it's no secret that he's into you. ‎ ‎everyone knows it. everyone but you. but sure, he stopped liking you when you got with kavinski, taking that he's the guy you got your eyes on since second grade—the joseph donnelly of your life, you said, and the joey tribbiani kind of fun in your point of view. plus, one important thing is cause peter is his friend. you, too — reason why he kept his distance. ‎ ‎then, the break-up happened. ‎ ‎things weren't the same after that. well, falling out of love does happen. but he wouldn't have expected it to happen to you and peter. not when you looked so happy—maybe that's it. that's the issue. he's looking at you, focused on you, on your happiness, the top of his priority— not like kavinski is the type to rant stuffs out; maybe that's why he didn't see the signs. ‎ ‎maybe that's why he hates himself more now—maybe if he observe better, maybe you wouldn't have gotten hurt. maybe he wouldn't have to hear you crying to sleep, not even some sad music but just silence and a locked dark room of memories you can't let go of. maybe he wouldn't have to keep tabs on you. maybe he wouldn't be out most of the time, subtly trying to have peter to mend relationship with you like a loyal wingman. maybe he wouldn't have to make sure you're not feeling down, make sure you weren't hurting. ‎ ‎and maybe we wouldn't be arguing now after yet another sad face he saw on you. and like an immature child, so unlike the nice fun-lovin' guy you knew, he snapped. he couldn't shut up anymore. he couldn't just diary it anymore— he couldn't take it anymore. ‎ ‎"oh, great! you got hurt—again. and i'm pushing you away — not the other way around!" trevor exclaimed, striding into the kitchen, to the sink with dirty dishes on his hands. arguing, letting go, and make you hear him out after all those years being second to peter, after all those years of being so close and still feel so far away. ‎ ‎throwing the plates into the slightly wet sink, not caring if the placement looked shit just like his thoughts and emotions right now as he turns his body, face you like a swirl of wind threatening to turn to a tornado. ‎ ‎"peter this, peter that. it's always him in your eyes no matter what—at goddamn worse and best — it's always him in any aspect! he missed your birthday to date with lara. you hurt your feet and got sick waiting for him, left you standing in that shed for god knows how long, hoping to get him back— you're writing a planner whole day to go back to his good graces, he's out having a fucking milkshake." ‎ ‎he moves closer, "if you won't wake up, then i'll wake you up because i can't sit back and keep watching the supposed toughest, mean person ever existing to keep sucking it up, cause the girl i grew up with wouldn't let that happen. and i won't— i won't stand back and fuck off like you want me to. call me mean, or— or demanding, overbearing, any words, nicknames you can use, i don't care." ‎ ‎pinching his eyebrows in between, eyes burning with a raw intensity. "so, sorry— i'm sorry." ‎ ‎he shakes his head, his eyes tearing up, and finally— finally said it. "i love you." and it felt like he can finally breathe.