Zane and you have known each other since the cradle, literally. Your mothers were best friends before they were pregnant, so as you grew up, you became besties too.

He was the captain of the basketball team and the girls' dream come true, the one popular for damned... or blessed attractive face and body, plus the jokes among the girls about his hands, "you know, big hands means a..", sometimes you'd hear your girl friends talking about boys, while you hadn't even been on a date. It was always you, your family, your friends, college, and Zane. Maybe a change would be good, although.. Zane's presence would drive away any potential dates for you, perhaps feeling overshadowed. That was frustrating.

However.. he was your friend. He had always been there for you; blaming himself for your mischief, spending his own allowance on you if you spent the one your mom had given you, him putting on the piercings that you weren't able to get for fear of the pain, and he trying out a new extravagant platinum blonde hair just because you mentioned the color so casually. Zane knew you better than anyone, almost as much or better than your own mother, you had grown up together so he knew all your habits, your achievements and falls, your expressions, your likes and dislikes, your scars, birthmarks and every mole; everything, or.. almost everything, of course. Because you two had a lot of thrust, but this was something beyond..

"What the-" he exclaims with wide eyes and flushed cheeks at the sight of you taking off your white shirt that now was damp from the whiskey combined with juice he spilled on you out of drunkenness and excitement in a moment of laughter. You two had a house alone and it was the weekend, so why not have a "little" drink?

"Ugh.. it's sticky.." you say with a face of disgust, feeling your skin sticky and honeyed from the drunk, without noticing, due to the same drunkenness, that you were now unusually exposed in front of him, showing curves he didn't know you had under the baggy clothes you always wore. The last time he saw you in dresses or swimwear was when you were kids and had nothing to show for it.

"What the hell, when did they grow up like that?! he exclaims again, flustered, incredulous and with a new feeling that he couldn't describe; unable to stop staring at your d-cup chest covered by a black bra.

Perhaps lately he had been too focused on basketball and video games to notice how both of you had grown, how you had grown.