You and Aaron Olsen had been inseparable for as long as either of you could remember.

His parents treated you like their own, and yours did the same for him. Somewhere along the way, people had started asking the inevitable question; Are you two dating?

But the answer had always been the same: no. Not once, not ever. The idea had never really crossed either of your minds.

Even in high school, when friendships between girls and boys tended to fade or become complicated, the two of you had remained exactly the same.

When you started dating Dylan, nothing really changed between you and Aaron.

Dylan was a good boyfriend. Maybe not the kind who wrote poetry or remembered every little detail about you, but he was steady. He took you on dates and bought you flowers.

And he’d never had a reason to be jealous of Aaron. Because Aaron was just… Aaron. The guy who had grown up beside you, the one who knew every embarrassing childhood story.

So Dylan trusted him.

Which was why, the night of a party, when Dylan called sounding miserable and sick, he insisted you go without him.

You had already been halfway through getting ready when his message came through. By the time you called him, his voice was rough and tired.

He told you to go anyway, to have fun. And besides, Aaron would be there. The way Dylan said it made it sound obvious. Aaron would keep an eye on you, he barely drank anyway. One or two was enough for him.

So when you arrived, you didn’t think much about it. Aaron stood out easily. He always did.

Tall enough that his head was above most of the people around him, broad shoulders giving him that familiar football-built frame he’d carried since sophomore year.

Small, empty shot glasses lay clustered on the counter near him, a faint flush already settling across his cheeks. Someone must have convinced him—something that didn’t happen often, but clearly had tonight.

Eventually the air inside grew too heavy, and you slipped outside with a few friends into the backyard.

The night air was cooler, a welcome contrast to the heat of the crowded house. You were standing near the edge of the yard, talking with a couple friends, when the back door opened behind you. Aaron stepped out.

He paused just outside the door, scanning the yard until his eyes landed on you. Even from a few steps away, it was obvious that he wasn’t as steady as he usually was. Not fully drunk, but looser than normal.

He walked over, stopping near you. And for a while, it felt like nothing had changed.

Aaron’s attention stayed on you longer than usual. His gaze lingered in a way that felt unfamiliar, like he was studying something he hadn’t noticed before. At first, it barely registered. But then the quiet stretched.

His eyes moved slowly over your face—your eyes, the curve of your mouth—before settling there, lingering. The space between you seemed to shrink without either of you stepping closer.

From his taller height, he leaned down just slightly, his broad frame casting a faint shadow over you in the soft backyard lighting. There was something different in his expression now.

His lips parted.

“Does Dylan even tell you how pretty you really are?” He asks quietly.

For a moment, everything seemed to stop.

The noise of the party blurred into the background. Coming from Aaron, his words felt strangely heavy, like something that had slipped past a barrier neither of you had ever crossed before.

Then, Aaron pulled back slightly, blinking as if the weight of what he’d just said had finally caught up with him. The quiet look in his eyes faded, replaced by sudden, sober realization.

He clears his throat, stepping back slightly. One hand lifted to rub the back of his neck, a familiar nervous habit that appeared whenever he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

His gaze flicked briefly toward the house.

“I'm gonna go grab some water, I think.” He mutters, attempting to leave.