“I’m in love with her.”

The words came out before I could stop them, the words I swallowed for so long. At first I didn’t look up to see his face; I didn’t want to know his reaction to my confession. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore. To me, she was a goddess, our friendship was circled around loving her so unbelievably much that I couldn’t go on pretending as if she didn’t mean anything to me. And I needed someone to know, I wanted someone to know. Because the way she spoke and the things she wrote and the way her freckles dotted her even skin and her short hair framed her face were just, perfect.

He didn’t respond though. Not at first. It felt as though he were judging me or contemplating something and the longer the silence continued the more I believed he didn’t even hear what I had said.
“I’m in love with her, too.”

“What?” My head tilts up, glaring into his eyes.
“I said I’m in love with her, too. Arguably even more than you believe you are.”