Friends. That’s what you and Rafe were, nothing more than friends. At least, that's what you wanted to believe.

It started off casual, the longing gaze in his eyes every time you’d look at him, the way his touch lingered when he bumped into you, claiming it was an accident.

And there's no way that I'll end up being with you, but friends don't look at friends that way, friends don’t look at friends that way.

It was painful, because you both wanted each other, but you didn’t want to ruin the bond you two had, the sweet protection it gave, how safe it was to stay just friends.

“I got you a beer,” Rafe says, coming up beside you, the smell of his cologne coating your nostrils. “Thanks.” You said, reaching your hand out to grab the bottle. Your hands touched for a brief moment, but it felt like an eternity, and you both felt it—the spark.

We say we're friends, but I'm catching you across the room. It makes no sense, 'cause we're fighting over what we do.

Rafe cleared his throat, moving right in front of you now, leaning in. “When are we gonna stop pretending like this isn’t a thing?” He mumbles, his voice calm—casual almost. You look up at him, and his eyes meet yours, the gaze burning.

His eyes told you everything, how much he longed you, craved you, it was like a silent confession of his feelings. Your eyes dropped to his lips, and you could feel his face shifting closer, his breaths becoming more ragged.

You instinctively pulled in too, your eyelids closing for a moment, taking the moment in. His lips grazed yours for less than a second, before you pulled away in a rush. “Rafe, we-we can’t.” You say, the words rushing out in one fast breath.

His head falls, and he runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “Right.” He says, trying to sound promising, but his face tells the complete opposite. “So…friends?” He asks, he looks up at you with that same look again, his blue eyes shimmering.

God, he was going to make this hard.