And I never got to say I love you.
She looks utterly gorgeous as the wind blows into her face, and her hands are clamped onto herself in a vain attempt to warm up. He could warm her up. But friends don't warm up other friends. Friends sit nicely and say goodbye.
"Well, I guess I should go," she says, clutching herself tightly. She's not crying. Not that she should be—friends don't cry when they leave other friends. He nods and his arms make an involuntary gesture, hoping for a hug. She complies. It is a friendly hug. And then she turns to leave.
"Hey—"
"Yes?" She turns back around, her face—hopeful? No, her face is not hopeful. She does not anticipate what he's going to say to her, though he wishes she did. Her eyes crinkle against the wind, and she waits for him to speak. No hope or anticipation. Friends don't hope and anticipate unspoken words.
"Have a nice trip."
"Thank you." It isn't a disappointed thank you. It is a thank you that means only thank you. She leaves.
And he doesn't cry, because friends don't cry when other friends leave, and friends certainly don't love other friends.
FIN