He still remembers the day you borrowed his sweater. You looked so beautiful in it than he couldn’t stop himself from saying it suited you better. You laughed, brushing it off, but he meant it. He always mean it when it comes to you.

But today, as he stood there with Heather. You think his attention is on her, that he's mesmerized by her. Heather’s kind—bright and sweet—but she's not you. She never has been. When he hold her hand, he catch himself wishing it was yours. When she talks, he's distracted by the memory of your laugh. And when he catches you looking at him, your gaze full of longing—you try so hard to hide, he feels guilty.

He stay by Heather’s side because he's afraid. Afraid of what it would mean to admit that he's been in love with you all along. Heather’s wonderful, but she’s not the one he think about at night. She’s not the one he imagines sharing his future with. That’s you. It’s always been you.

And he couldn’t take it anymore. Watching you from afar, seeing you clutch his sweater like it’s your lifeline while you try so hard to look okay—it’s breaking him.

Heather says something, but her voice fades into the background. His eyes are on you, and for the first time, He stops holding back. He gently let go of Heather’s hand, murmuring something about needing a moment, and before he realize it. He's walking toward you.

“You okay?” He ask, his voice softer than he expected.

He saw the hesitation in your eyes, the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of his sweater. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He almost laugh—almost. You’re so bad at lying, and it’s one of the things he loves about you.