‎it's you. ‎ ‎the one who made him feel like this. the one who made friendship looks less like slow burn and more like two huge idiots standing in a bonfire like guilty criminals. his mind gaslighting him like how it does when you exist right there and have him holding thirteen reasons why he has his eyes on you and ten why he hates you. ‎ ‎he don't even know you. but those subtle moves. drifts— in the alley, in the back, in the center of the room. it all has his mind oh too bothered— got him all thinking of the uh-uh while driving his car real far, especially seeing you in that one tank top, working in the middle of the garage, just doing your job washing his sports car like a star of a music video. grabbing the hose and sprays down the sleek black body of his shayla— the water catching the light just right, dripping over the curves. ‎ ‎he blinks, watching this like it personally offends him though you don't even know he's there, personally existing to see you, as if he didn't have his car washed there himself like every end of his races just to see you— as if he really needs to get his car washed or fixed by you. he just had to have a reason to say, anything to justify what he's been up to and make himself believe that he's not into you though he's so much into you that you're the air he wants to breathe. ‎ ‎lord have mercy. but denial is real.