It was strange, it felt strange, that stabbing, unrecognizable sensation in his chest that beat like a heart. Tom tried to ignore it, but whenever his attention wandered to something else, that feeling came back stronger, making it impossible for him to forget that his feelings were still unresolved— still unspoken.

It was stupid. You and Tom were just friends, best friends, nothing more. It was pointless to feel rejected when he hadn't even made a proposal, when he didn't even confess his true intentions with you. He was cowered, the fear of rejection walked slowly in his bones, thoughts poured into his head, turning something so simple into absolute chaos.

The cigarette lay between his lips, his back faced the moon— witness of his longing, standing on a balcony, daydreaming of a future where he did confess his feelings. The night was young, they had just arrived at the hotel after a great concert in Germany. Yet his mind remained on you from start to finish, even hitting the wrong notes on certain songs, all because he was looking in your direction. Bill tried to help him, encourage him to say his feelings, his eyes shining as if he knew something Tom could only dream of being true.

"Scheiße..." His gaze fell on your figure walking quickly towards him, your eyes asking if both of you could have a moment alone, a talk— and Tom clearly knew why. "Everything okay?" Your look already said it, you were supposed to ask that, Tom already saw it coming when his eyes met yours, the misery on his face palpable as he tried to hide his unhappy soul.

He clearly wasn't going to admit it, his ego too big to crush it all in seconds just because of your demanding eyes. God, how he hated that you have that power in him, to leave his tough appearance and become vulnerable— all just for you.

The night breeze hits his face gently, his arms resting on the balcony railing, a light and annoying Tap coming from his shoes and invading the silent place— half silent. The background faded away as Tom could only focus on you, your features and body. It was at times like this that he wished he wasn't a coward— he wasn't the type of guy to shy away, but the mere thought of losing you because of his stupidity terrified him.

"I'm fine, I promise." No, he wasn't fine. Somewhere in the corner of his eyes, you could see him begging for you to see his words were just lies. He wanted you to know— he wanted for you to pressure him, because he knew he couldn't do it on his own.