ask to talk. She would hesitate. On Thursday, she would send him a text saying she was sorry. On Friday, he would walk on pins and needles, waiting for a sign of life from her, and receiving none. On Saturday...

Henry put down the mug and got up. He felt strangely antsy, as if sitting had suddenly become an unbearable chore. For fifty consecutive weeks, he had fielded the same anxiety, the same peak of joy and the subsequent valley of despondency. He had waited, patiently, for something to change, and slowly, he had grown to resent the apologies, the platitudes and 'it's not you, it's me'-isms. He had grown distant and uncaring, knowing that whatever he did, she would not come back to his bed, or to his heart. A five day depression, waiting for that temporary two days of bliss, which seemed more and more like a slap in the face the more he experienced it. Whatever joy he gained from her body could not make up for the hurt and numbness of watching her retract time after time... but no more. He was sick of it. More than that, he was angry. Angry at her, for leaving, angry at the world for imposing this temporal prison upon him, and angry at himself for not having the guts to try harder. Angry at the grey sludge of depressive lethargy that took him every week when she left, and the tea which always steamed up his glasses and burnt the roof of his mouth. Assertively, Henry seized the mug and poured its contents onto the floor. Then he placed the mug on a table, drew a deep breath and stepped over the growing puddle, out of the living room and out into the hall. He donned his coat, grabbed his keys and left.

Jenna had just arrived home, her mascara streaking her face like a parody of a panda, when there was a knock on the door. Sighing with irritation, she wiped her face to get rid of the dark streaks, and then opened the door. She was greeted by Henry, whose broad frame filled the doorway. He looked down at her and frowned slightly.

"Jen.. we need to talk."

Jenna snorted, and made to shut the door. But something in Henry's eyes made her hesitate, and when the wait became embarrassing, she reluctantly stepped back and let him in. He inched past her, and took off his coat as she shut the door to the hallway.

"Well?" Her arms folded, Jenna glared up at her former lover, her fierce eyes flashing with ire. Henry sighed softly, and gestured towards the kitchen.

"Could we go sit down? I promise, once I've had my say, I'll leave. Just.. please, Jen. Five minutes."

She frowned, but nodded, and together they walked to the kitchen, where she perched herself against the counter, arms still crossed defiantly. Henry took a chair, and looked up at her with a soft, sad smile.

Jenna glared at him. "Talk."

"Okay." He leaned back and pushed his glasses up before settling into the speech he had prepared on the way over. "I want to say first that I'm sorry. You were trying to be real with me, and I blew you off. That wasn't right. And I apologize. You deserved better, and I was a jerk."

Jenna frowned, but the words did little to mollify her. Still, she allowed him to continue, although her guard remained up.

"Second, I want to say something that's been on my mind for a long time." Henry made a faint noise, as if of amusement. "Longer, maybe, than you might realize. You see, I--"

He paused, trying to find the right words. It was impossible.

"I've had a lot of time to think about us, Jen. I can't explain it, not really, not in a way that would make sense to you, but I've-- I've given us a lot of thought. And I guess the reason I didn't respond to you earlier was that I kind of knew what was coming. For lack of a better word, I guess I felt like I'd had that conversation with you before, many times, and at this stage, I'd given up trying to dissuade you. So I withdrew, instead."

Jenna scoffed and threw up her hands.

"That doesn't make any fucking sense, Henry. We were together for two days-- get over yourself!"

Henry nodded, but something about his stare made Jenna shut up. It wasn't any kind of anger or hurt, as she would have expected - maybe she had hoped for it, at least a little; some sort of reaction to break through the man's shell - but rather, it was a calm patience, as if he possessed all the wisdom in the world. Secretly, Jenna debated whether he had snapped when she stormed off, and if he had come over to do something crazy to her. Her hand crept imperceptibly towards the knife drawer, but Henry simply sighed and rested one hand on the kitchen table.

