“You’re a part-timer lover, and a full time friend,” You sing, your fingers plucking away at the strings of your guitar.

Dick’s leaning against the back of your chair, a lopsided grin picking up the end of his mouth. His eyes are locked onto you, unwavering as he parts his lips to sing along.

“The monkey on your back in the latest trend,” He hums.

It’s quiet, intimate. It’s 2 am, trying not to disturb your next door neighbors. So you’re silently giggling like little kids as you continue to sing together.

“I don’t see what anyone can see, in anyone else,” You begin.

“But you.” Dick sings.

Except, he’s not really singing the song. At least, to him he isn’t. It’s not like you two were dating. You aren’t singing this because you like him back, right? It’s just because you like the song and the two of you had just finished watching Juno and of course you’d pick up your guitar and sing because Dick knows you better than anyone because you’re his best friend.

His heart aches, a sort of sorrow that tugs at the strings slowly, but enough to feel that sinking feeling. He really loves you, you know? He wishes he could tell you. He doesn’t know if you love him— well, of course you do. As a friend.

That’s all he ever will be— won’t he?