yodel

You and Martin have been best friends for ages. The meeting was pure coincidence, but there was an instant click. Now that click was still going on, but sometimes something shifted. When he would talk about having a new crush, you would slightly feel protective and maybe too glad when he got over it.

The same with him: when you found someone incredibly attractive, he felt a pinch of jealousy lingering in his mind before trying to push it off. It also wasn't unusual for the two of you to call almost every day. Just like now, as you were lying on your bed, the phone against your ear, while you and Martin would navigate through various subjects.

"I always wondered....if you would time travel to the past, with the same clothes one, would they judge?"

"Hmmm? What do you mean? Like seeing your clothes and thinking it's strange?"

"Yeah, I just wonder how they would react. Because imagine seeing someone in futuristic clothing, just walking so casually down the street. Wouldn't that raise questions?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, as he was reading a comic book, lazily turning the pages, "I guess that would raise questions."

"In which time period would you like to live?"

"Hmmm, that's a good question," he closed the comic, leaning back on his headboard, "I think....the sixties. Seems pretty fun to me. They also had way more vinyl stores and didn't think strangely about longer hair. Where would you go?"

"The sixties, so that we both could party together in one of those....rock and roll bars types of....clubs?"

"Ah, so you would especially for me follow forty years back? That's very sweet, sugar plum."

You laughed, "Sugar plum? What an old-ass nickname."

"I thought you liked it retro-style? Hmmm? Changed your mind?"

"Alright, don't get too cocky, time machines don't exist."

"How would you know? Have you ever used one yourself? Y/N? I didn't think so."

"You know...." You leaned your chin on the palm of your hand," ....how different were they back then? Like, how would their teenage years have looked?"

He sighed, "I don't know really, pretty much the same, but without the technology, I guess."

You scoffed, "Cmon you really think technology is the only thing that divided us from them? They were probably modest, like....caring and soft."

"Excuse me?" he said with a tint of annoyance, "I am also caring and soft for you."

"Alright, but that's not the same, okay? I bet they interacted so differently... like Romeo-and-Juliet type of stuff."

He laughed into the ear's phone, "Sure, sure. Place two teenagers together and you think they'll kiss oh so "softly". "

"Not everybody is rough like you."

His eyes widened for a split second before sitting up, "First of all, how would you know? Second of all, do you want to know it?"

"Do I want to know what?" you scoffed into the phone, placing your magazine on your nightstand.

"You want to know how I kiss? Want to feel it, perhaps?"

Your heart skipped a beat, just by accident. His words were so smooth, and they came out all buttery over the phone: "Uhhh....why do I need to know that?" Your question was answered with a light chuckle: "I don't know, you seemed interested in all that ' "romantic'"' stuff."

"Well, you ain't romantic, Martin."

"I can be romantic if I want to," he declared as if you personally spat in his face, "Actually...." he shifted from subject, "....you never had your first kiss, isn't that right?"

"Yeah...." Suddenly, the conversation intrigued you. But you could never have expected what he would say right now: "Why don't we just kiss?"

"What?" you laughed through the horn, "Are you insane? You want us to become some kind of kissing buddies?"

"I mean....If you want to call it that, sure." he bit his lip slightly, but of course you couldn't see that.

"Okay, but still, we are best friends. Wouldn't that change much? Like, couldn't that possibly ruin the friendship we had? Since when are you even into such stuff? Have you smoked something up there? And by the wa-"

"Whoa whoa," he interrupted you, "take it easy, will you? It was just an innocent question, no big deal." he let his head fall back on his pillow, staring at the ceiling as he could hear your breathing fasten just a tiny bit. It wasn't as if it was a hard decision to make, but still experiencing kissing....wouldn't that just be amazing?

All those stupid rom-com movies, all those stupid classics you had to watch with your parents; kissing, hugging, and just being with each other. But wasn't that called love? Instead of "kissing buddies"?

"It would be stupid to do so."

"That could be the case."

"And we have been friends for ages."

"Yes that is true."

"And I don't even know how to kiss."

"That isn't a big issue."

"It would create some weirdness."

"You know, Y/N, you are saying everything that could make it wrong, but I didn't hear any '"'no" fall off your lips."

"We are best friends....I don't know."

He propped himself this time on his elbow. "Is that the only reason that you won't kiss me? So.... you are actually saying that you find me attractive?"

"What did I say, Martin? Don't. Get. Too. Cocky. With. Me. Have you really learned nothing?"

"I'm just saying. It just sounds as if you wouldn't mind me kissing you."

"Your words, not mine. It really sounds more like you have a tiny crush on me."

He laughed, "If that makes you sleep at night, I'll take it."

"Okay," you laughed, "I got to go, it's time to sleep. For you too by the way."

"Wait, you haven't said y-" and you hung up the phone, your laughter breaking out in your bedroom as you put the lights off. Martin was left speechless, something in his eyes glinting as he thought about the conversation between the two of you. Really, kissing buddies doesn't sound that bad, just like a stress relief. You hadn't said no....but you did think about saying yes; that was the scary part.

There wasn't any time to think about it, since you and Martin saw each other the next day at his house. It was like a tradition to watch a film together every Saturday. His fridge would be packed with snacks, while you would be happily eating all those snacks. So it didn't surprise him that his doorbell rang.

And luckily, his parents were never home on a Saturday.

"Are you here for me or the food?" He leaned against the door frame at the front door, "Hmmm....both? Or do I need to choose one?"

"Maybe you could combine the two?"

"So you want me to eat you?" You gave a wink. "I'll think about it, Martini." The flirty banter would never vanish, never ever. It was always so fun that the friendship was so comfortable that you could do anything, and he wouldn't get the ick. Your eyes were locked onto his fridge, opening and seeing your favorite snack.

"You remembered!" you squealed in happiness. He leaned his hand on top of the fridge. "Well, I figured that you might need something to cheer you up."

