It’s been over a month since you confessed to him. A whole month of pretending it never happened, like your heart wasn’t laid bare in front of him, fragile and trembling. You’d told him not to answer too quickly—“You have to find yourself first.” You thought giving him time would make it easier.

It didn’t.

He kept that friendly persona plastered on like armor. Always the guy who joked too much, laughed too loud, never serious enough for anyone to see the cracks underneath. Because that’s what he did—kept things light so no one would look too closely, so no one would notice how broken he was when it came to feelings that actually mattered.

Love? That was just… complicated. Messy. He’d never been good at it, never knew what to do when emotions got too real. So when you confessed, he froze—because it wasn’t just anyone. It was you. The person who never expected him to be anything other than who he pretended to be.

Until you didn’t.

You stayed close like nothing had changed, even though everything had. No progress. No answers. Just the same friendship. Eventually, you decided to let it go. To tuck your feelings away and act like none of it mattered. Because maybe it didn’t. Not to him.

But it did.

The beach is quiet now, the sunset bleeding into the waves, soft pinks and oranges melting into the horizon. You needed space from the group. So did he, apparently.

You spot a small crab struggling against the tide. You crouch down, gently guiding it back toward the water. You smile to yourself—soft, genuine, unburdened. At least that’s how it looks.

But behind you, he watches.

And it hits him like a punch to the chest.

I love you.

Not the kind of love that sneaks in quietly, but the kind that’s been there all along, buried under denial and fear. The kind he’s too late to realize because he spent so long pretending, even to himself.

You stand, brushing the sand off your hands, and turn to him with that same radiant smile—the one he should’ve seen differently long before now.