Exposition 1:
They're not friends in the slightest. Yet. He is lanky and the first to admit that he's both young and in love. She's beautiful and the first to admit he's young and stupid, especially when he's already written her ten love songs. And to him she fell from the sky in a spectacle of stars and pastel-colored confetti. And to her, he sprouted from the ground with the sole intention of following her to the ends of the earth.
And so he does. Even after so many times, each day and night he returns with gifts and flowers and smiles and loving words. Slowly, oh slowly, can she begin to feel enamored by the trinkets, the effort that is never given to her by the one she truly cares for.
"I love you with all my heart!" he proclaims.
"I think you're an idiot," she replies.
It's cruel, she knows, as she lies awake at night, to know that she's not ashamed to only be in contact with someone she does not love. At least while the one she longs for is distant and cold. Well, to her, at least. She knows and wishes God would lend her a hand while she walks a thin line between affection and disdain for this boy. She pleads that he help her as she uses smiles and slander as games while he offers her a place in his arms that she cannot accept. And still, every morning she wakes up lonelier than the last.
"Will you take this as a token of my love?" He hands her a rose and a smile on his face.
"No, not today," she throws over she shoulder as if she's running away.
It's like he knows he's tapping at the window of her heart every day. Maybe one of these days she'll unlock the shutters and let him in to hold and make happy. Perhaps, he'll chase her around this town to help her find the emotion she needs to return his affections. Let God sympathize with him and lend him something to let her see that his feelings are genuine. Heal his heart and make recreate her's anew.
But, the point of it all is that she holds the needle to sew up her own life, not he, nor anyone else. So, if that's the case, then one would think that if there was a better way to do it, that's what she'd be doing. Isn't that how it works? But she plays favorites with her emotions and picks the ones that send people away rather than those that bring them in. Her heart is as cold as her winters, or so she tells herself at night to make herself feel better about smashing the heart of the boy who loves her more than anyone else.
"You're beautiful, my dear," he whispers through the silence.
"I…thank you," she whispers to her hand.
He smiles and looks at her conflicting expression. He knows. Oh, no, he knows she feels the same. But, even she hasn't figured that out yet. Not yet, but she will and when she does, the sky opens up and the sun shines like it never has before. She can love, and so she can be happy.
She smiles more now, now that their more than simply people that know one another. They're more than friends but that's how they address one another. Well, friendly, at the very least. They're friends in a bed together, holding and laughing and smiling, and nothing more. They're happy and that's all that matters. The people up a floor like to drink and yell their fun while the fairy lights twinkle in their blanket fort like small children. That's how they feel when they're together though: young again. And that's all that matters at that point in time.
Someone around the corner has a bear-like dog that they laugh together about how he feeds it something other than salmon from a rushing river. At nights, the people upstairs play loud music that they can hear clearly through the ceiling. They kiss and it's okay. Everything is okay.