Work Text:
Mornin' seeps through the blinds
And joins us in bed
And you stir in your sleep
There goes fear, embeddin'
They say the heart has rules, but mine disobeyed— I fell for my best friend, quietly, completely.
And the cruelest part of all? I never even knew if her heart could fall for mine. It’s the cliche-est cliche of all time, you know? A girl falling for her best friend—the kind of girl who defines straight without even trying.
But it’s Debbie . Who wouldn’t love Debbie? And when you’re the one closest to her, the one who gets to see the parts of her no one else does... how could you not?
She’s a mess and a masterpiece all at once, and I think that’s what wrecked me the most.
She can be loud—chaotic, even. She laughs too hard at the wrong moments, talks with her hands, trips over her own feet when she’s excited. But somehow, it’s never annoying. It’s just... her. And I love it. I love all of it.
Then there are the moments where she’s calm, graceful in this effortless way, like she doesn’t even know how stunning she is. She’ll brush her hair behind her ear or tilt her head when she’s listening to someone, and it floors me. Every. Single. Time.
She’s kind in ways that sneak up on you. She remembers the things you say when you think no one’s listening. She shows up. She cares—really cares—and doesn’t need the world to see it. That’s just who she is.
And when she walks into a room, everything feels brighter. Like suddenly, there’s color where there wasn’t before. She doesn’t try to be the center of attention, but she is—because she makes everything better just by being in it.
I’m completely, stupidly, helplessly in love with her. And maybe she’ll never know. Maybe she’ll never feel the same. But God, I love her anyway.
What if I make you pancakes
But you choose to skip breakfast?
What if when you're fully awake
You come to your senses?
But like I said— who wouldn’t love Debbie?
She’s the kind of girl people orbit around without realizing it. Bright, effortless, warm. Of course someone was going to fall for her. Of course it was going to be more than just me. And I think that’s what guts me the most—knowing I had the chance to say something, to be the first, and still... I didn’t.
One of my biggest regrets is not telling her sooner. Not saying it out loud before Claude Becker did. Not pulling her aside one of those countless rides home and just... spitting it out. That I loved her. That I have always loved her.
Because maybe if I’d been just a little braver, maybe if I hadn’t waited for the “right time” that never came, she would have finally seen me. Not as her best friend. Not as the one who picks her up after class and memorizes her coffee order. But as me. The one who’s been in love with her in every quiet, aching, ridiculous way a person can be in love with someone.
And now? Now I get to smile and nod and pretend it doesn’t kill me to hear her talk about Claude. Like that couldn’t have been us , if I had just said something when it mattered.
So when she showed up at my door, eyes red, voice shaking, saying he left because they were “too different,” I didn’t stop myself. Maybe it wasn’t the right moment. Maybe it was selfish. I know how it must’ve looked. Like I took advantage of her when she was at her lowest, used her heartbreak as an opening.
But honestly, I didn’t care anymore.
I couldn’t keep it in—not after everything. So I told her. While we were sitting on my bed, with her eyes red from crying and her heart still raw from Claude. I told her I loved her. That I’d loved her for a long time. That it wasn’t just some reaction to the moment or her heartbreak—it was real, steady, and had been quietly growing for years.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, staring at me like she wasn’t sure what to do with the words I’d just dropped between us. And I knew that look. It was the look people give you when they don’t know how to let you down gently.
So I did the only thing I could. I kissed her.
Softly. Carefully. Like I was handing her something fragile. And maybe I was.
When I pulled back, I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t ask for a response. I just looked at her and said, “I can wait, Debbie.” Because loving her never came with conditions. And if all I could be was the person who waited—then so be it.
Hours pass on the hood of your car
So little is said
I wait for your arms
But you give your jacket instead
Nothing really changed after I told her, or maybe not in the way people might expect.
We never had “the talk.” She didn’t give me a yes or no, but she stayed. Still called, still came over. And now, sometimes, she held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes she kissed me while we sat side by side, textbooks open, the silence between us soft and full.
And I told myself that was enough.
Because she was still Debbie– the girl I fell in love with. The one who laughed at my stupid jokes, who left her things all over my place like she lived there, who leaned into me like I was her safe place.
