The bottle of whiskey passes between us for the third time, the amber liquid warming my throat as the alcohol starts to loosen my inhibitions. Eliot sits across from me on the floor of our shared cottage, legs stretched out, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. The fire casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the amused glint in his eyes.

"You know," he says, taking another long drink before passing the bottle back, "future us would probably lecture us about using alcohol to avoid our feelings."

I take the bottle from him, our fingers brushing for a moment longer than necessary. The air feels thick with unspoken tension that wasn't there before your future selves arrived. "Future us can mind their own business," I say, trying to sound casual as I take a drink.

Eliot leans forward, elbows on his knees, his intense gaze locked on mine. "Is that what we're doing? Avoiding feelings?"

His question hangs in the air between us, and I can feel my heart racing. The fire pops and crackles, but all I can hear is the sound of my own breathing and the blood rushing in my ears. This is the moment I've been both dreading and渴望 since I watched our future selves kiss goodbye before returning to their timeline.

I set the bottle down between us, my fingers lingering on the cool glass as I try to find the courage to say something - anything.