Chapter Text
Their friendship was one of those things no one knew exactly how it started — they just knew that, suddenly, it was there. Steady, constant, solid. Like morning coffee. Like an inside joke no one else understood. Like the sound of her laugh echoing through the break room. Like the look he gave when she went overboard with sarcasm.
It was a habit.
Like that Thursday morning, for example.
— Don’t touch that, Bradford. — Lucy grumbled, a mock-threatening tone in her voice as she saw his hand about to steal one of the toast slices from her plate.
Tim froze mid-movement, his hand hanging in the air.
— Didn’t you say you were on a diet?
— A diet doesn’t include you stealing my food. — She pushed the plate a few inches away from him, narrowing her eyes. — And for the record, I’m not on a diet. I’m focusing on myself.
He raised an eyebrow, fighting a grin.
— Focusing on yourself includes questionable carbs at seven a.m.?
— It includes not listening to a muscle-head who thinks a proper breakfast is chicken breast and broccoli.
— Ouch, hit a nerve. — He picked up his own mug and took a sip of coffee, still watching her. — How many hours of sleep did you get last night?
She made a face.
— Enough.
— Chen...
— Four. — Tim stared at her in disbelief, raising an eyebrow. — Okay, maybe three and a half. But it was productive! I wrote two reports, reviewed my budget, updated my planner, and even started a new podcast on criminal psychology.
— Totally normal. — he said sarcastically. — Who needs sleep when you can be a superhero?
She laughed. One of those open, carefree laughs that he liked more than he’d ever admit out loud.
— You talk like that’s a bad thing. — she said, standing up. — And yes, before you say anything, I’ll sleep more tonight.
He followed her with his eyes as she walked to throw away their coffee trash. The morning sun streamed through the large windows, catching the loose strands of her hair and making her brown eyes glow golden for a second.
He quickly looked away.
By the end of their shift, it was past 7 p.m. when Lucy found him leaning against the hood of the car in the parking lot. She showed up with two thermal mugs, handing one to him.
— Chamomile tea with honey. You seem cranky today.
— I’m not cranky. — He accepted the drink but eyed her suspiciously. — Are you trying to calm me down?
— Of course not. I’m just doing my part as a helpful, sensible best friend.
He snorted.
— You and “sensible” in the same sentence?
— Still mad about the toast? Because if that’s it, I’ll give you a slice tomorrow.
— Three. — He demanded.
— Two. — She countered, narrowing her eyes while sipping her drink.
He laughed.
— Deal.
They sat in silence for a few seconds. But it wasn’t uncomfortable — it was the kind of easy silence that only happens between people who know each other well.
Lucy glanced at him sideways.
— Sometimes I think we’re like a sitcom. Two coworkers constantly teasing each other, but deep down...
— But deep down what?
— Nothing. — She quickly looked away. — I’m just tired.
He looked at her for a second longer than necessary before nodding.
— Come on, Chen. I’ll drive you home.
— Aren’t you going home first?
— You think I’m going to let you call an Uber at this hour?
She smiled — one of those small smiles that made his heart skip a beat.
— You’re better than you pretend to be, Tim Bradford.
— And you’re more annoying than you admit.
— What would you do without me?
— Probably get more sleep. — he teased as he unlocked the car.
On the way to her apartment, Lucy talked about a book she was reading, and Tim listened like every word was a story he wanted to memorize. She always lit up when she talked about books or human behavior theories, and he loved that about her — the sparkle in her eyes, the intensity she tried to hide but never quite managed.
When she got out of the car and walked to the building door, he waited until she went in before breathing deeply.
“She’ll never know how much I want her,” he thought before driving away.
But on the other side of the door, Lucy leaned her back against the wall, hand on her chest. Because for the first time, she wondered… what if?
The rain lightly tapped on the bedroom window as Lucy, in a hoodie with messy hair, curled up on the couch with a mug in her hands. The night was cold, but the warmth bothering her came from within — a quiet discomfort that kept growing.
She was trying to watch a light-hearted rom-com series, but her phone buzzed with a simple notification:
Tim Bradford sent a video.
Lucy clicked. It was a video of Kojo wearing a ridiculous raincoat, walking slowly down the wet sidewalk.
"They say dogs look like their owners, but this is just mean."
She let out an involuntary laugh. It was exactly the kind of humor only the two of them would understand. A second later, he sent a message:
"Tomorrow, breakfast with me. And so you won’t have an excuse, I’ll bring it to your place."
Lucy started typing a reply with an eye-roll emoji, but her thumb froze above the keyboard.
The smile was still on her lips. Her heart was beating faster. Her stomach flipped.
This wasn’t just friendship anymore. It was something else.
She took a deep breath, deleted the reply, and dropped the phone on her chest, lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling.
— No. — she whispered. — You’re not doing this, Lucy Chen.
But she already was. She was clearly catching feelings for her former TO.
