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His computer had been showing the screen saver for what seemed like ages. His work... he had forgotten, not able to concentrate in anything at all. Her, her, once again, her. He was usually distracted since he found out about his own feelings, but never compared to minutes before seeing her, talking to her, nothing compared to the chills that the acknowledgement of her proximity, either physical or temporally, brought to him. A total mess... that is what he was, among with his office, his desk, his computer and the project he was working on. She had only phoned him minutes ago. It was Saturday and he was alone in the whole corp. Due to some urgent paperwork... She had phoned him. Closing his computer with only a movement, he stood up, took his jacket and walked out, closing his door afterwards. The paperwork would have to wait. She had lovely ruined his working session. And he was very glad of so, he had to admit. He was only fooling himself by being at his office, sitting at his desk. He was doing no good. All he could see and think of was her. Her call had been so unexpected... Working together, they saw each other everyday, which meant absolute happiness to him. Having to worry about whether he would see her any day or not would have driven him insane. Besides, it was obvious that she was Cc material. Being part of the family, she could have entered whenever she had wanted to, simply telling Bulma. But she deserved every single square centimetre of that office of hers. The office he was passing by right then. Smiling softly, he got in, completely silent. There was no one to be afraid of, he was the only one working on Saturday, but, still, he always felt that entering her office when she was not there had to be done in silence. He opened the door and stepped in, shyly at first. It was not his first time there at all. He had been there many more times than he could remember, alone, at night, when she was out of town, when he was missing her badly. Sometimes he just happened to pass by, like then, and entered to have her a little closer... She spent there eight hours a day, everyday from Monday to Friday, whenever she was not on any trip. She had decorated it herself. Her style was everywhere, the lamp, the chairs, the way she had the table settled... Giving a short glance around, he walked to the desk. The computer was closed and looked more like a suitcase than a computer at all. It was strange that Pan had left it there. She used to carry it home on weekends. Her leather armchair was half turned, as she had left it the previous afternoon when she had left towards home. She had a book on the desk, filled with some paperwork she had been working on. Sighing tiredly, he sat down in her armchair and took a deep breath. Her scent. It was everywhere. Her perfume... half vanilla... nah, he would never be able to describe it..! But it was something he felt from some metres afar. Maybe it was just the need he had of it, of her. Whatever it was, it was enough to make her need her more than before smelling it; it was enough to drive him insane with love and unexpressed feelings. How could anyone love someone so much without going crazy? In fact, how was it possible that anyone loved someone else that much?? It was not good; the pain that he felt was overwhelming him and affecting, not only his work, what he wouldn't have minded much, but his whole life. Well, perhaps that would be true if he had a life, which he had not besides his work and her. He rested his head back, looking to the ceiling for an instant before closing his eyes. She had phoned him. He was doing his paperwork. He could even remember what he was writing. First it had been the office phone. The one in his secretary's office. Since the whole enterprise was closed, he hadn't gone to pick it up, considering that it would most probably be some customer who didn't know of the corporation timetables. The phone had just ringed a couple of times before the supposed customer hung. Only two seconds after, it was his personal phone the one that was ringing. Her... Her voice... They saw each other constantly. He had only to walk a corridor to enter the department she was directress of. It took him less than five minutes. And he could see her whenever he wanted... Saying that he needed some information about the state of the department or any excuse he could have made up... Being her boss had its advantages...! His only reason for not going to see her at her office as frequently as he would like to was the fear of disturbing her. Well, that... And weekends. He simply hated weekends. It was something that he couldn't help. He hated everyone having two days off, every week... He shook his head no. He did not hate every one having holidays. That he didn't mind at all. However, the fact that she had them too... When she was working, he knew she was around. He knew that he only had to walk to see her. On the other hand, when she was not there... He was her best friend. Of course it would have been normal of him to phone her and ask her out, to the theatre, ballet, cinema, anything. And he did so, sometimes. But he hated the endless mornings alone, searching frantically for a reason to ask her out without making her think that he was head over heels because of her. Without ruining their friendship. Last Saturday night they had been to the theatre. He had bought the tickets without asking her, praying that she had no other plans. That was his biggest fear, in fact. That any day she could find someone else to go out with, someone who would not accept to be only her friend, and he would be left at home, forgotten, substituted by a new person that, in an instant, had won a land that he had been years dying to claim as his. Jealous...? Without a shadow of doubt. He was so jealous that it killed him. He was jealous at the chance of the appearance of any other guy. He was mad at the possibility of ever missing one of her smiles. He remembered phoning her on Saturday morning, feeling so nervous that he was literally trembling. She had picked the phone up and, cheerful, had immediately agreed. They had had dinner at a restaurant and then had gone to the play. It had been a wonderful night and had calmed for a while the thirst he had for her. Enough to live through the weekend. In fact, it was not so bad. Every Sunday they had lunch together, his family and hers, at the private Cc. So seeing her there was for granted. She had not