To the internet, you and Drew were just best friends. That’s what the comments said under every post.

“Ugh, bestie goals.” “Why can’t I have a friendship like this??” “They’re so cute—but like, platonically… right??” Right.

You’d show up on his IG story wearing his hoodie, legs tucked under you on his couch, sipping from his glass like it was yours. He’d appear on your grid in blurry polaroids, arm slung over your shoulders, lips pressed against your temple in a way that always made people wonder.

But it was always labeled the same: “me & my best friend.”

Only… it didn’t feel like just that.

You two were always touching. Always leaning in closer than necessary. His hand on your thigh when he laughed. Your fingers brushing through his hair without thinking. He always whispered into your ear, even when no one was around. You always shared a blanket even when there was another one sitting right there.

And the flirting? Constant.

“I should take you out looking like that,” he’d murmur, eyes dropping to your waist as you leaned against his counter in a baby tee and sweats. “You should,” you’d smirk, “but you never do.” “Maybe I’m scared I won’t come back from it.” “Maybe I wouldn’t let you.”

It was a game. Or maybe it wasn’t. Neither of you ever clarified.

So the internet kept guessing. Were you just best friends? Or was something else happening behind the phone cameras and soft smiles?

Honestly… you weren’t sure either. And that was the most electric part of it.