You frowned, "Huh? Why would I be sad?"

He leaned in slowly, his lips close to your ear, "Because your lips are cold." He didn't even practice saying this; it just rolled out, and it was already too late to take it back.

"Maybe I like the cold, like a ....."

"A husky?"

"More like an ice bear. Are you that desperate for a kiss? Are your lips cooling off?"

"Maybe...." he smiled, "But you know....as kissing buddies....there are no responsibilities. It's just you and me in the heat of the moment. When you're frustrated, just....kiss it out."

"Hmmm....well I always come to you when I am frustrated."

"Exactly! But now....there are just lips connecting." You leaned against the kitchen counter, looking up at him slightly. "I don't get why "kissing" is so addictive."

"That's because, my dear friend, you never experienced it before. And I can assure you that once you feel it, you can't escape it."

You rolled your eyes, "Why not. I don't care about it anyway. Besides, it's maybe good to start with, like a best friend, so you can like....practice."

"Exactly! Practice! I'm really a good teacher, just so you know."

He grabbed your hand softly, dragging you behind him as he ran up the stairs. Still holding your favorite snack tight against your chest as you basically flew behind him, "Sheesh, Martin, calm down."

"Sorry....sorry," he slightly panted as he fell back into his bed. He sat up straight, patting the spot in front of him. "Come here."

"You want to do this now? What about the movie?"

"First, we're going to kiss, then we can watch the movie. You can choose."

"Alright," you smiled, "I like the sound of that." You crawled onto his bed. Sitting with your legs crossed over each other in front of him. He was smiling brightly at you, but the stress rose when he realised what was about to happen. You saw him starting to slowly lean down towards you, but before his lips could touch yours, you covered his mouth with your hand.

His eyes widened, looking at you in confusion, "Wait....I just need a moment."

"Sorry...." The sound vibrated into your hand. He saw you slowly breathe in and breathe out, "....you know we don't have to do this right now." his voice feeling warm against the soft area of your hand, but it was also uncrackable, "What?" you said in confusion.

"I said...." he softly grabbed your wrist, letting your hand fall onto the bed, "....we don't have to do this right now."

"You sure? You won't be mad right?"

He shook his head. "Why would I be mad? This should be a stress relief, not a....stress maker." His hand found your hair, softly shaking it up before letting his back fall against a pillow. "Alright, choose a film." You looked at his DVD collection on his shelf, seeing various genres, from science fiction to comedies to rom-coms.

"It has been a long time since we watched 10 Things I Hate About You."

"You think? I thought we watched that a month ago."

"So if you didn't see me for a month, would you be okay?"

He frowned, "No, I wouldn't be alright," the furrowed eyebrows slowly disappearing, "Ahh, now I get it. Okay, fine, go put it on."

The movie started, and there was no problem. The opening scene with Bianca was nothing wrong. Everything went slowly and comfortably. You were lying next to Martin, his shoulder brushing against yours from time to time. It was something you two had done thousands of times, but this time you couldn't help but think back of that "almost kiss". A good kiss, like you had read in your teen magazines, always needs to be spontaneous. If not, it only makes the two people too aware, and it could fail. Now you were wondering if you shouldn't just fly onto him. Your legs were slightly twitching, your hands balled into fists as Martin was just relaxing.

There were a thousand things that could possibly happen right now, but now you just wanted to kiss him. Not because you liked him- he was just a friend- but you wanted to feel his lips on yours. The film wasn't even at its halfway point when you slowly turned your head to him. His eyes were still concentrated on the TV. You had to admit, his side profile was really handsome, and his lips seemed so addictive. So before you knew it, you slammed your lips onto his in a short, impulsive peck. Martin didn't even have time to move his lips on yours since you immediately backed out.

"That's not how you do that," he chuckled, "Come here."

Your eyes widened as you felt his hand cup your jaw, bringing you back to his lips. This time it was slow, his head angling to get a deeper taste. There was no tongue, but it felt so sensitive. You never realised how many nerves you had in your lips, since every move of his made you squeaky. Your little short breaths would swoop in between the kiss, before he slowly backed off.

You gulped, not uttering even a single word. "You alright?" he softly asked, his eyes searching for yours. "Yeah...." You cleared your throat. "I am totally fine...." Your fingers touched your lips, finally understanding how it may be addictive. Martin looked at you for a couple of seconds before leaning down against the pillow.

"Actually....I am not fine," and with that, you connected your lips together again. You didn't really know how to move, so you followed his lead as he straightened his back. He made you roll onto your back, pinning you down. Before you knew it, his hands were wrapped around your wrists, keeping you in place as there was a heat creating itself.

"You're pretty good at this," he said between kisses.

"Mhm....you too...." You slowly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you. He was trying to get you out of breath, physically having to pull him by his hair to make him stop. Your cheeks were flushed, and that was the moment his heart took the biggest leap he ever felt, but he ignored it.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you panted, but he could only trail his fingers over your face, "No reason at all."

"That's the stupidest idea I have ever heard in my entire life, "Keonho said while he was slumping back against his chair. "Why are you doing this? Do you want to be heartbroken?"

"What do you mean? It's just kissing, nothing more."

Keonho rolled his eyes and crossed his arms on his desk. "You can't tell me that you didn't feel anything while kissing her. Not even a single emotion."

"I...." he looked at the floor, "....it just felt good. Just cozy, but nothing more."

"Oh, really. Then tell me exactly how it felt. I need every single detail."

"Hmmm...." he crossed his arms over his chest, "....her lips were surprisingly soft, gotta tell you that. Her arms....went around my neck, and it felt so warm. Practically in a sauna but without the sauna but the warmth."

"Yeah I got that."

"And she....I don't know her hands would sometimes linger in other places, like my jaw, or in my hair."

"So you're telling me....that you exactly know where her hands were, how her lips felt, but you don't have a crush on her?"

