why don't we imagines

how do i tell you (c.b.)

a/n: hey! it's been a while but i hope you enjoy this<3

summary: you and corbyn are roommates (and bestfriends) but recently, your friendship hasn't been the same. little do you know, it's because he's developed feelings for you. 

it wasn't as easy as he thought it would be.

soft fingers of light casted golden streaks across the floorboards, rendering the apartment with the warm tinge of sunrise traveling through the drawn open windows. the whistling of the kettle started to subside just when your bedroom door opened, inviting corbyn to bow his head, his hoodie vieling his long frown, as if to hide his presence from you.

It hurt more than he anticipated. not talking to you, or sending you silly messages or tiktoks he knew for certain would make you giggle, and as you slipped awkwardly past him, not receiving that sleepy morning hug. the wrap of your arms was nothing more than a platonic sign of endearment, but one that roused his familiar romantic feelings in the form of tingles along his limbs and a faster pulse that always made him anxious would give away his feelings for you as you'd rest your head against his chest.

he was a coffee drinker, the taste of tea or matcha not quite eliciticing that preferred level of satisfaction that coffee often gave him while the sun would ascend into the vast expanse of the artsy sky. but more importantly, he was a creature of habit, a roommate whose love was shown in the hot steam of his daily homemade cup of tea for you. the ratio of tea to milk and sugar was ingrained in his mind after watching you make it for so long. and when he would breeze around the kitchen preparing his coffee, he'd put the teapot on the stove so that when it was your turn to saunter into the kitchen, bleary eyed with that soft half smile of yours to greet him, a cup of tea would greet you too.

but this morning, among the previous tortuous days he had avoided you, he let the water get cold, forcing his eyes away from your favourite mug in the cabinet you two always argued over, the words 'it's mine' sprung back and forth since that first day you two had moved in together regardless of the fact you had both secretly forgot who it actually belonged to. he always let you win those arguments, chuckling at the playful smirk on your face as you would drop in a tea bag infront of him.

corbyn dragged his feet to the coffee machine, opening the lid to place in his pod of premade coffee. there wasn't a word spoken in the kitchen for a while, the air merely blessed with the freshness of early morning but not your typical easy morning greetings and complaints about the cold atmosphere thanks to winter's arrival. you were wearing your robe, and its soft material billowed out behind your figure as you poured cereal from an open box into a bowl, grabbed a spoon and shuffled onto a seat behind the island.

the apartment was calm, or so it must've seemed like that from an outside perspective, but in reality, corbyn could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he leaned against the edge of the cool countertop, staring at the continuous drips of coffee into his cup under the dispenser. still, no words were spoken. this wasn't atypical for you two. having spent so many hours hanging out together, sometimes the most comfortable option was to be in silence together, in one another's company. but this is different, nothing like the peace of eachother's quiet presence. corbyn's uneasiness grew, and he felt your eyes leering on him though his back was turned and the grueling shadow of guilt looming over him increasing with every slow minute that passed from the bright digital time on the microwave. nothing about that is peaceful.

as cliche as it sounded, he always thought there weren't enough words in the English language to explain his feelings, and he often wondered if spoken words were even the right way to explain them. although he hated to admit it, it wasn't possible to resolve whatever was going on between you two without spilling his truth. or better said, the lack of anything going on between you two. all he was certain of was that he missed his best friend.

it wasn't like an episode of a t.v. show you had both caught up on; a statement you simply skim over in conversation. it was a weight getting heavier and heavier upon his shoulders; drifting through life and pushing away his feelings for you. communication between the both of you had withered to an awkward tension, save for some of those quiet 'thank you's' you'd mutter when he'd help you with something like the stiff lid of a jar, or an occasional 'can you please pass the milk?'

corbyn glanced over his shoulder, and with a slight nod, he merely slid the carton of milk across the counter. his movements were slow, painfully slow, as if avoiding you wasn't enough torture, and he has to now irk you with the annoying sight of the milk carton moving along the countertop at a sluggish pace.

you clicked your tongue in irritation, leaning over to snatch it from his grasp before it reached your side, "thanks." the edge in your voice didn't go unnoticed, and it caused the corners of corbyn's mouth to twitch further down, if that was even possible.

he noticed the weekly paper in front of you too, the pages messily folded in your enthusiastic haste to complete the crossword and eyes narrowed in adorable concentration. he hated how much he loved the sight of you in the morning, untouched hair remaining in its messy state, comfy pajamas still worn. and with the yellowy light of the sun illuminating your shared home, your beautiful eyes were left with the obscure sparkle he never failed to notice, like a hidden pot of treasure buried in a deep ocean.

you were truly a sight for sore eyes, though unfortunately, one that landed him in an awkward, almost mortifying moment.

you shoveled another spoonful of cereal into your mouth and between loud crunches, the words, "you're staring," slipped past your tongue, and you thank the stars for the fact that corbyn couldn't sense the butterflies fluttering in your stomach or feel the heat in your face fluctuating from across the kitchen.