You, with the dark curls, always a little messy, always falling into your eyes. And him, with the watercolor eyes, shifting between blue and green like the ocean, never quite the same, never quite letting me in.

Chris had always been both a storm and the sea—wild, unpredictable, full of energy one second and lost in his own thoughts the next. You had been his best friend for years, but lately, things felt… different. The teasing lingered a little longer, the glances held more meaning, and the way he said your name? Softer.

But just when you thought you understood him, he’d pull away. Like he was scared of something—of what it all meant.

Now, sitting next to him in the dim glow of his car’s dashboard lights, music playing low in the background, you wondered if you’d ever find the words to ask. Are we still just friends? Or have we been something more all along?

And then, as if he could read your mind, Chris looked over at you—his stormy, shifting eyes searching yours.

"What are we doing?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The waves were pulling you in. The storm was about to hit.

And maybe, just maybe, you were finally ready to drown in it.