"I know; two days. Two good days, I hope you'll agree. But..." He cleared his throat. "Okay, so, imagine you've read a book, right? You've read it many times-- fifty, say. And every time you re-read it, you know what is going to happen. You know that page one has the beginning, and you know that chapter twenty has the ending. Well, to me, this - us, now - is like that. It's like I've read the Book of Us fifty times, and I've learned from it. Look.. I know it sounds nuts, but maybe just forget what I just said. Focus on this: I love you, Jenna. And I am going to be bold enough to claim that you probably love me, too."

He looked at her, a slightly sorrowful look on his face, and folded his hands in his lap. Jenna, meanwhile, shook her head slightly. He was sounding crazy, although the way he said it made it seem as if he really believed it. Which would make sense, right? Crazy people didn't know they were crazy. They just were!

Henry chuckled. "I know-- I probably wouldn't want to admit it, either, if I were you. I'm not the best pick, that's for sure. Kinda weird and geeky, kind of awkward to be around.."

Jenna frowned. "Shut up! It's nothing to do with that. I just..."

"Just?" Henry leaned forward. "C'mon, Jen, you can talk to me. I'm still me. Just because we've slept together doesn't mean I've changed."

"But you have!" She flailed her hands angrily, gesturing at him as words failed her. "You-- you-- Look, it's just the way it is! Stuff like this changes people. It's changed me, and it's changed you. That's what happens when people start hooking up. It ruins friendships. Just look at Andy and Diana! They were dancing around each other for years, and when they finally did it, it destroyed everything!"

Henry shrugged. "I dunno about that. I think it had more to do with Andy neglecting to tell Diana that he was seeing another girl on the side. Or that he had herpes."

Jenna scoffed and draped her arms protectively across her chest. "Whatever. The point is that sex changes relationships. It makes everything awkward and uncomfortable. And," she glared fiercely at him, "this just proves that! If we hadn't slept together, we wouldn't be having this fucking conversation!"

He nodded slowly. "I suppose so. But then.. why did you sleep with me to begin with?"

Jenna shrugged and averted her gaze. "It.. it was a mistake."

"Seven times?"

"You kept tabs?! Ugh, you are fucking gross!"

Henry shrugged. "I enjoyed it. And I think you did too. But it's fine if you won't say that; I'm not here because I want back in your pants. I'm here because I love you. And because... well, because I think this is a mistake."

"What is?" She glared at him.

"Us. This. Fighting. Breaking up-- even for the sake of friendship. I think.. I think that there is something to the notion that we are meant to be together. At least for now. At least right now."

Jenna shook her head in disbelief. "Dude, do you have any idea how crazy that sounds? You're like an insane stalker, talking like that."

Henry nodded slowly, and slid his fingers gently across the surface of the wooden table. "Yeah. Believe me, a year ago I would have felt the same way. But now I think I have a pretty solid reason to say what I'm saying. Even if I can't explain it."

"And I'm supposed to just take your word for it? 'Oh, Jenna, the universe wants us to be together!' Come on..."

He shrugged. "Maybe? I dunno-- look, it's not important. All I want is to understand what's going on. Because from where I'm standing, this is down to one of two things. Either you never loved me..." Henry glanced at her to gauge her reaction, but her face was stony and neutral, revealing nothing. "...or you are scared of what's going to happen if we get into a relationship. Which is fine. I understand that. Fuck, I'm scared, too!"

Suddenly animated, he got to his feet and walked over until he was just a few feet from her, his deep, amber eyes scanning her face for any sign of reconciliation.

"I'm scared of losing you, Jen-- don't you get that? But this? This is just us fulfilling our very own prophecy. 'I don't want to lose my best friend, so I push him away'? How does that make sense?"

Jenna bristled and retreated a few steps away from him. "Oh, so now we are back at it being my fault! Fuck you, Henry, seriously! You can't just barge in here and spew a bunch of crazy nonsense, and expect to win me back! Please, get out!"

Henry held up his hands and backed a few steps away, lowering his gaze in apology.

"No, that's not... that's not what I meant. Sorry. I just can't believe that we came all this way together if you never cared for me. That's all. I just want to understand."

Clumsily, he sat back down, while Jenna sighed. She was starting to get a headache, and Henry's metaphysical mumbo-jumbo wasn't helping one bit.