missed any Sunday lunch yet, but still he asked her every Friday, just to make sure, and she asked him as well. The theatre, a whole week ago... He recalled the restaurant, her dress, her smile... It had been as normal as usual, no big deal, something informal, as he himself had told her, praying that she wouldn't feel scared at the idea of a serious date. And he could remember clearly almost every detail. But what he could remember the most was the feeling of uneasiness that did not abandon him for an instant through the whole evening. Uneasiness because of what he would have liked to do - treat her as a man would do, as a gentleman would do, as if they were set many years ago, caressing every detail to make her feel that he cared for her - and what he could do. He had felt rather weird the whole time. He had wanted to hold her hand when they were in the theatre. He had wished he could hold her waist when they were walking back home. Going to the play had been too much of a date for him, and not a night out with his best pal. He had felt transported, as if they were what he had always wished them to be, and had done nothing all night but wonder why they were not, and what was a friend allowed and not allowed to do. Uneasiness... Yep, that was that. So no more planning nights out, he had decided. Obviously, she was oblivious to that. Thanks God. He had considered letting her have a Saturday for her, on her own, without his omnipresent disturbance, a weekend without going out together. She had luckily decided for them both. The plan was to go to her house, have a light dinner she would have already cooked, and watch two films she had picked. She had sounded a bit ashamed of her plan, as if it was nothing compared to his for the previous Saturday. She had expected him to refuse it, she had told him later. She had thought that he would probably have some great ideas on what to do, or that he would have some other things to do... She had sounded so... lovely! He could not have found another way to describe it. She had sounded happy but modest at the same time... like saying... 'look, this is what I have... I know it's not much... and maybe you won't like it... but... but I want you to have it...' If she had been there, by his side, he would have kissed her right then. The idea of being with her all night, at her home, watching videos or whatever... he couldn't help but love it! When he had let himself believe that he would have to spend a whole day without her smile, she had phoned saying that she wanted him to go to her house to watch movies. And he could not like the idea??! She cared... Of course she did, well, they were after all very good friends... but... He opened his eyes to see the cream ceiling above him. She loved him. She had said it herself. But, just like the previous Saturday, even if it hurt, or how hard it could be, he was going to act normally. Natural. As a good friend would do. That would be all. Looking down, he found her digital clock on the table. It was almost six o'clock... Not very willing to leave her office yet, he closed his eyes again, thinking what he could wear. Something comfortable, for they were going to sit on the sofa for a long time, but cute, for he wanted to be attractive for her. He would have a shower and then he'd choose amongst his huge wardrobe some nice clothing. He started imagining what he could wear, mentally discarding this and that, as he realised the foolishness of his thoughts. What did it really matter what he wore? She was his friend, his best friend to that, and she had only invited him to a pals' night watching tapes. So what if he wanted to be more than a friend? They were nothing else but that and they would probably always be nothing more. He would not impress her by being nicely dressed, and that was not what he intended to do, either. Of course, he would try and be as attractive and good looking as possible, but that would get nothing at all. What he wanted from her was an everlasting love, an affect that was deep and true... Impressing girls with the way he looked like was something he only did with the secretaries, girls who would only see him, who would never talk to him out of work and who would develop some non-understandable crush on him. That, he didn't like, but he couldn't avoid it either. He had to live with that, even if he hated it. Having half of a corporation head over heels about you was something that he wouldn't have wished even to his worst enemy. Their notes, their looks, their comments, the fact that he never had time to be on his own, was enough to get on anyone's nerves. But Pan was nothing of the sort, and he did not want her to be either. She was more mature and responsible, so realistic that it hurt him. She was the kind of girl that would dismiss love affairs with one movement of her hand, considering them an unnecessary pain. She had a different philosophy of life, more similar to Carpe Diem but never wanting to miss the things of her, either good or bad ones. He always felt he was millions of light-years away from her, especially when she stated her opinion and seemed to be so sure about her decisions... She was a mystery to him, even if he had tried to understand her to the point of being forceless. He suspected that, even if they were to live their whole life together, lost in each other's eyes, he would never be able to understand her in all. He would get to really know her, which he didn't doubt, if they were to love each other forever. But knowledge...? That, he considered impossible. She had some surprising ideas. Like the one referring to the impossibility of man-woman friendship. Of course that she considered friendship in a much more restricted meaning. Friends, she only had one. She had told him one of those evenings out, he could remember her clearly, in a too big blue coat he had given her, for it was starting to be cold, on a beach, at night, wind blowing, swaying her black hair. He remembered asking her, fearful, something about her friends from university. When had that been? Maybe more than a year ago, he quickly measured. What he wanted to know was if there was anyone in her life, and had found no better way to ask her. She had laughed softly, looking at his eyes intently, and had answered on a whisper that she had only one friend. The boys at college were her companions. Her classmates, people she had met, people she knew something about, that was all. He had blushed at the thought that he was that important for