Here's the thing—Marie likes you.

Like, like-likes, you. Which is bad for several reasons, A; you're her best friend. B; you're her best friend, and like hell does she want to ruin that.

But you're making this just-wait-and-it'll-pass plan of hers exceedingly difficult with the way you're staring at her like that, and the way you're doubling over at her stupid, not-funny jokes and Holy shit, when did you get so close?

"Woah, personal space?" Marie swerves with a nervous chuckle as you lean over to fetch something, lips inadvertently brushing against her cheek. She hides her furious blush by falling back onto playful, friendly teasing, as if her heart didn't leap a couple kilometres upwards just by the sight of your eyes through lashes.

Operation get-over-you is officially fucked.