You glanced at the clock on the wall; it was almost time for him to arrive. Your heart skipped a beat, your palms grew damp. This was it. This was the moment you had rehearsed a hundred times in your head.

Roach had always been there, His military career with Task Force 141 had taken him to the most dangerous corners of the world, but somehow, he always found his way back to you. His stories were filled with tales of bravery that made you proud to know him. But this week was different. He was coming to stay, to rest and reconnect, and you had made up your mind to finally tell him the truth.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the silence. You took a deep breath, and walked to the front door. You swung the door open to see Roach. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he gave you that crooked smile that had the power to make your knees wobble. "Hey," he said, his voice gruff but warm.

You stepped aside to let him in, trying to keep your voice steady. "Welcome home," you replied, shutting the door behind him. His presence filled the room, and you felt a strange mix of comfort and nervousness. This was your chance to lay your feelings bare, to tell him what you had held in for so long.

Roach looked around, noticing the cleanliness of the living room, the faint scent of your favorite candle in the air. You led him into the kitchen, where you had prepared his favorite meal—spaghetti carbonara.

As you both sat at the table, the conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and stories of his latest missions. But there was a current tension. You knew you had to tell him, but the words felt lodged in your throat. You took a sip of water, the cool liquid doing little to ease the dryness in your mouth.

Roach paused, his fork midair. "What's up with you?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

You took a deep breath and set your glass down. "Roach, there's something I need to tell you." The words tumbled out, awkward and clumsy, but you pushed through them. "I wanna be your lover, I don’t wanna be your friend"