ocean eyes || c.evans

x.

You had avoided him successfully for a little over three days when you finally ran into him again. You had been going for a perfect fourth, but in spite of all the space the house had to offer, there were only so many rooms you could duck into, and so many midnight snacks you could sneak into your room to sustain yourself as the hours ticked by.

Having lived with Chris for six months, you knew his schedule. It helped in your goal of steering clear of the awkwardness.

He never outright saw you, anyways, always catching you just as you disappeared around a corner or into a room.

The first day had been the hardest. Chris was a firm believer of confronting an issue head-on – best way for cohesive living – and so there were soft knocks on the door, mugs of coffee – cold by the time you finally thought it safe to leave the room without encountering him – left behind for you on the kitchen counter.

He had even texted you. Can we talk?

He had managed to corner you in the bathroom once. That was entirely inevitable, considering you both shared it.

You had been brushing your teeth when you heard the door handle turn and squeak, and you were quick to spit out the frothy toothpaste to call out a dismissive “occupied!”

“Oh, sorry,” Chris had mumbled sheepishly before shutting the door again. But he didn’t leave. “I… I really think we should talk about last night.”

You rinsed out your mouth, hoping to let the running water drown out his voice.

Patting your mouth dry, you pulled open the door. Chris practically fell into you, having been leaning against the frame, weight balancing on the forearm he had propped up.

You looked up at him innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And that was the end of that. He stopped trying so hard the day after, and when the third day came around, he had decided to give you your space.

You knew you were being entirely unfair on him, not telling him what was wrong, but at first, you didn’t even know. It wasn’t as simple as a touch of the shoulder, not as mundane as jealousy. You hated that you had thought it was jealousy, and shuddered at the very idea of Chris thinking it might be. You were not a jealous person by nature.

And then you realised what that feeling was that had plagued you since that kiss – that kiss that you could still taste on your lips when you closed your eyes at night. It was fear.

It was fear of not being good enough. But not only that, it was fear of rejection, fear of losing one of your bestest friends.

Fear of being homeless if things were to end badly, and given the circumstances, things weren’t running smoothly as is.

You weren’t naïve enough to believe in a happy ending. In the words of the great philosopher Jane Smith – played by the ever great Angelina Jolie – “happy endings are just stories that haven’t finished yet.”

Fact of the matter was that the chances of the two of you making it were slim to none. You were both too different. Similar on a human level – Anthony would even say perfect – but different on almost every other. Financially, emotionally, physically. You couldn’t contend with everything Chris had to offer.