The late October air carried the faint scent of woodsmoke as Chris pulled his navy beanie a little lower, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. They were walking the same quiet stretch of Brooklyn waterfront they’d walked a hundred times before—after late-night shoots, after breakups, after too many beers and not enough sleep. Tonight the river was glass-smooth, reflecting the strung lights from the opposite shore.

You’d been talking about nothing important: a terrible new action movie you both hated, the way Dodger had started stealing socks again, how you still couldn’t believe it had been fifteen years since that first awkward table read where you’d both pretended to know what you were doing. Chris stopped near the railing, suddenly quieter than the city noise around you. You glanced over. “You good?”

He exhaled through his nose, a small, nervous laugh escaping. “No. Yeah. I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck the way he always did when he was about to say something irreversible. “I’ve been carrying this around so long I forgot what it feels like to just… put it down.”

You waited. You’d learned a long time ago that Chris didn’t rush the important stuff. He turned to face you fully, blue eyes catching the warm glow of a nearby streetlamp. “I’ve spent years telling myself it was just… how close we are. How much I trust you. How you’re the only person who’s ever seen every version of me—the loud one, the quiet one, the one who’s scared shitless half the time—and still stuck around.” His voice dropped softer. “But it’s not just that. It hasn’t been just that for a long time.” Your heart gave an unsteady thud.

“I’m in love with you,” he said simply, like he’d finally let go of a breath he’d been holding since 2011. “Not the movie-star version, not the best-friend version. You. The guy who knows exactly how I take my coffee and still makes fun of me for it. The one who can tell when I’m spiraling before I even open my mouth. I’ve tried to talk myself out of it—God, I’ve tried—but it just keeps getting truer.”

He gave a small, crooked smile, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I don’t know if you feel anything close to the same, and I swear I’ll be okay if you don’t. I just… couldn’t keep pretending it wasn’t there anymore. Not with you.”

The river kept moving, soft and steady. Somewhere far off a ferry horn sounded low and mournful.

You looked at him—really looked—and saw the same nervous, hopeful, ridiculously brave man you’d known forever, only now he was offering you something he’d never offered anyone else. You stepped closer, close enough that your coat sleeve brushed his.