Martin scoffed, "Cmon a "crush'"' is a simple thing. It's just a stupid idealisation; it doesn't apply to this situation. By the way, Y/N hasn't had any deal with just kissing each other."

"That's because she probably think it's just a "friend" type of thing. I don't even understand how this buddy thing works."

"It's simple; if you feel frustrated or just extremely excited and you can't release it, you just come up to one another and put your energy into kissing."

"And that doesn't sound weird to you? What do you even stress about?"

"I don't know....maybe the math test for tomorrow. I really could use a kiss right now."

And Keonho jokingly leaned in, "No, not from you dumbass, I need her kiss."

"Well doesn't that explain a lot?"

Maybe he was right. Just a slight chance, but that chance only grew when he saw you through the window. Your hair was slowly moving with the wind; you smiled so brightly. Your hands were slightly fumbling, and then he looked closer.

You were talking to another boy.

His heart clenched, like a stab in his back. You looked so shyly at the ground that it hurt even more. His eyebrows furrowed, scoffing under his breath as he tore his gaze away. Even when the lesson started, you were still outside talking to this guy who was basically breathing the same air as you.

Martin Martin

"Martin. Attention to the lesson." he was shot awake by his teacher, slowly turning his head to the chalkboard.

Keonho looked over his head, looking what was the big deal outside, until he saw you talking to this guy, "Ahh I see...." he smiled brightly.

"Shut it."

"Are you jealous, maybe?"

"No, I'm not jealous....just interested in their conversation, that's all," he muttered under his breath.

"Okay....Oh look they are kissing!" he whispered shoutingly. Making Martin's head immediately swing towards you again, but you were still standing there.

"I was just kidding, and I guess you were too when you said you weren't jealous."

"Very funny. Maybe you can try to fill in the exercise right this time." During lunch break, the tension was visible, but it was only visible on one side. You placed your tray on the table, just slowly sitting down with a relaxed posture as Martin was eating with his jaw clenched. Keonho was just smiling awkwardly at you, trying to eat.

Iroha was sitting next to you, looking strangely at Martin, then back at you. She softly kicked your leg, leaning at your ear, "What's going on?"

"Hmmm? What do you mean?"

She grabbed your shoulder, both turning your heads away from Keonho and Martin, "Why is he looking so tensed?"

"Who? Martin?"

"Yeah....it looks like gravity is trying to press him down."

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Martin play with his food, his hand having a tight grip on his fork as he still didn't look up, "You're right, there is definitely something wrong."

"Hey, you guys....what's up? What's new? Something bad happened?" You rambled, and it got a soft murmur out of Martin, "Nothing....nothing much."

"Uhh...." Keonho swooped in, "What Martin meant to say was that we have a tough Math test tomorrow. And yeah he didn't study for it yet."

You laughed, "Are you serious? You are going to fail, but hey, no worries. Just come by; I'll try to help you, and if that doesn't work....we'll just try to relieve your stress."

Keonho's face scrunched up for a second before Martin finally broke his silence. "Who was that guy you were talking to?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "What guy?"

Martin looked up from his plate. "On the sprinting track, you were talking to this weird guy, and I am just wondering who this guy is and why he was standing so close to you. That's all." The last words were mumbled, so you didn't catch them.

"Oh, that's just Sam, just a classmate. He was asking for some notes. Why?"

"Oh, nothing, I mean he can ask notes to everybody else, why does he have to bother you?"

Iroho and Keonho exchanged glances, their gaze staying at their plates, "He isn't bothering me. What's up with you?"

"Nothing. Nothing is "up" with me."

"Alright good."

"Good."

The silence fell. Now the two of you were tense. The grip on your spoon was so tight you thought it could possibly melt in your hand. Martin's grip on his fork tightened, and it was slightly bending. And too bad that Keonho and Iroha had to sit there in an awkward silence while their "just friends" were "arguing" about something so stupid.

Now was actually the perfect time for a kiss, but well, you two were sitting in a cafeteria filled with many students. Martin was thinking about it, though, grabbing your face and giving you one steamy kiss, and then just sitting down like nothing happened, but he had to keep himself in check. You did see him looking up at you, then back to his tray; again you, looking at your lips, back at his tray.

Suddenly, you stood up, letting your intrusive thoughts win over: "I am....going to get something from my locker. I'll be right back."

Not even two seconds later Martin stood up too, "I think I forgot something too....I'll be right back," and with that he rushed off, leaving Iroha stunned and Keonho in disgust. His face scrunched up in annoyance as he knew what you two could possibly be doing.

"Why are you looking so weird?" Iroha asked.

"You don't know?"

"No....?"

Keonho leaned closer over the table, "They have this weird pact, system, thing. That when one is stressed or something, they relieve their stress by kissing."

"....But they are best friends? How does that even work?"

"Don't ask me," Keonho sat back, "I'm just glad I don't have to see it."

"You think they are...."

"Oh, definitely, you don't really think they are getting something from their "locker"?"

They were right. Of course they were right, because as you walked off, Martin immediately ran after you. The moment he caught up with you, he twirled you around in the empty hallway, pushing you against a locker while slamming his lips against yours. They were moving restlessly, his mouth sucking on your bottom lip, pinching and biting. Luckily, everybody was having their lunch peacefully, unaware of the makeout session the two of you had against a random person's locker.

"Hmmm, are you that stressed?" you breathed out, cupping his face and stroking his jaw.

"Yeah, sure," he panted against your lips. He was partly stressed, partly frustrated, and one hundred percent jealous. His lips shushed you up again, now slowly moving his tongue around. Those kissing sounds were like your duo project, like a piece of art. Your eyes closed softly, letting him handle the rhythm.

His hands were keeping your face so close, but you noticed that he actually never dared to wrap them around your waist, even tho your hands could stroke his neck. But right now there wasn't the time to discuss that topic, since you two had been kissing for way too long.

