“So I have a question to ask you. Or maybe more of um, a statement I suppose.”

He looked at me, waiting, a curious smile playing at his lips.

I forced myself to look at him despite every nerve telling my eyes to stare at my hands rubbing together. I hesitated, rethinking how I was going to word this. “Do you remember when you first saw me?”

“That sounds like a question, but yes I do. Why? Do you remember when you first saw me?”

I laughed humorlessly. “Definitely. I couldn’t forget, you walking in all cocky and loud through the back door of that one bar. You know the one, uh, the one off the corner of 21st and Main, I think? Anyway, I thought, ‘damn, this guy must be kind of an asshole.’”

He laughed, pushing my shoulder back. “Hah! And who turned out to be the asshole that day, huh?” He lifted a brow teasingly, never losing that small smile.

He wasn’t wrong. I had pretended not to notice him despite my acute awareness of his every move. The way his mouth slanted to the side when he laughed at my lame pun jokes, the muscular indents of his shoulders beneath his shirt. But it wasn’t the physical things I noticed first, come to think of it. It was his effortless confidence, this open kindness which wordlessly invited anyone he spoke with to grab a drink with him. Which is how I ended up being the asshole in this scenario. He had been genuinely nice to me and I brushed him off, assuming he wanted what any guy wants when they come straight up to you and offer to buy you a drink.

He leaned closer, grabbing my attention which has slipped to the straw wrapper I was twisting around my finger, turning it purple. “You alright? You seem off.” He said and reached his hand to grab mine. “Hey, I was only kidding. I didn’t think you were an asshole when I first met you. In fact, I thought you were one of the most intelligent persons I had ever met.”

My palms were itching and sweaty and I pulled my hand from his, wiping it against my pant leg. “I don’t uh—hm. I guess I should start—well no, I mean—“ I took a deep breath and squeezed my fingernails into my palms as hard as I could. “Look. I don’t really know how to say what I want to say, so I’m just gonna say it and it might not be what I mean but just bear with me alright?” He looked genuinely worried now but it was too late to back out without him pushing it further. “I like you. And I kind of love you too. You never belittle me, which is extremely easy to do considering I am a bit naive about most things besides, you know, books and things. And you never ask me to stop talking about the things I love which I know don’t interest you.” I forced the words past my lips but kept my eyes unfocused on the table between us. “But that’s the thing! You are the only one who doesn’t make me feel stupid and you are the only one I want to tell how my day genuinely went and not make up some bullshit response just so no one is compelled to comfort me.”

He took a breath, opening his mouth.

“Wait! Wait wait wait, I’m not done. I, uh, have something else.” I inhaled through my nose, holding the breath there for several beats. “I have loved you since that first day. And I didn’t know what to do about it so I just, pretended I didn’t. But I can’t do it anymore.” I closed my eyes for several long seconds, then felt his hand grab mine.

He was looking at me with a face I’d never seen before. Pity? Distaste? He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself, then looked down at our clasped hands. He sighed quietly, making my insides curl up in dread. “I think I need some time to, uh, figure out how—how I feel.”

Yup. Pity. Why the fuck had I opened my damn mouth...