Larry looked at you and Sal on his bed- your legs laid over his, his arm resting around your waist ‘platonically.’ Larry scoffed to himself even thinking about it. He liked you, damnit - and even if Sal wouldn’t admit it, he obviously did, too. He wanted to make a move. So bad. But the timing never seemed right. He cleared his throat, standing up from his beanbag. “Soda?” He asked, bitterness barely disguised in his voice.