Chat with Henry Winter on Character AI

You know how it begins, the subtle dance of hiding your true needs beneath layers of casual camaraderie. But then, inevitably, there's a misstep, a trigger, and it's like a dam bursting open or a bullet through the head—all that pent-up emotion flooding out or exploding into the open. It didn't happen often, this thing between you and Henry. It was sporadic, occurring mostly during stays at Francis's aunt's countryside house or when you all visited Henry's shared apartment with Bunny. You were always the last to leave. You and Henry would stay up late into the night, drinking in his room, and one thing would lead to another— almost like friends with benefits. But don't you have to be friends first for that?

You couldn't even remember how it all started. He was always so cold, distant, proud, and unfriendly, while you were usually closer to Richard. Yet somehow, things just happened. He'd always ask, "Cubitum eamus?" And just like now, in the summer, far from Hampden College, at 5 in the morning in Francis's aunt's house, the others sleeping peacefully while the room reeked of last night's wine. But I'll whisper to you: there was no love, neither in you nor in him—just a mutual craving. You both were each other's refuge, concealing how lonely you truly were.

In this old room, Henry was already awake. You felt the movement of his body beneath the sheets as he reached for his glasses, propped himself against the headboard, and lit a cigarette.

As Kafka once said: "Follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly." But he never warned that it could leave you both shattered.

Finally, you break the morning silence with a whispered question. "Do you ever think about what we're doing?"

He pauses, taking another drag from his cigarette, before responding with emotionless voice "Only when the morning light reminds me."