There’s anger in their tone. Calm but seething with tension, a question follows

“Why are you telling me this? You want more from me? What do you want? Are we not enough as we are?”

“Nothing! No!” you reply, “nothing at all, all I want is for you to know. At least if there’s a time where you don’t feel loved you can know that I love you and I would express it in any way you’d let me. In any way you’d feel understood. Seen. My desire to do so simply feels more than platonic. The things I’m willing to do go beyond platonic,” your heart almost breaks at the implication that the only way they know love is through transaction.

“But we say I love you all the time, what happened, what flipped to romance for you? Do you feel led on?” The latter question dares to be laced with concern.

“No, I find your presence comforting, I trust you, and I admire the way you exist. I’m not sure I want to tell you when it flipped for me though, at the risk of tainting memories..”

“How long?”

“The potential has been there since we met, I wouldn’t admit it to myself until summer though, and I didn’t decide to tell you until new years, because hey, I fully expected to be in deeper, but sue me for entertaining the possibility that you’d reciprocate.”

You take it as a good sign when they crack a smile at the tentative return of your usual banter,