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He looks at her like she’s the center of the whole goddamn universe. Every story she tells brings out a gentle smile, every joke a sharp point of laughter. The lines of his face soften, his eyes twinkle, and she feels as though he’s reflecting back all the love that she’s given him over the years.
No one quite seems to understand what they are. She hates to admit it, but sometimes, she’s not sure either. She can’t picture herself being his girlfriend, or him being her boyfriend. But she can picture them getting married - not just because they’d already broken off multiple engagements - and living out the rest of their lives together. He’d buy them a house, she’d pretend to be upset that he insisted on paying for everything, they’d argue over whether they were going to be a dog or cat household and compromise by getting two of each. And was she really crazy for thinking that it was a distinct possibility, given the fact that he expected her to make her own tea whenever she was over at his place to watch a Netflix show or play a board game, since she knew the location of everything in his kitchen?
She felt crazy. Especially when her coworkers would give them knowing looks that seemed to fly right over his head. Or when Shirley would happen to call right as she was pulling up to his house and give a knowing hum, as if she had any inkling what was going on between them. Or when he would get asked if he was single and laugh the question off without answering it. Everyone around them acted like they knew that they were trying to keep their partnership a secret. But she couldn’t tell them there was no partnership at all if they didn’t bring it up first. She couldn’t tell them that this was merely unconventional, unadulterated friendship, and that they both were perfectly happy.
He was happy. And she was too, for the most part. Most days, what they were was more than enough. Especially since she’d been inspiring him to change, just a little. He used to shut his ears off when others talked about their problems, but now he listens, offers sincere condolences and apologies. He used to refuse to go out of his way to help others, but now he does it reflexively. He offers rides, cooks for his friends, pays their tabs when he can. He used to make her feel like she was disposable. But now, he tells her that she’s indispensable. That she’s one of the last people he has left, that she’s important, that he wants her in his life for as long as possible.
(She wishes he would just say forever. What would be so wrong with that? They both wanted it, but she knew that if she said it first, he’d panic. He’d accuse her of being obsessed. She’d push him away in anger. And that was the last thing she ever wanted to happen.)
Sometimes, she wonders how she looks at him. She can’t ask - another forbidden question for the list - but she wonders if it makes him feel like she does when he looks at her. Like he must be glowing, with how transfixed she is by him. Like he’s never been more purely adored. Like he’s never been more loved. She wonders if her eyes scrunch up the way his do when he laughs at something particularly funny, if her resting smile makes him feel at ease or sets off sparks within him.
She wonders a lot of things when it comes to him. The questions only slip out when she’s too tired or intoxicated to hold them back. Though the outcome has never been disastrous, it’s never been stellar, either. Never enough to make her want to put their limits to the test.
So she doesn’t. She merely takes in his gaze, hopes that she gazes right back in a way that tells him all the things she knows she can’t, and forces herself to be content with this. Some part of her knows that isn’t healthy. But, frankly, the rest of her doesn’t have enough energy to care.