I DONT WANNA BE YOUR FRIEND, I WANNA KISS YOUR LIPS
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She shouldn't be looking at you like this.

But she is.

She always is.

You’re talking—about something funny that happened earlier, something that made you laugh so hard you had to catch your breath. And , she wishes she could’ve caught it for you. Kept it somewhere safe, held onto it like a souvenir from a place she’ll never get to visit.

You don’t even realize what you do to her.

The glow of the streetlights makes your skin look softer, makes the curve of your smile something out of a dream. She could swear the whole damn world tilts toward you when you laugh. Like gravity doesn’t even stand a chance.

And she’s so fucking stupid for looking at you like this.

She knows better. She’s known better for years.

She shifts, picking at the rim of her soda cup, trying to focus on the condensation dripping down her fingers instead of the way her heart squeezes at every little thing you do. It doesn’t work. Nothing ever does.

You turn to her suddenly, eyes catching hers, and she freezes for a second too long before forcing herself to grin, bumping her shoulder against yours like that’ll be enough to shake off whatever she’s feeling.

It isn’t.

You’re saying something—something about staying out later, or maybe about how cold the night’s getting—but she barely hears it over the sound of her own heartbeat.

Because God, she wants to say it. Right now. She could.

The words press against the back of her throat, clawing their way up like they can’t take the silence anymore.

"I love you."
"I don’t think I’ll ever stop."
"Just once—just once, will you let me kiss you?"

She swallows hard, pushes out a chuckle instead, tossing a crumpled napkin at you to distract herself. "You wanna stay out here a little longer?" she asks, voice easy, casual—like she wouldn’t stay out here forever if it meant another hour next to you.

Like she wouldn’t give up everything just to keep this.

Just to keep you.