"I am going back." you said while trying to catch your breath.

"What?" he softly panted, "You're going back already?"

"Mhm," you nodded, letting your hand go through your hair, "They'll be worried."

"No, no," he grabbed your hand softly, "Please wait....just....one more kiss. Just a tiny one; I won't get carried away."

"Martin....what are we going to tell when they see we take so long? What if they come looking for us?"

"They won't, cmon. Just one kiss, just a quick peck, that is all."

You grabbed his chin, "Alright fine, since you're so "stressed"." A soft, slow kiss lingered on his lips. It was a weird sensation, since it was so sensual. His stomach twisted, his body feeling a magnetic pull towards yours, again holding you hostage between his chest and the locker. "I'm sorry....it just felt so good...." he whispered.

"Okay," you laughed it off, but the way he was looking at you made you question so many things. You went back first, slowly sitting down, as if nothing had happened. Iroha saw how your lips were swollen, glancing towards Keonho, who just gave her that "I told you so" look.

Then Martin calmly sat down, not being able to keep a smile off his face. His ears had reddened in the shade, and he sometimes glanced up at you with that same smirk. This was starting to feel more exclusive than just a little "buddy" arrangement.

That same day, even tho something had changed, you still found yourself sitting on his bed whilst he was trying to find his math book. Back then laying in his bedsheets wasn't special, just almost a daily routine, but now you felt his body warmth wrapped around you.

"Aha, got it!" He smiled, placing the book on his desk. "You can do whatever you want; I just need to concentrate."

"Okay," you smiled, letting it falter quickly as you sat there, looking at the back of his head. He had put on his "super secret home-glasses" that he only wore when he wanted to feel smarter or just when he felt like putting them on.

It made him even cuter, and that's how you zoned out on him. He was tapping his pen on the desk, biting his lip, frowning as he was writing something, then taking his calculator. Now you just noticed how big his hands actually were and how plump his lips were under his teeth. You leaned your head against his headboard while observing him. Right now, you just wanted to cover his neck in love bites, even tho you had never done that before. It wasn't exactly "friendship-like" to think about that.

You slowly stood up, walking towards him and standing right behind him. He could feel your hands massaging his shoulders. "Is everything going well?"

"Mhm mhm," he leaned into your touch, letting his head fall back, "Yeah....everything is going just fine."

"That's good...." You smiled, looking down at him as his eyes were closed. Then, slowly, you leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his lips. His eyes opened unhurriedly, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. His hand came up to your cheek, stroking the soft skin. "What was that for?"

"Just....for courage during your math thing going on there."

"Alright...." he made you lean in again, placing a soft kiss on your lips too. Your heart skipped a beat, feeling shy under his soft gaze, "Thank you...."

"You're welcome....now I am going to concentrate further on my math, is that okay?"

"Mhm...." You could only answer with those big eyes of yours, slowly pulling away from him and sitting back on his bed. As you wrapped his blankets around you, slowly laying your head on his pillow, you still looked at him. The last thing you saw before falling asleep was him writing something on the paper.

After maybe two hours, Martin had slowly lost his motivation. His head hurt from all the calculations. He thought you were maybe listening to music on his iPod, or just reading one of his favorite comic books. But as he turned around, he saw you all wrapped up, softly breathing while you had dozed off. He smiled as he approached you, kneeling next to you. His hand stroked your cheek, moving some hair strands out of your face.

His touch made you stir awake, well, not totally awake. You leaned into the familiar feeling of his hand, resting your head against his hand.

"Hello there...." he whispered, still letting his fingers trail. You mumbled in response, placing your hand on top of his.

"You are adorable....do you know that?" His eyes traced over your face and the way it softly smiled when you heard those words. His heart was melting at the sight, even if he had done this many times before with you. Mostly, you would have slapped his hand away, saying that he's a creep as you took his blanket away from him.

He slowly took off his hoodie, wearing a sleeveless top. You only heard his movement as he made his way under the blankets. His arms had wrapped themselves around your waist, stroking the soft skin as he placed his chin on top of your head. His chest moved up and down, following his breathing. You felt warm in his presence; it soothed you that you immediately fell asleep again.

Your eyes opened again. This time, his entire room was dark; the only light that went through the little gap in the curtain and window fell directly on Martin. It had been so warm that you couldn't contain his body heat anymore. You sat up straight, his arms still loosely wrapped around you. The entire time, you had kept wearing your sweater underneath your blouse; no kidding that you had felt incredibly hot.

You slowly threw your sweater off, letting his arms fall away. A little groan escaped his lips as he had nothing to hold onto. His facial expression was sour, which made you chuckle softly. You lay back, looking at the ceiling, when Martin was stirring awake. The absence of your body had shaken him up. He sat up straight, looking around with his eyes half open, before finally seeing you lying there further away on the bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the stickers he had stuck there.

"Y/N?" he turned his body to you. "Baby?" The nickname had just fallen so simply out of his mouth, like it was normal. All of this wasn't normal; two best friends, sleeping in the same bed, hugging, kissing, this was the dumbest way to jump into a relationship.

"What did you say?" you whispered, turning your head at him, "I said....baby. Does that bother you?" he leaned slightly over you, holding himself steady by placing his hand on the headboard, "No....no it doesn't bother me...."

"Okay....good...." he lifted your head up with his index finger, looking at your left and then your right eye, "I really want to kiss you...."

"Since when do you ask....?"

"That wasn't a question...." he smiled, "....but does that make it a yes?"

"Mhm...."

Martin leaned down more, his lips ghosting over yours more intimately. The two of you just stared into each other's eyes, just looking and admiring, before he slowly closed his eyes and planted his lips on yours. It was soft, his moves deliberate. His fingers trailed over your arm, intertwining his fingers with yours. Your other hand tangled into his hair, pushing his lips against yours harder. The strands were soft, and he couldn't help but let soft noises fall from his lips.

