The Conditions of Will

by Jessa Hastings

“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” I stare up at the big arch, which is my favorite part, I think. “Even though it’s broken?” “Yep,” he says quietly, and he’s looking just at me.

“Have mine,” he tells me, offering me his mug, but I don’t notice what’s in his hands because I’m distracted (always distracted) by his face. “Your what?” “I meant my coffee, but…” He smiles. “You can have my—fuck—have whatever you want. Have everything.” His tongue is pressed into his bottom lip, his pupils are dilated, and his gaze flickers from my eyes to my mouth to my eyes to my mouth to my eyes, and he swallows heavily.