"Of course I cared for you. I-- I care for you! That's why we can't have sex anymore! Because of shit like this-- it'll ruin us, Henry."

He frowned, looking for the first time genuinely puzzled.

"But how does it change anything? My feelings for you haven't changed; you're still my best friend. You still make me laugh like nobody else does. And the other night, when we were watching that movie after we had sex, that felt natural, didn't it?"

She demurred slightly at his use of the word, but nodded all the same. "I guess. I just..."

"And when we were having sex," he pressed on, "you enjoyed it, didn't you? I didn't force you, or make you do anything you didn't want to do. Right? Because if it's about that--"

Jenna cut him off with a raised hand. "It's not about that. You didn't-- no, it was.. it was good. I enjoyed it."

"So what?" Henry's voice was soft now. "Please, Jen.. just tell me what it is."

She shook her head. "It's not something you can just fix Henry. It's not a car."

"At least let me try." He was pleading now, realizing that whatever momentum he had had before was lost to his deep-seated sorrow. "Please. Just talk to me. It's me, Jen, for God's sake. Come on.. we're a team!"

Jenna looked down, hot tears stinging in her eyes. "I can't," she murmured, and with that, the kitchen fell quiet. Henry stared at her, fear and worry etched on his features, and watched as a single, fat tear rolled down her cheek. He wanted to get up, to go over and wrap his arms around her, but he knew that it wasn't the right time. Still, deep in the back of his mind, he rejoiced. This was farther than he had ever come before.

"I can't," she whispered again, and now she was crying for real, her lithe frame wracked with gut-wrenching sobs. Henry watched her for a few seconds, and then got up. He put a hand on her shoulder, and tugged her gently towards his chest. To his surprise, she did not resist, and for a while she simply cried into his shoulder, the tears soaking through his shirt and staining his skin.

Little by little she recovered, and gently pushed away from him. Henry made no effort to stop her; instead, he took a few steps back and rested his hand on the counter.

"Something's bothering you." It was a stupid thing to say, but he said it anyway. "Something that isn't us. Talk to me, Jen. I'm here for you. Tell me."

Jenna gazed up at him with bloodshot eyes, the last of her makeup having disintegrated in the last deluge of tears. She hesitated, feeling the words choke in her throat, and swallowed hard. Then she look at him again. And she told him.

Henry leaned back on the couch, his mouth twisted into a soft smile. Next to him, Jenna was wrist-deep in a bowl of popcorn, and her green eyes sparkled with mirth. Salt and grease flecked her lips as she grinned at him.

"What?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"Oh yeah?" Jenna dumped the bowl on the table next to her and turned to face him, her lips forming an impish smirk. "What about?"

"You," he admitted. It wasn't a hard admission; he'd made it fifty-one times before. Jenna beamed at him and inched closer, her hand finding his thigh. Gently, she squeezed him, and he could feel her fingers shift tantalizingly closer, the way they always did. Fifty-one soft touches, fifty-one slow leans to kiss her, fifty-one soft groans as her fingers came to grip his already hardening cock. Fifty-one tries. And never one that had come close to working.

Henry sighed softly, allowing the pleasure of her touch to radiate through him for a second. Then, softly, he reached down and placed his hand atop hers, stopping it in its tracks. Jenna shot him a confused look, but he smiled warmly and let his fingers squeeze hers lovingly.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, and made to withdraw her hand, but Henry simply kept it there, wrapping his fingers around it and stroking it with the ball of his thumb. "I thought--"

"Don't be." Henry squeezed her hand again, and redoubled his reassuring smile. "You aren't wrong. But there's no rush, you know? Let's just take it as it comes."

Hesitantly, Jenna nodded. Then she met his gaze and smiled, although it was a wan gesture. When she made to withdraw her hand again, Henry allowed it, and instead wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her up to him until he could plant a kiss against her hair.

"I love you, Jen," he murmured, and felt absolutely untroubled saying it. "And I only want what you want, when you feel that the time is right. No pressure, okay?"

Slowly, Jen nodded. Henry couldn't see her face, but he didn't need to. They had the TV, they had their popcorn, and they had each other. That was enough.