"Martin...." You broke the kiss. "....you aren't stressed....frustrated....or anything that needs stress relief."

"I know...." he looked at you, "....because I just felt like kissing you, right here, right now."

"Only this specific moment?"

"No...." he laughed, "....so many more moments, I can't even count them on my fingers." He planted a soft kiss on your forehead. "....and I know this maybe wasn't '"'the move'"' to make things....not friendship-wise between us."

"So....what are you really trying to say to me?"

He looked down, laughing nervously, but you took his chin between your fingers, "Tell me."

"I really, really want to be your boyfriend."

"Yeah? You really, really want that?"

He laughed again, burying his face in your hair, "Yes."

Frustrating, because he was Martin. Oblivious, ridiculous, beautiful Martin who could compose melodies in his head but couldn't seem to notice the way you looked at him when he wasn't paying attention, how your breath caught when he slung his arm around your shoulder or even that your heart raced every single time he said your name. He could hear a single wrong note in a symphony from across the room, but he couldn't hear the way your voice softened when you spoke to him, couldn't see the way your eyes lingered on his face a moment too long.

You truly, wholeheartedly believed that in your many years of friendship Martin had never looked at you the way you did him, and you couldn't blame him for it either.

He'd seen you through practically every stage of your life: through the awkward middle school years with your too-big glasses and braces that glinted under fluorescent lights, through that disastrous first date in freshman year where the guy spent the whole time talking about his fish and wouldn’t let you get a word in, through the tearful nights of being a teenager in a far too demanding world when he'd shown up at your door with ice cream and terrible movies and stayed until you fell asleep on his shoulder, his fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair until he too drifted off.

He'd seen you at your absolute worst—messy hair, puffy eyes, sweatpants with a mysterious stain you couldn't identify, voice cracked from crying—and he'd never once looked at you like you were anything less than his best friend. He'd held your hair back when you were sick, carried you home when you'd twisted your ankle at the park, and listened to you rant about everything from unfair teachers to existential dread without ever making you feel like you were too much.

You were a constant, a string attached to him that he never pulled; never tugged to see how far you'd stretch, never wound around his finger like something he wanted to keep. Always hovering in his orbit, tethered by years of shared history and quiet longing, but never quite close enough to be held. Just close enough to believe, just far enough to ache.

Though there were moments that granted you the cruelest hope.

Like when he'd fall asleep on your shoulder during movie nights, his breath warm against your neck, his lashes fanned across his cheeks like dark crescents, and you'd spend the entire film frozen in place, terrified that moving would wake him, terrified that he'd realise how badly you wanted him to stay there forever. You'd memorised the weight of his head on your shoulder, the soft sound of his breathing, the way his fingers would sometimes twitch in his sleep like he was reaching for something. You'd stay like that for hours, your arm going numb, your back aching, and you wouldn't trade it for anything.

Or when he'd look at you across the cafeteria, mid-laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners, his head thrown back just slightly, and you'd forget how to breathe for a solid five seconds because it was just so unfair. How was one person allowed to be so effortlessly gorgeous? How was he allowed to look at you like that and not know what he was doing to you? The afternoon light would catch his hair just right, turning it gold, and you'd watch his smile spread across his face like sunrise, warm and blinding, and you'd have to look away before your heart gave out completely.

Or even when your families had decided to go to a funfair together and the two of you were sharing candy floss when he suddenly reached up without thinking, his thumb barely brushing the corner of your mouth to wipe away a stray piece of sugar. The touch was featherlight, barely a second, but it sent a jolt of electricity shooting down your spine, setting every nerve ending on fire. You'd frozen, your heart hammering so loudly you were certain he could hear it over the distant screams of the roller coaster and the tinny carnival music, but he'd just gone back to the candy floss like he hadn't just completely undone you and given you a moment you'd replay in your head for years to come.

As if that wasn't enough, he'd spent the following hour at the carnival games, determined to win you that lopsided stuffed bear just because he wanted to make you smile. He'd thrown ball after ball, his brow furrowed in concentration, his jaw set with that stubborn determination he got when he refused to give up on something. He'd missed eighteen times before finally sinking the nineteenth, and the way his face had lit up was worth more than any prize could ever be. He'd handed you the bear with the brightest grin you'd ever seen, completely unaware that he'd just handed you something far more precious than a teddy.

He never noticed, of course. Martin noticed that the birds chirped a few minutes earlier one morning and how your mother's nail polish had changed shade for the first time in years. He noticed the way the light shifted through the seasons and the subtle differences in how certain chords resonated in different rooms. He noticed everything except the way you looked at him like he'd hung the moon and that your whole world tilted on its axis every time he smiled at you like you were something special.

He never noticed how you held onto every small gesture, every casual touch, every moment of kindness he doled out without thinking. He never realised that for you, these weren't just moments—they were lifelines. Proof that maybe, just maybe, you weren't completely invisible to him. Proof that the love you'd been harbouring for years wasn't just a one-sided delusion.

Maybe that was the worst part.

Sometimes you caught yourself wondering if he'd just look beyond the surface of your friendship would he see it too? Would he see the years of longing written across your face like a love letter he'd never bothered to read? Would he see the way your heart cracked open a little more every time he touched you, spoke to you, existed near you?

Would he see that you loved him? Or would he just see his best friend, the way he always had, the way he always would?

You didn't know, and that uncertainty—that endless, agonising not-knowing—was the cruelest thing of all.

One afternoon you'd decided you couldn't take it anymore.

You were walking home together, following the same route you'd taken since you were six years old, and Martin was talking about something, though you didn't know what—his voice was just background noise, a familiar melody you'd memorised years ago, the cadence of his speech as recognisable as your own heartbeat. You were too busy watching the way the late autumn light caught in his hair, the way his hands moved animatedly as he spoke, the way his lips curved around each word, forming shapes that you'd unconsciously learned to read.

