They only sat there, facing each other, shrouded in uncertainty. The tension is so palpable it’s suffocating.
“Can’t we just be friends?” one of them tentatively asks, masking the hope and desperation behind those words.
The other hold back a sneer, resisting the urge to laugh out loud and blatantly make fun of the ridiculous idea.
Because it is outrageous. They have been a lot of things, yes, but they never were “just friends”. And it’s just impossible for them to be friends now, after everything. After going through so many ups and downs together, after heartfelt promises not to let anything break them apart. How can they be friends, after all those hushed whispers of love and secret touches in the dead of the night?
And yet his tongue is tied, and the lump in his throat is preventing him from saying what he really think. Instead he conjure a passable smile, and reach out to squeeze his friend’s hand. “Sure, friends.”
The apparent relieved smile is almost painful for him, and he wish he could just hate this person in front of him. But he can’t, and even if he try, he’ll just ended up more broken than he already is.
“Good luck for your marriage,” he manage to say. “Be happy with your wife.”
Friends is alright. As long as he doesn’t lose him, it’s alright. He can bear with any heartache, as long as he can keep seeing those happy smiles.
À la mort,
Prompt: Ed Sheeran’s One
“Just promise me, you’ll always be a friend. ‘Cause you are the only one.”