Of course he didn’t mean that she wasn’t herself. It was a figure of speech, given hastily, without thought, and he apologizes for that. He hadn’t thought she was listening, but even if she wasn’t, that doesn’t make it right. But she is acting a touch odd. She’s behaving in a way he doesn’t understand, in a way that seems contrary to who she is, to the person he’s gotten to know. He’s not quite sure why. Perhaps, if they talk it over, they could get to the bottom of this? Please, he doesn’t mean her any harm.

Dolce closes his mouth.

But she saw him open his mouth. She’ll know he was about to say something. Smile. Let his nose wrinkle disarmingly, let his eyes close without fear. Ask for her pardon. Tell her it’s been a long day. He’s already made one mistake. The exhaustion is getting to him. She’s waiting. Bella is waiting. Bella is scared. Bella is hurting. Bella is waiting. Smile. Speak. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Dolce picks up the cup of coffee, with both hands. Not to drink; only to stare. Watch the few lights in this place dance in the ripples.

Dolce breathes. With difficulty.

“...do you trust me?”

The shadows threaten to swallow his voice whole. He has to aim, carefully, for his question to reach the thing wearing his friend’s face. Speaking in her voice. Breaking beneath her hurt.

“I will answer all of your questions. Just. Do you trust me?”