He was so beautiful it physically hurt, a constant ache in your chest that you'd grown so accustomed to that you'd almost forgotten it was there.

"—and I told him that if he was going to keep giving me B's, he should at least have the decency to write better feedback, you know? Like, 'needs improvement' is so vague. What does that even mean? Improve what? My soul?"

You hummed in acknowledgment, a non-committal sound that you hoped would pass for attention, but your mind was completely elsewhere, your gaze boring into the concrete beneath your feet, watching the way your shadows stretched and shortened with each step.

"You're quiet today," he said, bumping your shoulder with his in that familiar, casual way that sent your heart into a tailspin every single time. "You okay?"

You nodded despite yourself, glancing up and smiling gently at him, a smile that felt like it was made of glass, fragile and ready to shatter. "Just tired."

He accepted that with a simple nod of his head, because he always accepted your lies. He trusted you, because he never thought you'd hide anything from him, because the idea that you might be keeping something this big, this important, this life-altering from him would never even cross his mind.

"Hey." You stopped walking.

Martin stopped too, turning back with a confused look, his brow furrowing slightly. He'd taken a few extra steps before realising you weren't beside him, and now he was standing a few feet away, his head tilted, his expression one of mild concern. "What's up? You okay?"

No. No, you weren't okay. You hadn't been okay for a very long time.

"I need to tell you something."

He walked back to stand in front of you, his hands slipping into his pockets, that familiar concerned expression crossing his face. "Okay. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just—" You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, feeling the weight of years pressing down on your chest. "I like you, Martin."

His brow furrowed deeper, confusion flickering across his features. "I like you too? You're my best friend."

"No, I mean—" You laughed, but it was hollow, a brittle sound that felt wrong coming from your throat. "I like you. Like, in a romantic way. I've liked you for years. Probably since we were fourteen and you helped me study for that biology exam and you brought me snacks and you stayed up with me until two in the morning even though you had a test the next day and I realised I never wanted to be friends with anyone else again, that I didn't want anyone else. Just you."

Martin stood unmoving, his eyes not leaving your face as the silence stretched on far too long for it to be comfortable. You could hear the distant sound of a car, the rustle of leaves in the wind, your own heartbeat thundering in your ears.

"Oh," he finally said, still rooted to the ground, his voice small and surprised.

You'd played this scene in your head a thousand times. In your fantasies, he always smiled first, a slow, dawning smile that made his eyes crinkle. He'd brush a piece of hair from your face with gentle fingers and say something soft and wonderful, something that made all those years of waiting worth it, something that made your heart soar.

But unfortunately for you this wasn't a fantasy, this was real, and real Martin was staring at you like you'd just told him the sky was green and the grass was blue, his expression frozen somewhere between shock and confusion.

His hands lifted slightly in a subtle shrug before immediately dropping back to his sides. "I... I don't know what to say."

Your heart dropped, plummeting somewhere deep into your stomach, a cold, heavy weight that made it hard to breathe. You had always questioned what would happen if he didn't feel the same, a part of you anticipated it even, had prepared yourself for the possibility that your feelings would be unrequited. But nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for the feeling of utter heartbreak his non-response left you with. The absence of a yes was somehow worse than a no, because at least a no would have been something, would have given you closure, would have let you start moving on.

"You don't have to know. You don't have to say anything." You swallowed hard, your throat tight with unshed tears. "I just—I needed you to know because I can't keep pretending. It's killing me, Martin. Being so close to you and never being close enough."

He looked so lost. So genuinely, painfully lost that you felt bad for suddenly throwing this onto him, for shattering the careful equilibrium of your friendship with your selfish, overwhelming feelings.

"I… I." He tried again but couldn't seem to find the right words, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, and you realised then and there that you had probably just made the biggest mistake of your life. You'd ruined the very friendship you couldn't last a day without, all because you couldn't keep your feelings to yourself.

"Martin, it's fine." You sighed, the sound heavy and defeated, looking back down at the pavement and refusing to meet his eyes. You couldn't bear to see the confusion, the pity, the discomfort that was surely written all over his face. "I'll head home now, okay?"

Your feet moved before he could process your words and respond, turning away from him with a speed that surprised even you.

You walked fast. Your vision was blurring, tears threatening to spill over, and you knew that if you looked back and saw his face you'd break completely. You'd fall apart right there on the sidewalk, and you couldn't do that, not in front of him.

You refused to turn back and kept walking down the route you'd taken a thousand times before that suddenly felt foreign, like you were seeing it for the first time through a haze of heartbreak. 

By the time you reached your front door, the tears were streaming freely down your cheeks, hot and relentless. You fumbled with your keys, hands shaking so badly that you dropped them twice, your vision too blurred to see the lock properly. Finally, the door swung open, and you stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind you with a resounding bang.

You leaned against the wood, sliding down until you were sitting on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, and finally let yourself fall apart. The sobs tore out of you, raw and ugly, the kind of crying you'd been holding back for years. You buried your face in your hands and let it all out: the years of longing, the nights of wondering, the crushing weight of finally admitting the truth and having it met with silence.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the conversation. The way his face had gone completely blank, the way he'd said "oh" like you'd just told him something mundane, like you'd just commented on the weather, the way he'd looked so lost, so confused, so completely caught off guard. You dissected every detail, every micro-expression, searching for something you might have missed, some sign that he felt even a fraction of what you did.

You should have kept your mouth shut. You should have buried these feelings like you'd been doing for years, locked them away in a box and thrown away the key. You should have thought about what you were doing before acting like a complete idiot and ruining the most important relationship in your life.

The next morning, you realised you couldn't do it.

You couldn't face him. You couldn't walk into that classroom and sit beside him and pretend like nothing had happened, like you hadn't just laid your heart bare and watched him fumble for words. You couldn't bear to see the pity in his eyes, or worse, the awkward distance that would surely follow.

