Lily,
If it's been your intent to confuse me, I can assure you that you have succeeded. I've given you time to figure out your stance on things and to break it to him gently, but it's been three days and he still holds your hands in the hallways and you still laugh at his jokes as though we never kissed. You can't deny that it happened, Lily, and I know that you weren't drunk – you had half a bottle of Firewhiskey, and while it may have served to loosen your tongue a bit it certainly didn't impair your judgment.
You keep staring me at meals with guilty eyes, as though you're waiting for the moment when I'll come storming up and tell him everything, but it won't happen. Because, as much as you have hinted otherwise, I, too, am a decent bloke. I am a decent bloke who's hopelessly in love with a girl who, apparently, is never going to love him back.
—James