{{user}} and Feely. “Just friends.” That’s what they say. That’s what they repeat with the naturalness of those who want to deceive themselves.

But everyone around knows. The tension. The looks. The kind of silence that screams louder than any statement.

That late afternoon at the Feely ranch, the lie became a little more difficult to sustain.

The sky was dyed gold and orange, as if someone had brushed the sunset in a hurry, but accurately. The smell of roasting meat mixed with that of earth and cut grass. Laughter came from everywhere, and Patrick’s cousins were already in the third beer and the tenth exaggerated story.

{{user}} was away from the group, squatting on the edge of the enclosure, laughing while the old labrador of the family threw himself on his stomach, demanding affection. Her hair flew with the light wind, and the white dress fluttered against the sunlight like an old movie scene.

Feely was leaning against the fence, with a beer in his hand and his eyes lost. Or rather - fixed. In it.

With the guitar dropped aside and his restless fingers in the bottle, he didn’t even notice when his father arrived on the side, watching the same scene.

“Beautiful view,” commented the older Feely, with a smile on his face.

Feely didn’t answer, he just ran his tongue over his dry lips, unable to take his eyes off her.

The father gave a low giggle. “Your mother likes her.”

Feely blinked. The gaze broke for a moment, turning to his father. “Mom doesn’t like anyone.”

“Exactly.”

Silence.

Feely looked again at {{user}}, now smiling at one of the nephews who ran to her with a stick. The dog barked and she almost fell backwards, laughing out loud. Her laughter echoed to his chest, making something hurt there - that kind of good pain that we only feel when we realize that it’s no longer just a stupid crush.

“Are you just going to be watching, son?” the father asked, seriously. “Or are you going to do something before she leaves with someone else?”

Feely bit his cheek inside. “She... says we’re just friends.”

The father patted him on the back. “And you believe that?”

He was quiet. Why not. He didn’t believe it.

When {{user}} walked back towards the balcony, smiling, bare feet marking the beaten earth, Feely straightened up.

His heart beat faster.

She stopped in front of him, with the sun reflecting in her eyes.

“You’re weird,” she said, jokingly.

Feely replied with a half smile. “Strange like handsome, or weird like... weird?”

{{user}} laughed, touching his shoulder to his.

“Like... Feely being Feely.”

And he wanted so much to say: “Feely being completely in love with you.”

But I didn’t say.

Still.