But even with the kisses and quiet tenderness, I knew she hadn’t said it. Not out loud.
There were moments where I swore she wanted to. I’d catch it in the way she looked at me, in the way her voice softened when she said my name. But then she’d hesitate, and I’d pretend not to notice. Pretend it didn’t sting.
Maybe she was scared or maybe she wasn’t ready. Or maybe she didn’t want to break something that still felt so fragile between us, so I didn’t push. I just stayed, loved her the only way I knew how. Because even without the words, I could feel something real between us. And for now, that was enough.
Then came my birthday. Debbie pulled off a surprise party that somehow brought together everyone I loved. My family, my old friends, even cousins I hadn’t seen in years. I could tell how much thought she put into it. It felt like something out of a dream.
Everyone kept asking if we were together. She just smiled, and I took that as enough. And then she finally said it, later when we were alone in my room after the party.
“I love you, Lou.”
For a moment, I didn’t move. I just let it sink in. I’d waited so long to hear her say those words, and now that they were real, everything made sense. It felt right. Not forced, not rushed—just honest and full of feeling. I didn’t question it. I didn’t search her face for doubt. I believed her. And at that moment, I was completely happy.
She loved me and nothing had ever felt more certain.
Am I at your disposal?
You tell me I'm nice
But I know I'm only the hostel
'Til there's a house that you like
Being with Debbie was everything I had ever wanted. Waking up to her texts, walking her to class, watching fall asleep beside me on the couch after a long day– it all felt like home. I did everything I could to show her how much I loved her, not because I had to, but because it was the most natural thing in the world to love her.
But then I started noticing the small shifts. The silences that lasted too long. The way her smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. How she’d pull away just a little faster than before when I held her hand. I told myself she was tired. I told myself she’d talk to me if something was wrong. I told myself I was overthinking.
Then that day at the café happened.
Claude walked in with someone else. He looked happy—really happy. I turned to see how Debbie would react, and I wish I hadn’t. Because I saw it. Her face fell in a way I hadn’t seen in months. She looked... gutted . Like something hit her straight in the chest and took the air out of her lungs. I reached for her hand under the table, but she didn’t reach back.
And in that second, I knew. She felt something—but it wasn’t for me. I didn’t say a word. I just sat there, next to her, heart cracking quietly in a place she couldn’t see. Because if she had told me she felt nothing, I think I could have handled that.
But she did feel something. Just not with me. And that’s what hurt the most.
I remember the way her face crumpled when I asked.
“Then what am I here for?” I had whispered, not because I wanted to guilt her, but because I was desperate to understand. And when she started to cry, really cry, I knew I had my answer.
I couldn’t even get angry. All I felt was this dull, aching silence inside me, like someone had pressed pause on everything that made me feel alive. I wanted so badly for her to say it wasn’t about him, that it was just a phase, that she still wanted us. But she didn’t say anything. She just cried. And in that silence, everything between us cracked.
I had spent so long giving her the softest parts of me, hoping it would be enough. But love doesn’t work like that. You can’t love someone hard enough to make them stay.
So I held her while she cried, even though I was breaking too.
Because I loved her. And part of loving her meant accepting that maybe she didn’t love me the same way anymore. Or maybe she never really did.
It hasn't been long since the first kiss goodnight
Said I stole your heart, you called me a thief
This love's but a newborn, so why does it bite?
It hasn't even lost all its milk teeth
So why are you already anxious to leave?
I used to tell myself I’d never beg for love. That if someone didn’t choose me, I’d walk away with my head high and my heart intact. But loving Debbie rewrote all of that. After she looked me in the eye and couldn’t say she was over him that night, I thought I’d finally reach my limit. I thought the heartbreak would make walking away easier.
But the next morning, I still got up early to make her breakfast. I still asked how she slept, still smiled like I hadn’t spent half the night staring at the ceiling, wondering why I wasn’t enough. I told her sorry. For what, I wasn’t sure. For the tension? For the truth?
She looked at me like she was about to say something. I already knew what it was.
“Lou, we need to talk about this—”
“Let’s not, Deb. Please.”
Her brow furrowed. “But we can’t just act like nothing’s happening.”
