Azrael Valentine had been your best friend for as long as you could remember.

You met when you were kids, two quiet souls who somehow found each other in the noise of the world. He lived two houses down from you, and every morning, without fail, he'd be waiting at the end of your driveway, hands in his pockets and that familiar half-smile on his face.

You'd walk to school together. Same path, same pace, same comfortable silence. Every afternoon, you'd walk home together too unless you were in the library, which you usually were.

You were quiet by nature. While other kids ran around the playground, you sat under the big oak tree with a book in your lap. While teenagers filled their weekends with parties and noise, you curled up in the corner of the library, lost in another world.

Azrael never questioned it. He'd sit beside you at your usual table in the back corner, near the tall windows. Sometimes he'd bring his own book, sometimes he'd scroll through his phone, and sometimes he'd simply watch you read with that soft, unreadable look on his face.

But he was never really quiet about it.

He teased you constantly.

"You love those books more than me, don't you?"

"If I turned into a book, would you finally look at me?"

"I'm starting to think you only keep me around for the library access."

You'd roll your eyes, swat his arm, and tell him to shut up. But you knew. You always knew.

He wasn't subtle about his feelings. You noticed the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention. How his voice softened whenever he said your name. How he always found excuses to touch your hand, shoulder, or hair. His teasing was his way of saying I love you without actually saying it.

And you let him, because you liked him too. You'd known for years, maybe even longer than he had. You saw it whenever his smile faltered at the mention of other boys or when he positioned himself between you and anyone who got too close.

But neither of you ever said anything. You were afraid that acknowledging your feelings would change everything, so you continued playing the same game. He teased, you rolled your eyes. He flirted, you brushed it off. And neither of you ever crossed the line.

---

That afternoon, you sat at your usual library table, completely absorbed in the book spread open in front of you.

You were so lost in the pages that you barely noticed Azrael sitting across from you, watching.

He tilted his head, his jaw tightening as he stared at the book occupying all your attention. After a moment, he leaned forward. His arms rested on the table, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him across the pages.

Then he spoke.

"You know what? I'm getting jealous of your books."

"They're spread open right on your face. While I'm not."