You faked an illness, coughing dramatically into your hand, and somehow your mother bought it—either that or she saw right through you and decided to give you the space you clearly needed. Your heart had been racing since you woke up, a frantic, panicked beat that made your chest ache, and the thought of walking into that classroom, of seeing his face, of sitting next to him like nothing had happened... you couldn't.

You just couldn't.

So you stayed home, pulled the covers over your head and ignored tthe world. You ignored the texts that buzzed on your phone, ignored the concerned knocks on your door, ignored everything except the crushing weight of your own regret.

At school, Martin was left staring at the empty seat beside him.

His mind was a mess. He'd barely slept, replaying your confession over and over like a broken record: the look on your face when you'd said it, the way your voice had cracked, the way you'd walked away and he'd just stood there like an idiot and said 'oh' like it was the only word he knew.

What was wrong with him?

He should have said something. Should have grabbed your hand, stopped you, told you he needed time to think. Should have said anything other than just letting you go. But he'd frozen like an absolute idiot.

By lunchtime, he'd completely lost his mind.

He sat at your usual table, poking at his food with no appetite, his gaze fixed on the empty space beside him like he could will you into existence through sheer desperation. Your other friends were talking around him, their laughter and chatter fading into background noise, white noise that meant nothing. All he could think about was the empty seat beside him that was always yours, that you should have been in, that felt so wrong without your presence filling it.

Juhoon dropped onto the bench across from him, already munching on crisps with his usual carelessness. He looked around the table, nodded at the others, then frowned.

"Hey." He nudged Martin's foot under the table, snapping him out of his stupor. "Where's your...?" He paused, waving his hand vaguely. "Where's your girl?"

Martin's head snapped up, his brows furrowing. "Sorry?"

"Y/n. Your girl, your person, your best friend—whatever you want to call her." Juhoon shrugged, crunching on another crisp. "Usually she's glued to your side. I'm just saying I'm surprised I haven't had to listen to you two whisper about whatever nonsense you've got going on yet today."

The others at the table nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, where is she?" Someone else asked. "She's never absent. Like, literally never. I think she's got perfect attendance."

Martin's throat tightened, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "She's sick."

"Bull." Juhoon's eyes narrowed. He'd always been perceptive—annoyingly so—and Martin could tell he wasn't buying it. "You two fight or something?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." Martin ran a hand through his hair in frustration, the familiar gesture doing nothing to soothe his anxiety. "She confessed to me yesterday on the walk home, and I didn't—I didn't say anything. I just let her walk away."

The table went silent. Juhoon slowly lowered his crisp, his mouth fractionally agape. "You're kidding."

"I wish I was."

"Bro." Juhoon stared at him like he'd grown a second head, like Martin had just said the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "She's been in love with you since like, middle school. We all knew—even the teachers probably knew—and you just... let her walk away?"

Martin opened his mouth but he was silent for a few more moments, the words dying in his throat. "Everyone knew?"

"Everyone, dude." Juhoon gestured around the table, his crisp now completely forgotten. "Ask anyone. Ask the janitor. Ask the head teacher. It's been obvious forever except to you, apparently. She looks at you like you hung the moon, like you're the only person in the room. It's honestly kind of painful to watch sometimes."

"I didn't—I never thought—" Martin stopped, his brain short-circuiting again. "She's my best friend."

"Yeah, and she's also in love with you. Those aren't mutually exclusive, genius."

Martin was quiet, his mind racing, piecing together every look, every touch, every moment he'd dismissed as simple friendship. It all started making sense with devastating clarity. You'd always lean into him when you laughed, your shoulder pressing against his, and you'd hold his hand whenever you were scared of something, and you'd look at him in a certain way sometimes, soft and longing, before quickly looking away like you'd been caught doing something wrong.

He'd seen it, he had to have seen it, he just didn't realise what it meant. He'd filed it away as friendship, as comfort, as the simple ease of having someone who knew him inside and out. He'd never once considered that it could be something more.

Juhoon sighed, shaking his head in that disappointed older brother way he had.

"Look, man. If you don't feel the same, that's fine. You can't force feelings. But if you're just scared because it's different, because it changes things..." He shrugged. "You better figure it out fast, because that seat next to you? It's not empty just for today, it's gonna stay empty if you don't do something. She's not going to wait forever."

He stood up, brushing off his pants in a casual gesture that seemed at odds with the weight of his words.

"Oh, and Martin?" He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "You've really gotta be more observant, man. I mean, seriously, she's been throwing you signs since we were fifteen. Remember that school trip? When she literally gave you her jacket because you were cold and then spent the whole bus ride shivering? And you just said 'thanks' and didn't think twice?"

Martin blinked, the memory surfacing. "That was—she said she wasn't cold."

"She lied, genius. She was freezing, I saw her teeth chattering, but she wanted you to be warm so she gave you her jacket." Juhoon shook his head, almost pitying. "And what about the time she made you that playlist for your birthday? The one with, like, thirty songs?"

"It was a good playlist."

"It was a love confession in musical form, Martin. Every single song was about pining or unrequited love or wanting to be with your best friend. I literally looked it up. Every single one. It was so obvious."

Martin's face went pale, the blood draining from his cheeks. "I just thought she had good taste."

Juhoon stared at him for a long moment, then let out a laugh: half amused, half exasperated, the kind of laugh that said he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You're hopeless, absolutely hopeless." He started walking away, then called over his shoulder: "But seriously, you gotta fix it, because she's the best thing that's ever happened to you, and if you let her go, you're dumber than I thought, and I thought you were pretty dumb."

And with that, he was gone.

Martin sat there for a long time after everyone else had left.

The cafeteria had emptied out onto the school field, the noise fading into the distance until it was just him and the ghost of your presence in the empty seat beside him. He replayed Juhoon's words over and over, each one hitting him like a physical blow.

He'd been so blind.

