A/N: This is just a one-shot, although I may write a sort-of sequel. I’m not sure yet. Anyways, let me know what you think. It’s sort of angstier than my usual stuff. Sort of romancey and yet not. Anyways. Enjoy. It’s just a guy’s point of view on falling for his best friend and then not being able to tell her about it.

I Watch

I watch her.

It’s something I enjoy. Her expression is never dull, her mind and body never still. I never tire of watching her, of observing her, nor will I ever. It’s far too enjoyable.

I cast a glance at her now, though I should be looking at the test paper on the desk in front of me. She has her pen in her hand and is scrawling down a few words, her forehead creased in thought. Then she quickly re-reads what she has written, her lips moving soundlessly as her blue eyes skim over the page.

She stands up, walks to the front of the class in a few easy strides, and puts the paper – her test – on the teacher’s desk, then walks back to her seat beside me. Catching my eye, she smiles, apparently unconcerned by my watching her.

I smile back at her – it’s impossible not to – but her eyes have already jumped away, first to the clock on the wall, then to her own hands, moving, always moving.Her face is a wealth of information; her expression alone can tell so much about her. I have seen her in many moods, happy, sad, excited, nervous, angry, or confident, but the most common sentiment I see in her is happiness. She is always pretty, but when she is happy, her blue eyes light up and shimmer, her cheeks glow with health, the corners of her mouth are upturned as she smiles, and you know beyond a doubt that she will grow even more beautiful as she ages.

I finish my own test and hand it in. The teacher has work written on the board, but I’m not working on it. I pretend to, but instead I watch her.

Her elbow is resting on her desk, her fingers drumming impatiently on the wooden surface of the desk. She huffs out an irritated sigh as she glances again at the clock and I smother a smile. She has never been patient in the three years I have known her, and I know that having to wait for the bell to ring before leaving class frustrates her beyond belief.

Finally the bell rings, and she’s up and away, darting through the door before anyone else has even gathered their things. It’s all a game, though, for as soon as I step out of the class, she is there waiting for me, and we fall into step together, occasionally talking but mainly enjoying each other’s company as we make our way through the halls.

I’m not sure how to describe my relationship with her. I suppose you would call us friends, but they say if you have developed feelings for someone, you can’t be their friend, and that problem is certainly present.

I watch her as she walks. Her eyes are still moving, scanning the faces for someone she knows. Teasingly she hits one boy with her notebook as she walks by, and he yells after her for it, humour in his voice and expression. She yells right back, undaunted.

I know he had asked her out; she told me herself. It hurt me to see how it affected her as she told me of how she’d been unable to sleep or eat, worrying about how to turn down his offer while still remaining his friend. It took some time, but they are friends again after some misunderstanding. It makes sense: everyone loves her, with her bright smile and infectious laughter, it’s impossible not to. Besides, she always goes after what she wants: she wanted his friendship, and she got it without having to try very hard, just as she easily captures the attention and affection of those around her. I envy him, the boy; even though he was turned down, he still had the guts to at least ask her out. Me, I’m too chicken. I’m too afraid of losing what we already have to risk asking for more.

Her friends call her name from behind, and she stops, letting them catch up to her. They walk on behind me, and her laughter, sweet as a spring breeze, rings in my ears, leaving my chest aching.

I stop at my locker and they walk on past me, none of them glancing back. Even if she had wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to see me, because her friends have surrounded her. They reach their separate lockers, all of them abandoning binders and textbooks in favour of lunches.

They walk past me again on their way up the hall, a group of six. I watch her go, her long hair swinging behind her, her eyes bright and animated, her energetic voice drifting back to me as she disappears from my vision by rounding a corner.

This frightens me, watching her walk away, out of my line of sight. Why? Because someday, she could walk away from me and into the arms of someone else, and though it will torture me, I will not be able to refuse her what she wants. I could never do it.

So, I watch her while I can. It may be all I can ever do.

— END —

A/N: I dunno about what you guys thought but I found this sad. It’s just a little something I started in English class the other day when I was bored. I keep telling myself that my creative writing class is only next year, but... oh well!

R&R, of course.

- LL