She had been teasing when she alluded to his tight schedule, not truly desiring to toe him into a box or place herself opposite others on some silly balance. She didn't mind others. She could pretend they didn't exist. Take him for her own only when he was and set him free when he wasn't. What he did when he wasn't with her was hardly any of her business. There would be times, it was inevitable, when she'd catch a glimpse of his memory — a flash of someone else in his arms, held there in a way that might inspire a brief moment of envy. But she'd stifle that and skip away, contentedly deciding it didn't concern her. It was simpler that way. If she laid a claim on him, made him hers and only hers, she'd have to take care of that. Nurture it. Tend to it in more attentive ways than she liked and that wasn't necessarily required when two people were only having fun. If her past relationships were anything to go off of, she lacked the energy for such responsibility. Ultimately, she'd be unable to. And he'd grow — slowly, always very slowly — to resent her for it.

If he truly wanted them to be... exclusive... did that mean they were something? Would she have to name them in some way when explaining to those who reached for her that she couldn't anymore? Doing so would be dooming. Like starting a clock to countdown; herself feeling weirder and colder as she watched the numbers tick to zero. The whole idea was a mountain of stone hurtled in her path that she could only stare at with trepidation; too hesitant and afraid to start that upward hike to a summit where she knew she'd find a much steeper, treacherous decline on the other side. It was daunting. She'd fucked it up too many times before. Thrown herself and anyone else from that pivotal precipice (incidentally sometimes, but other times purposely) just to escape.