Disclaimer: Not mine.
Note: Luke POV. Just in case you couldn't, you know, tell. Post One Has Class, and the Other One Dyes.
Lagniappe: For the pesky fly that keeps buzzing. Gimme my Exit!Sam.
Not True
It's not true. It's not. Jess doesn't know what he's talking about. He can't know.
And Jess is wrong. Because it's not true, especially the part about the hoping. Oh, and the playing Golden Retriever. It doesn't even make sense, what he said. We're friends. That's all. Friends do things for each other – at least, that's how the tale had been spun in his world. Friends. That's all this was…is. Or will be. Friends, friendly, friendship. Nothing more, nothing less. That's the way it was. That's the way it is.
Because it's not true. He doesn't think about her like that. Not even when he needs to think about anyone like that. Not her. Especially not her. It would only backfire, somehow. He could do without the trouble that came along with that kind of thinking.
It's silly, that thought. That more-than-friendship thought. Silly, but nice. More silly than nice. As if that would ever happen. Not in this universe. Because they were friends. And there was this line. He was very familiar with the line. The one he didn't dare cross. The one he couldn't cross. Because they're friends.
Friends. He liked being her friend. Liked her being his friend. They were each other's…friend. It worked. It was simple – most of the time – and it worked. She demanded, he supplied. Most of the time. Occasionally, it was the other way 'round. And that worked, too.
Every now and then, he thinks there might be something more. Just a hint of something that's different, new. And he'll wonder if she's thinking the same thing. He'll search her eyes, her manner – without her realizing, of course – just to see if she's noticed it too. But, she never does, and he dismisses it. Because if she didn't see it, then it's not there. It can't be. Because they're friends.
It's routine, the two of them. Old habit. He likes it that way. He likes being set in his ways. And she's his "way." Or rather, their routine is his "way." It's constant. Even when it's in flux, it's constant. He doesn't ask questions, just accepts it for what it is. Them. They. We. Us.
He supposes it's hard to understand. For others, at least. It's not enough for some people. It's enough for him. For now, they say – for now, it's enough, right? But not forever, surely not. But he doesn't know. Right now, it's enough for however long it has to be. He doesn't know more than that. He doesn't need to.
Because they're friends. And it's not true, what Jess said.
It's not true.
Except that it is.