His voice is gentle, so different from the stone wall that’s been between us for two weeks. “I don’t hate you, Noah. You could never make me hate you.”
My heart is rabbit fast. “I love you,” I say. “I love you, and not as a best friend.”
His lips part. He looks surprised. Too surprised.
My brow furrows. “Why are you looking at me like that? You knew.”
“I … I didn’t know how much.” His pupils are dilated. “Noah, I — I love—”
“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t say it the way you’d say it to a friend. Don’t say it because you feel you have to. You don’t have to. I don’t expect you to.”
“You know you’re my favourite person,” he says.
I don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to protest. Part of me wants to ask about his use of present tense.
“I like you more than a friend, Noah. Am I allowed to say that?”
I look away. Hearing him say this is going to make it hurt more, later.
When I return his gaze, he looks unsure. “I’m sorry. I had to tell you.”
I nod, preparing myself for the end of this topic. We will never speak of this again. I wipe my sweaty palm against my knee.
His hand finds my own. His fingers intertwine with mine.
I’m so shocked that I try to tear my hand out of his grip, but his grip tightens.
I look into his eyes, trying to decipher what this means. He’s so close now, close enough for me to smell his shampoo and the scent that is one hundred percent Henry.
He sighs, and I can feel the breath on my skin. “Noah, I’m such an idiot.”
It’s time for dessert. When Declan sees Henry sitting in his seat, he lets Henry remain there, grumbling that it was about time. Despite his tone, I could see the smile he was smothering, and the look he shared with Kaito. Eve returns and her smile is magnificent. There’s a moment of awkwardness when she looks at Henry, their faces flushing with embarrassment, but with a small smile the matter is forgotten, their shoulders relaxing.
As the seats at our table fill, Henry lets go of my hand. I understand the practical reasons — we need hands to eat chocolate pudding. But I also understand that even with our hands under the edge of the table, people could still be able to see what we’re doing.
I think you deserve the best and no less.Eve’s words.
When everyone finishes dessert and heads for the dance floor, leaving Henry and me alone, I know what I have to say.
“I want to apologise properly for everything that happened, that day. I shouldn’t have talked about it in class, where the girls could hear, and I’m sorry for trying to make you jealous, and all of it. I shouldn’t have tried to manipulate you. I’m so sorry, Henry. I understand how important your privacy is to you.”
“I should have talked to you,” Henry says. “I shouldn’t have been stubborn, and answered when you tried, I shouldn’t have been an asshole …”
“No,” I interrupt, and soon we’re arguing over whose fault it is (it’s mine), talking over one another until we stop, realising what we’re doing, and laugh.
I say what I don’t want to, but need to.
“I wish things could go back to the way they were before, but I can’t do it. It’s too painful for me.”
“The way things were before?”
I’m tempted to take it all back, that’s how much I want him, but I don’t. “I can’t be your best friend. And … I can’t just hook up and sneak around.”
Henry’s eyes shift. “Then what are we?”
“Not best friends. But friends. I’d need distance, to get over you.”
“To get over me,” he breathes.
