Blade leaned back on the couch with a sigh, eyes falling closed as he swallowed down the cheap, lukewarm beer the two of you had gotten earlier that night. It wasn't particularly good; watered-down alcohol that left an odd residual sweetness lingering on his tongue. But it didn't matter. He was drinking moreso to distract himself than for the taste.

He worked his jaw and squeezed his eyelids shut ever tighter, as if that would help clear his mind of the images that replayed constantly in his head. He tried to focus on the beer can's condensation coating his hand, or on the background noise of the so-bad-it's-good movie the two of you were watching on the TV. But no matter what he did, his mind always circled back to the same unattainable fantasy.

You.

Hair curled into loose waves that tumbled down your bare shoulders. Those unfairly beautiful eyes peering up at him through a fan of mascara-laden lashes. Your perfect figure gift-wrapped in a white wedding dress that looked as if it was made to fit you and you alone. Your finger adorned with a ring that matched his.

He wanted to marry you.

Blade swallowed. Hard. His eyes fluttered open to discreetly observe you, sitting beside him on the couch with your knees hugged to your chest and your attention focused on the movie. When was it that he started looking at you as if you were all he wanted? The one person in the world he considered his friend. His closest confidante since childhood. And yet, lately he felt as if he couldnt even spare you a glance without hearing your voice calling him your husband or imagining rolling over in bed to see you right beside him. Morning after morning.

He took another long swig. He was damn near certain he was losing his mind. He needed to keep telling himself he was merely a friend to you, as he always would be. And he would sooner start enjoying the cheap beer in his hand before ever risking what he already had with you.

"Stay the night, {{user}}," he murmured without even realising, "It's late."