And then I said it—the one thing I swore I’d never let myself say.
“I can’t lose you. I’ll stay for as long as I can, and I need you to let me. Please, Deb. I can’t lose you.”
My voice didn’t shake. My eyes didn’t water. But inside, something broke. I had never begged anyone to stay. But I begged for her.
And so I stayed.
I stayed through the awkward silences, the way she avoided my eyes, the way she always seemed half-present—like part of her was still somewhere else. I stayed when she was quiet in the car, when she barely kissed me goodnight, when her hugs felt more like habit than love.
Every night, I’d drive her home, walk her to the door, smile like everything was fine. And the second she was inside, I’d fall apart. Cry in the car, face pressed against the steering wheel, wondering how long I could keep pretending this didn’t hurt.
But I stayed.
Because as painful as it was to be with someone who wasn’t sure about me, it still felt easier than waking up one day and not having her at all.
I know soon enough we'll come apart at the seams
But just one empty kiss, and it's not as bad as it seems
We breathe for different reasons, both as petty, I'd reckon
You for your "Well done's", and me for, "You're welcome"
I didn’t tell her I was leaving. Not bec ause I wanted to hurt her—but because I was tired.
Tired of holding everything together. Tired of waiting for her to choose me, in a way I was always so sure I’d chosen her. There’s only so much a person can give before something inside them runs empty. And I think I reached that point long before I booked the flight.
I wanted to tell her, but how do you say goodbye to someone who’s never really been yours? How do you explain that you’re not angry, just done? That it’s not about giving up, but realizing you can’t be the only one fighting?
So I left. Quietly. No texts, no calls. Just… left.
When her message came, it felt like I’d been holding my breath the whole time.
"You're in Australia? And you couldn't tell me about it?"
It stung. The accusation. The disappointment. But I couldn’t lie.
Because the truth was, I had told her—just not with words. I told her every time I stayed, every time I held on. And she still didn’t fight for us.
"I’m sorry. I had to choose myself this time, Deb."
And for once, I meant it.
I meant it when I said I had to choose myself.
And maybe it was too late, maybe it came after years of loving someone who never quite knew what to do with that love—but I left. And I didn’t look back. Not because I stopped caring, but because I finally realized I was the only one holding on.
I spent a long time rebuilding. Learning to live without the weight of waiting. And somewhere in the middle of that slow, quiet healing, I met Daphne. She didn’t come crashing into my life like a storm. She arrived gently, steadily. She loved me in ways I didn’t have to question, didn’t have to fight for.
Now, years later, I’m married to her. I have peace. Not because I forgot what I had with Debbie, but because I forgave myself for what I allowed. For staying when I was already breaking. For loving someone who couldn’t love me back the same way.
It hasn't been long since the first kiss goodnight
Said I stole your heart, you called me a thief
This love's but a newborn, so why does it bite?
It hasn't even lost all its milk teeth
So why are you already anxious to leave?
When I heard Debbie tried to reach out, I blocked her. Not out of anger or spite, but because I knew her. I knew guilt would find her eventually, maybe it already did, and if I kept the door open, she’d try to walk through it just to ease her conscience. I didn’t need that. I didn’t want to become someone she apologized to just to feel better. That wasn’t mine to carry anymore.
I don’t hate her. I think I never could. But some wounds don’t get fixed by apologies. Some goodbyes are quiet, slow, and final. And that’s okay.
Because this time, I chose a life where I didn’t have to wonder if I was enough.
So why are you already anxious to leave?
Sometimes, when the morning is soft and the world is quiet, I wonder if she ever thinks of me. If she remembers the version of us that existed before everything fell apart. But I don’t dwell. Not anymore.
I have a good life now. One I built from the pieces I once scattered at her feet, hoping she’d pick them up. And maybe in another lifetime, things would’ve been different. Maybe she would’ve chosen me sooner. Loved me right. Stayed.
But in this one, I learned how to let go.
Maybe in our next life, we’ll meet again—wiser, braver, and unafraid. Maybe then, I’ll get to love her freely, and she’ll love me back without hesitation. Maybe she’ll be the one waiting at the end of the aisle, like we used to joke about.
But for now, this is where we part.
And that’s enough.