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He knows.
He knows everytime she looks at him. When her gaze lingers on his across the room, and there's a smile that's coded only for him. He knows. When touch lingers a few seconds longer on his hand when she hands him something. When she always makes sure to make extra coffee for him, and sets out the creamer. Because she remembers that first time years ago that he mentioned it in passing.
He knows with every fiber of his being and everytime they're alone, he has to remind himself that she can only ever be a friend. He has no right to drag her into his darkness. And yet he was addicted to experiencing her light.
Whenever she shows up to his room, leaning on his door way with a goofy smile with a takeout box of sushi. He's never not in the mood to talk to her. And maybe this was more cruel for them. To stay in this limbo forever. But whatever protection he felt towards her was never enough to push down his own selfishness of wanting her close.
He'd never found that solace in anyone. Moments where they could be in the same room without talking. Or when the silence would be chased away with hours of talking, and before they knew it, the sun was peaking beyond the horizon.
She knows he knows. When his hands gently wake her when she's done another all nighter in the library and he's murmuring sweet nothings to keep her relaxed as he carries her to her bed. When he brings out a new gift from his travels, something that he knows only she would like. An inside joke. A memory.
When he knows something is bothering her and his hazel eyes ask all the right questions. She finds herself coming undone in his presence. Like a stray yarn in your favorite sweater.
But she'd rather suffer a lifetime as just a friend if it meant she got to be near him. Hear him talk his mind. Hear him laugh. That deep rumbly laugh that reverberates in his chest. One that's only ever meant to grace her ears.
God it hurts. It hurts to be so close to someone you love and get to experience their soul without touching them the way you want. But this was something she'd come to terms with. As long as she gets to share his time, his words, his space, his air - that was enough for her.
Maybe they were cowards. Cowards for never saying it out loud. But maybe they knew they didn't have to.