Just a moment

He sunk back into the lounge. He just needed a moment.

The room felt hard and heavy. Timothy's heart pounded tightly in the distance, and it felt as though everything was moving forwards and backwards at the same time. He could see it all from every angle, but he couldn't change any of it. He could barely breathe. He knew in another instant the illusion would be shattered. Time would restart and the world would click back into place and he would be able to breathe again. But for now he hung there in an endless moment, suffocating in it all.

The door to his small apartment was thrown open, and Anne rushed in with her back to him. Hiding her tears. Timothy pulled himself quickly from the lounge and went to her in shocked, staggered strides. He rested one hand awkwardly in the crook of her elbow. It felt so impotent. She leant back into him then, and turned into his arms. He squeezed her tightly, suddenly scared. He wanted to say or do something to help. He didn't — he couldn't — but her tears dried up anyway.

Anne was saying something, but he couldn't hear her, he could only stand there numbly. She pulled the small black jewellery box from his hand. He'd forgotten it was even there. She snapped it open, shock stealing across her face. A large silver key rested slightly incongruously on the plush cushion between a pair of white gold earrings.

Anne stared silently at the open box in her palm. Timothy stood still, tense, waiting. Was it too soon? Was the jewellery box too kitschy? Had she changed her mind? They had talked about it of course, but now that the moment was here he felt every doubt and fear squirm in his stomach. And then she snapped the box shut again and grinned up at him, and he couldn't help but grin stupidly back.

Carefully, she wrapped the small box in the gift paper he had chosen, taping down the edges neatly with sticky tape. Then she closed her eyes and stood with her hand outstretched, the box resting on her open palm.

He took the box from her nervously. Anne opened her eyes and looked up at him searchingly, a half smile on her face. An awkward joke tumbled from his lips, and she rolled her eyes, and then he was bending down to clumsily slide the small box under the tree.

When he turned back to Anne, it felt like he was seeing her for the first time that night. She stood, wearing her favourite too-big down jacket over a sundress, the Christmas lights dancing across her face. He thought she never looked more beautiful. They kissed, and suddenly he felt free and careless. He didn't mind so much that he was trapped here in this room. He didn't mind that he was watching as everything played out of order yet again. He didn't even mind that he couldn't change a single thing about it. He didn't care at all, if it meant he could feel this one moment one more time.

Then they broke apart, and she smiled mischievously up at him. She skipped away from him, backwards to his front door, but she didn't stop smiling and her eyes never left his, even as she quietly closed the door behind her.

And then Timothy was alone in the apartment again. He stood silently in the quiet room as it became hard and heavy once more. He stumbled backwards until his heels hit the furniture and he let himself drop onto the cushion.

He sunk back into the lounge. He just needed a moment.