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VIII. Still The Same

But the thing about being friends - or best friends - is that boundary.

The imaginary line that no one should cross - imaginary in the sense that, no one talks about it, but it's always:

"You should've known."

But the thing with the two of them, is that it's a boundary neither actually bothers with.

He often - and knowingly - oversteps that boundary, and it's a good thing she mostly overlooks it. Well, if she is even aware.

Like right now.

A best friend shouldn't be feeling such tension in the air between them, but he couldn't help it that his cheeks started to flush crimson red when her thumb had absentmindedly caressed his knuckles.

For years he has tried, and just as he thought he has successfully set those feelings aside, he finds out that he has probably failed. Perhaps he's never meant to fall out of love. Or perhaps he doesn't actually need to - no one said one had to stop loving another, just because they can't be together.

On the other hand, she isn't even acutely aware of how she is affecting him, and she simply released his hand after completing her sentence, placing it by his side. She looks at him expectantly, her eyes big and round, as she watches him open and close his mouth like a goldfish, but not utter a sound.

"Thanks," he finally murmurs after a long while.

Bewildered, she asks, "What for?"

"For -",

For what? He silently cursed.

"For agreeing to the third movie," he blurts out in a desperate attempt to save himself.

"It's as much a pleasure for me to be working with you, so I'm not doing a favour, really, if that's why you're thanking me. It's OUR promise. And happily, my obligation."

She emphasised on the "our".

Then gave him one of her sweet smiles.

A smile that eventually didn't quite reach her eyes, he noted, and couldn't figure out why.

She would have explained it to him in the most explicit manner she possibly could, had he dared to ask.

His body has been staking its claim in the heart of her personal space for the past few minutes, even though she has already let go of his hand. He is still pretty much in a reverie, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, and it slowly came to her attention that his answers not only came out short, but also far and few between. His ever-presence in her personal space was once again bringing out her self-consciousness, a feeling that she hardly gets - and he has managed to make her feel so twice, in such a short span of time. First, when he suddenly closed the distance between them a while back. And the second time, right now. She doesn't know what is going on in his mind, and it is making her somewhat uncomfortable that he keeps on gazing at her but does not say a word.

Maybe it isn't his problem, but my own, she mused. She has always felt the compelling need to get out whenever she feels that things are getting too close for comfort. It was her thing, not anyone else's problem. She was just wired this way. But with him, there hasn't been many occasions where she has felt this way. Maybe it has something to do with him being in a daze and staring at her. Maybe.

He was so close to her - to the point of suffocation, and she most certainly couldn't breathe without inhaling the sweet smell of his cologne. She was finding it hard to decide if it was his existence, or the cologne that was making her somewhat light-headed. After a somewhat intense internal battle, she took a deep breath and stepped back.