"What're you wearing?"

You smile into the darkness, relishing in the basic feel of her voice over your cell phone. The clock on the nightstand says it's nearly one in the morning, but you are still glad she called. Even if this was what she was choosing to talk about.

"Nothing." You respond nonchalantly, even shrugging despite the distance. She's across town, at home, in bed. As are you. And yet, somehow, your thoughts still drift to each other.

"Fantastic. Can I come over?" She's only joking, of course. Ever since you both made the big 1-6 in age, she's been doing this. This playful flirting thing that's driving you absolutely crazy. The first time she pretended to hit on you, you laughed. You had honestly found it funny. Now, though. Now everything was different.

"Sure." You hiss into the phone, trying to keep your voice down.

There's a silent pause on the line and you can picture her brow crinkling in consideration. "Or maybe you should come see me? You'll have an easier time sneaking out." She finally says.

"Goodnight." You breathe, edged off with a small chuckle, your fingers drifting to shut off the phone so you can finally get some sleep.

"Wait!" She whispers loudly into the phone and you halt.

"What?"

"I'm not joking this time."

"What?" You're sitting up now, staring at your bed in surprise.

"If you can make it over here easier, than you should be the one on her way. But I can come to you." Your ears are trying to pull some trace of a joke out of her voice, but they find none.

"Wait, but…" You protest, but she cuts you off.

"Its cool. It's not that far. I'll be over in like fifteen minutes."

"But…"

"See you soon."

"Sam…" Her name slips through your lips just as the line disconnects. Your heart is pounding faster than even that day you thought you might be leaving Spencer and Freddie and her to live at your grandfather's house. Your first thought, though, is to the fact that you weren't lying when you said you weren't wearing anything. So out of bed it is, scrounging around on the floor in the dark, searching for suitable pajama material.

Part of you thinks she probably isn't coming. Part of you desperately hopes that she is. You can't remember when you started hoping she meant every word that came out of her mouth, but it feels like forever ago. And you definitely don't remember when anything about your feelings for her became desperate. That couldn't possibly be right. But it was, and your heart skipping a beat every few seconds at the thought of her wasn't helping you convince yourself otherwise.

It was really ridiculous for you to be overreacting like this. She came over all the time. She practically lived with you during the school year because your house is closer to the school and iCarly. Well, at least that's the excuse she's always given her mother. And during the summer, who else would she spend all of her free time with but her best friend?

Best friend. That word seems to be encompassing a different part of your life that has nothing to do with the last few months. You haven't looked at her as your best friend for months, really, so how could you think this visit was like all the other ones? And its not like she's no longer the person you care about most in the world. She's still that. No question. But now she's also the girl who calls you in the middle of the night and sends you into panic mode.

Did she really mean something by it this time? If she did come over, would it just be like old times and you would go to bed and sleep on your own sides? Or would something happen? Would the entire dynamic of your relationship shift yet again, leaving you breathless and scared because you are trying so hard to catch up, but at the same time excited and satisfied with the recent change of events?

You don't know. But you are about to find out. And now that you have a couple of shirts and a pair of pants on your body, you are ready to.

She shows up almost twenty minutes after her call and you sigh in relief. Hey, Seattle is a dangerous place for a young girl at night. At least, that's what you tell yourself because otherwise you have to realize the sigh was because she actually showed up.

You nearly missed her arrival too, her movements downstairs were almost inaudible, but you heard the click of the lock, so you know she's there.

Your heart gets the better of you, and you exit your bedroom and rush down the stairs in a hurry. Standing at the bottom is…

Spencer. Creeping around the kitchen.

You feel so hurt, you want to cry. But Spencer has noticed you now, so you have to pretend like you found exactly what you expected.

"What are you doing?" You question him pointedly, placing your hands on your hips. Really to steady yourself than to appear as an opposing figure in front of your brother.

He holds up an obnoxiously large turkey leg with a bite missing from it. "I was working late on a sculpture with Socko. I got home and I was hungry. Why? Were you coming down for the leg? You can have the other one."

You rub your lips together. You had already known Spencer was going to be out late, he had called you three times and left several notes around the house to remind you he wouldn't be home until late, so seeing him really should have been expected.

"I don't want the turkey leg." You tell him. From the expression on his face, you imagine you have a very defeated look on your visage. Being the loyal brother he is, in a flash his arms and the turkey leg are holding onto you tightly.

"What's wrong?"

You shrug out of his grasp, wiping at your face. "Nothing. I just had a bad dream." And that's probably the first time you've ever really lied to Spencer.

He nods his understanding, like he had the same dream and has actually been having it since he was little. "You wanna watch some TV or something to relax a little before you go back to bed?" He offers.

You shake your head. "No, I'm okay. I need sleep. I've got school in the morning."

"Okay," He agrees after a moments' study of your face, taking another bite of turkey. "If you're sure."

You nod. "I am."

He kisses you on the forehead and heads back down the stairs. "Night, kid."

"Night, Spencer." You head back upstairs, tears finally breaking loose when you enter your room.

You don't know why you had expected her to be there. But, for some reason, you couldn't feel more pain and sadness and anger because she didn't show up. Of course she'd been kidding. She was always kidding. That was just how life was. You fell for your same sex best friend who then tortured you with your own feelings and didn't realize it.

You flop down onto you bed, burying your head in the pillow. You sob for a long moment as quietly as possible so Spencer doesn't hear you. When you finally hear his bedroom door shut, you let the dry, wracking wails shake your slim body, pouring your emotion into the poor pillow. After a few minutes, you realize you are still wearing the fucking clothes you put on just so you'd be presentable for her. So you rip those off and throw them across the room, vowing to never wear them again.

After about ten minutes of suffering, you roll over and calm down. Sometimes raw emotional outbursts are necessary to maintain good mental health, you tell yourself in a low voice.

Something is stabbing you in the back, you realize after a couple of minutes of repeating your new personal mantra. You arch your back and retrieve the annoyance, which turns out to be a piece of paper. On the light next to your bed goes and you sit up. Written on the paper was a single question.

Bet you thought I wasn't really coming, didn't you?

The tears are back now, only the happy kind. She really had showed up. You glare around your room suspiciously. How had she gotten in an out without your notice and without using the front door?