How had he not seen it? You'd been right there, right in front of him, for years. Every smile, every laugh, every moment you'd chosen to spend with him instead of anyone else. Every touch, every look, every small gesture of love that he'd dismissed as friendship because it was easier, because it was safer, because acknowledging it meant acknowledging his own feelings.

And he'd just... accepted it like it was normal, like having someone love you that completely, that quietly, that patiently was just something that happened to everyone.

But it wasn't normal—you weren't normal—you were you, and you were everything.

The seat next to him was empty, his chest felt hollow, the whole day had been wrong: off-kilter, like the world was tilted at the wrong angle because you weren't there, because he'd let you walk away.

And in that horrible, quiet moment of clarity, Martin realised something he'd been too stupid to see for years.

He didn't just like you, he loved you.

He'd loved you for so long that he'd mistaken it for friendship, for comfort, for the simple ease of having you around. You were his person, his home. The one he told everything to, the one he wanted to see first in the morning and last at night, the one whose absence made the world feel wrong, and he'd let you walk away without saying a word.

"Shit," he whispered.

Then he was running.

He didn't stop to think, he just moved. Out of the school gates, his backpack thumping against his back, past the corner store where you'd bought candy as kids, past the park where you'd first met when you were six and he'd thrown up on your shoes that you'd never let him live down and he'd never wanted you to, past the familiar streets and houses until he reached yours.

He was breathless and sweating when he rang the doorbell, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.

The door opened after a few moments.

You were there, looking tired and worn down. Your eyes were red-rimmed, evidence of tears shed and not yet dried, your hoodie was the old one you'd stolen from him ages ago, and your hair was messy in a way that meant you'd been lying down all day, not bothering to brush it. You looked so small, so fragile, so unlike the person who always seemed to have it together, who always knew what to say and do.

You stared at him, surprise flickering across your features. "Martin? What are you—"

"I'm sorry."

The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other like they were desperate to escape. "I'm so, so sorry. I was shocked. You caught me off guard. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. I just let you walk away. I watched you go, andd I didn't follow, and I'm the biggest idiot in the entire world—"

"Martin—"

"Please. Just let me finish." His voice cracked, the sound raw and vulnerable. "I didn't know. I never knew. Or maybe I did, but I was too scared to admit it because you're everything to me. You've been everything to me for so long that I didn't even realise what that meant until today. Until I sat in class and your seat was empty. Until Juhoon asked me where my—" He swallowed hard, his throat tight. "Where my person was, andd I realised you're my person, you've always been my person."

He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours desperately, looking for any sign that he wasn't too late.

"I love you. I'm in love with you, and I know I'm a day late and a complete idiot, but I need you to know. I need you to know that I felt something too, I just didn't understand what it was. I thought it was friendship, I thought it was comfort, but it's not, it’s never been just that. It's been love—it's always been love—I just didn't have the words for it until now."

Tears were streaming down your face, and he couldn't tell if that was good or bad, but he kept going because he couldn't stop, because he had years of silence to make up for.

"Please don't stay home again. Please come back. I need you there. I need you. I—" His voice broke completely, the words barely above a whisper. "I need my person."

For a long, agonising moment, you just stared at him. The silence stretched between you like a living thing, heavy and charged with all the years of unspoken words.

Then you laughed, watery and messy, relief and joy and everything in between spilling out of you, and then you grabbed the front of his uniform, pulling him toward you with a force that surprised him. He went willingly, his head dipping as your lips collided.

His lips were slightly chapped, the after effects of him being far too distracted thinking about you to take care of himself—too busy replaying your confession, too busy hating himself for his silence, too busy trying to figure out how to fix what he'd broken. He slid his hands to wrap around your waist and pulled you closer, like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn't hold on tight enough, like you were made of smoke and he needed to anchor you to him.

The kiss deepened, and you felt everything you'd been holding back for years pour out of you: all the longing, all the what-ifs, all the nights you'd lain awake wondering if he'd ever feel the same. All the years of watching him, wanting him, loving him from a distance that felt insurmountable, and now he was here, kissing you like you were the answer to a question he'd been asking his whole life, like you were the missing piece he hadn't even known he was searching for.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air. His breath was warm against your lips, and you could feel his heart racing against yours, proof that this was real, that he was just as affected as you.

He suddenly scooped your back, pulling you flush against his chest whilst he placed his chin atop your head. His arms wrapped around you so tightly that you could feel every breath he took, every beat of his heart against your own. He was trembling slightly, a fine tremor that ran through his entire body, and you realised he was just as overwhelmed as you were.

"You have no idea," he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion, "how long I've wanted to do this."

You laughed softly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform, holding onto him like he might disappear. "You mean hold me?"

"I mean hold you like this, like you're mine." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment. "I just didn't know it until now. I was so stupid, I was so blind."

You tilted your head up to look at him, your chin resting against his chest. His eyes were soft, shining with an emotion that made your heart swell until it felt too big for your chest. He was looking at you the way you'd always looked at him: like you were something precious, something worth keeping.

"I've always been yours," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "You just had to catch up."

He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest, warm and wonderful. "Yeah, I'm a little slow sometimes."

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot." He grinned, that familiar, crooked grin that had made you fall for him in the first place, the one that had been your undoing from the very beginning. "But I'm here now. That's what matters, right?"

You reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. "That's what matters."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment, like he was savouring the feeling of your fingers on his skin. When he opened them again, they were filled with so much love that it took your breath away, that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

"I love you," he said, like he couldn't say it enough, like he was making up for all the years he'd been silent. "I love you so much. I don't think I'll ever get tired of saying that."

"I love you too," you whispered back, the words feeling like a release, like finally exhaling after holding your breath for years.

He pulled you closer again, holding you tight and placing his chin back on your head, and you stayed like that on your doorstep for far too long, entirely wrapped up in each other, the wind cool against your skin but neither of you cared.