Page 17 of It's Only Ever Been You

“I was so scared of losing you,” I whisper, my voice barely steady. “But I can’t… I won’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

She holds my gaze, her thumb gently brushing my cheek, and for the first time in weeks, something shifts between us, a silent promise passing in the quiet of the room. She’s my best friend—she’s everything. And I won’t let her slip away again.

For the next few minutes, we just sit there, breathing, finding our way back to each other without words. I don’t move, not until she nods again, more certain this time, letting me know she’s okay. I get up and help her to her feet, guiding her carefully out of the room and down the stairs. Daniel, thankfully, has vanished—probably too cowardly to face me again.

Once we make our way downstairs, we step outside. The cool night air wraps around us, and she releases a shaky breath, her shoulders falling as though she’s shedding the weight of the night. We stand there for a moment, neither of us speaking, just letting the quiet settle over us. I glanceover at her, noticing the way she’s gripping her arms, as if to hold herself together, and without a second thought, I reach out, gently placing my hand on her shoulder.

She looks up, her eyes meeting mine, a mix of exhaustion, relief, and something else—a vulnerability I haven’t seen in her since the day I met her. I want to say something to take away her hurt. To erase every second she felt afraid tonight, but the words feel useless. They’ll never be enough. So I just nod, silently telling her, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Then I wrap her in my arms and hold her tight.

After a moment we walk in silence to my car. The entire drive, I can feel her beside me, close but still distant at the same time. It’s a wall I put there, I know that. I grip the steering wheel tighter, the regret hitting me in waves, but I focus on getting her home.

Tonight, it’s about her.

When we pull up to her house, she hesitates before opening the door, turning to look at me, her eyes searching mine. For a moment, it feels like she’s waiting for me to say something, to break the silence, to finally explain all the things I’ve been holding back. But the words catch in my throat, and all I can manage is a soft, “I’ll check on you tomorrow. I promise.”

She nods, her lips curving into a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Then she slips out of the car, her steps slow and hesitant as she heads up the walkway. I watch her until she reaches her front door, standing there under the porch light, a silhouette of everything I almost lost.

As she turns and gives me one last look before heading inside, it hits me—how close I came to losing her, not just tonight but over these past few weeks. The guilt hits me, hard, tightening in my chest, and I realize that I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep her at arm’s length, can’t keep pretending she’s just a friend. Not when I know she’s so much more.

I sit there in the car, staring at her closed door, making a promise to myself that this ends here. No more holding back, no more excuses. She deserves to know exactly how much she means to me, and I’m done letting fear hold me back. This time, I’ll make sure she knows she’s everything.

Over the next few days, we find our way back to each other. It starts with simple text messages, small gestures that break the silence we’ve had and slowly rebuild the bridge I nearly burned.

Me: Morning, Em. Just making sure you survived first period.

Emma: Barely. Think Mr. Clarke is trying to bore us all to death.

Me: Think I’d get detention if I brought you coffee?

Emma: Only ifyou get caught. ;)

I smile, feeling a weight lift from my chest with every exchange. We start texting more throughout the day—little things, inside jokes we’ve always shared, like how Mr. Clarke’s tie looks like “a sad attempt at a fashion statement,” or how the lunchroom smells of “overcooked regret.” Each message is a piece of us fitting back into place.

In the hallways, I start meeting her by her locker before classes, the way we used to. The first morning, I just lean against the row of lockers, waiting. She rounds the corner, her eyes lighting up when she sees me, and I can’t help but grin.

“Stalking me again, Ethan?” she teases, opening her locker.

“Not stalking, protecting,” I shoot back, leaning closer as she grabs her books. “Big difference.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile playing on her lips. “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The next day, I surprise her with her favorite snack—a chocolate chip muffin from the bakery on 5th street, the one she always claimed had “the perfect chocolate-to-dough ratio.” I wait for her by her locker, holding the muffin out when she walks up.

“Thought you might need some motivation to survive third period,” I say, grinning as she lightsup.

“You shouldn’t have,” she says, but she’s already reaching for it, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Her hands opening and closing in that ‘gimme, gimme’ motion.

I just laugh, “Yeah, but I wanted to,” I reply, watching as she takes a bite, rolling her eyes in exaggerated bliss and moaning. Something that goes straight to my cock, making me stealthily adjust myself.

“Okay, fine, you’re forgiven foralmosteverything,” she says, laughing. “Almost,” she repeats, patting my chest.

These moments remind me of how much I need her, but it feels different. There’s a tenderness between us now, some unspoken understanding that wasn’t there before. Every text, every smile, every lingering look—it all feels like some promise, one that doesn’t need words.

In the evenings, our conversations stretch longer. She’ll text me about her day, complaining about homework, and I’ll find myself sharing things I usually keep to myself. The things that worry me, the weight of expectations, and somehow, she always knows exactly what to say. And when she shares what’s on her mind, I listen, more closely than ever, not wanting to miss a single detail.

One night, after a particularly roughpractice, I text her.

Me: If I have to hear one more pep talk from Coach, I might scream.

---