her, but was soon distracted by something... he couldn't remember well what. Some external distraction, external to them both. Some ship passing by, or something like that. Whatever. Some months later, though, she told him, and reasoned it in a way that he could not refuse, that a man and a woman could never be friends. She had said that, on one hand, there were no proofs against what she was saying. And, on the other hand, if you had a true friend, it was because you liked being with him, you loved him and wanted to spend more and more time with him. To be really friends you had to know quite well a person. And that involved spending lots of time with him. In that time together, you could either hate him – what would guide you to having no friends – or loving him deeply. You could never be left indifferent when you knew a person well. If those two friends were sexually indifferent to each other, it would lead them to a strong friendship that would not be broken even if they were miles apart, always keeping a soft spot in their hearts. Otherwise, if they were both single and the other one responded to their sexual tendencies, it would eventually develop into more than friendship, either coming from one side or from both. That was, it could be that only one of them fell in love with the other, or that they both did. All the same, it meant the end to their friendship. He had had to accept the reasoning as good, for he could find no response. As she had herself said, there were no proofs against. And, speaking in so high terms of friendship, it implied love, doubtlessly. He himself was madly in love with her, his best friend. His only friend. His other pals had disappeared little by little, as the distance between them, physically and mentally, had grown. Most of them were married and had children. And the ones who were not... well, he could say that he had got tired of them many years ago. More or less, by the time when he realised of her having grown that much. When she started talking to him as an equal and not as a little sister. When she started unconsciously founding their relationship. And what a strange one it was. If she thought so of friendship, and if he was, as she had said some months before, her best friend, then, what place did her heart hold for him? What did she consider him? What, if they were not friends?? She knew it, was that the answer? She knew of his thoughts, of his dreams, of his love? Or was it possible that... that she... That love she had told him on the phone of was nothing at all. Not even missing him meant a thing. She had settled his world of uncertainty by saying that single word. Friend. She loved him. Of course, he was her friend. She liked to be with him. Otherwise their relationship would have broken years ago. She would miss him. If you love a person, either your lover or your sibling, that you like being with him so much that you'd like to be with him some more? And is that not what makes you miss him? Being her friend, nothing she could ever say about her feelings towards him or what he could say about his would have any romance implication. All could be taken as part of their strong, solid and perhaps hated friendship. For example, to take one single and maybe stupid detail, were his T-shirts. He used to wear them at home, to train, when he had a day off. They were nice and comfortable. One day, Pan stayed the night and brought no pyjamas with her. He gave her the T-shirt with his name on it. It didn't fit her, it was baggy and too long, but he found her gorgeous in it, with a pair of shorts to match. She was even more herself, fresher... He soon realised that he loved the sight because that was what he wanted to be seeing every single morning of his life when he opened his eyes: a casual looking Pan with a T-shirt too big, that she had borrowed from him when sleeping by his side. That same day he had given the shirt to her, saying that it was old and that he didn't like to wear it very much when she complained, although that was totally a lie. She loved his present and showed it with such a beautiful smile that less than a week after he was flying towards her home with all his T-shirts. There was something in the fact of sharing their clothes that always made them both smile with complicity. It was like sharing something deeper, more important, but none of them had spoken a word about it. Although he knew, from the look in her eyes, that she was feeling something similar to the thoughts that crossed his mind. But a question always kept popping in his mind when he saw her with his T-shirts or when he saw that thy both shared anything. If they could share their clothes, time, lunch every day, Saturday evenings and Sunday afternoons, if they could share their friendship, then why had they never decided to share their soul, their lives, their reasons for living? Why, if she liked him so much that she spent with him almost all her spare time, didn't she buy the whole lot, setting him free from that killing necessity of her? Why didn't she love him... if he loved her that much? Why didn't they share that too!? Looking to the clock again, he saw that now it was almost half past six. Letting out a sad sigh, he stood up and rearranged the chair on its place. He made sure that he was not letting any clue of his stay and slowly walked to the door. When he was about to reach it, he turned around one more time to check the state of the desk. He had touched nothing at all, so nothing should be noticed... He came back one last time, to kill all his doubts, and sighed again. Worrying that much, everyday, he would die from a heart attack. And his father would follow him to the grave when seeing that a son of his had died from such a weakness. When he was turning around to definitely leave, still looking for any mark, he saw a piece of paper between the sheets of her book. Without opening it, he recognised the paper as a photograph. One with a purple top, all he could see, in fact. The hair of whoever it was. He smiled softly and turned to go. As he walked towards the private Cc, he smiled again and wondered if that sweet girl of his would ever let him stop loving her. If he would ever lose hope of her loving him. And, as he felt frustration because of the incertitude of the conclusions he could draw from that little photograph inserted in her book due to their ever-present friendship, he got to the bathroom, where he let the water wash all his thoughts away, to step out only thinking of his love. |