They were just friends, and she reminded him of that at every step. When she grabbed his hand, seeing nothing romantic in it. When she whispered nonsense into his ear, and he shivered at the warmth of her breath, which she didn’t notice. When she gave him sweet hugs, and he melted under her touch.

She was beautiful, kind, sweet, and understanding. And she really, truly liked him. She genuinely trusted him and wanted to spend time with him. And inside, he felt so awful, disgustingly rotten… But she didn’t need to know that.

They sat in her room, on her bed, and he couldn’t escape her sweet scent or warm presence. Everything about her seemed fascinating and incredible to him, as if he were discovering a new specie.

She was looking through her notes, lying right next to him, so close he could almost feel her warmth. Her eyes were glued to the pages covered in blue ink. From time to time, she muttered something to herself or flipped through the sheets, not paying much attention to him. He didn’t mind at all. Just knowing she was near was more than enough.

He held his phone in his hand, pretending to be completely absorbed in whatever he was scrolling through. In reality, she was the only thing on his mind.

“Are you tired? Maybe you need a break?”

He asked quietly, glancing at her over the screen of his phone.