Flashbacks flooded her mind.
The way he placed his hand on her back when they walked through a crowd. How he always knew when she needed silence or when she needed a joke. How he always remembered her coffee just the way she liked it. How he said “Luce” in that low voice when he was worried, with that look she pretended not to notice.
This wasn’t just friendship anymore — at least not for her. And that doubt was eating her alive.
The next morning, Tamara showed up at Lucy’s bedroom door with a mischievous smile.
— I thought we could grab coffee and catch up... maybe hear all your daily denials.
— Denials of what? — Lucy asked, yawning as she opened the door.
— Whatever you’re denying today. — Tamara waltzed in, sitting on the edge of the bed like she knew there was plenty to unpack. — But mostly… Tim.
Lucy made a face.
— What are you talking about?
— Lucy… — Tamara said in that intervention tone — You talk about him more than you talk about yourself. More than your job, your family, your favorite books. I could write Tim’s biography based on our coffee dates.
— That doesn’t mean anything. He’s my best friend.
— He’s more than that, and you know it. And if you don’t… well, then you’re deep in denial.
Lucy sank into her pillows.
— I don’t know, Tamara. Sometimes it feels like he feels something too. Other times, he’s so... guarded. So neutral. I never know where I stand with him. I’m scared this is all just in my head...
Tamara didn’t reply immediately. She just looked at her with one of those wordless stares that said everything.
Lucy sighed.
— What if I’m misreading things? What if I ruin it? We’re so good like this...
— You’re trying to convince yourself. — Tamara interrupted gently. — You’re not just crushing on him, Lucy. You’ve already fallen. You’re just scared to admit it.
Silence.
The words lingered between them, so big they barely fit in the room.
Lucy tried to smile. She couldn’t.
— I’m scared.
— That’s normal. — Tamara took her hand. — But pretending you don’t feel it will only make it worse.
— And what if he doesn’t feel the same?
— And what if he does… and he’s just waiting for you to stop running?
Lucy swallowed hard. Her phone buzzed again.
Tim: “I’ll swing by at 8. Have strong coffee ready.”
She didn’t reply. She just turned the screen toward Tamara.
Tamara looked at the message, then at Lucy, with a knowing smile.
— Ohhh, so that’s why you didn’t accept my coffee invite. He’s coming here — Tamara laughed, teasing Lucy.
Lucy closed her eyes before finding the courage to get out of bed. It was just after 7 a.m., and knowing Tim — and she did know him — he’d be at her door right at 8.
Tamara stayed on the bed, watching her friend pace the room getting ready. She noticed the different perfume, the flattering outfit, and when Lucy fixed her smudged lipstick, the doorbell rang.
Exactly at eight.
Lucy ran to the door, adjusting her skirt and clipping her hair with a flower pin. She opened it with a smile on her lips — and a slight flutter in her chest — but it was Tamara who spoke first, still holding her coffee mug.
— Look who’s here… the star of Lucy’s internal monologues.
Tim blinked slowly, staring at Tamara with the most deadpan expression he could muster, though the corner of his mouth twitched dangerously.
— Good morning to you too, Tamara.
— You should hear how much she talks about you. — Tamara added, laughing. — I should charge for emotional support. I’m practically her therapist.
— Tamara! — Lucy exclaimed, cheeks burning.
Tim raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He just stepped in and hung his jacket on the chair like someone who already belonged there.
— Got coffee? — he asked, as if Tamara’s comment hadn’t just hit him square in the chest.
— Of course. — Lucy muttered, walking to the kitchen. — But you can only have it if you promise to ignore everything Tamara said.
Tamara answered for him:
— So he’s going to starve.
Tim let out a low laugh and looked at Lucy while she prepared the mugs. Her back was turned, shoulders slightly tense, but there was something sweet in the routine. Something intimate. Familiar.
He even knew how many spoons of sugar she liked in her coffee.
And he hated how much it hurt.
She was a universe that felt like home.
But truly stepping inside... meant risking losing it all.
And he’d already lost too much in life.
— Here. — Lucy said, handing him the mug.
— Thanks. — He took it with a half-smile, their fingers brushing for a second longer than necessary, and for the first time, he really noticed how beautiful she looked.
He always thought she was pretty — but now, it hit differently. She had clearly gotten ready for him.
They sat on the couch, side by side.
Tamara stood, grabbed her bag and announced with her usual sarcastic cheer:
— I’ll leave you two alone with your unresolved feelings. But if there’s a kiss, text me. I like to stay updated.
— TAMARA!
— Bye, Tim. Take care of her. Even if she says she doesn’t need it.
He gave a short nod, watching Lucy try to hide a flustered smile.
Later, back home, Tim dropped his keys on the entry table, kicked off his boots, and collapsed onto the couch with a long sigh. Kojo ran up, tail wagging, sniffing him — probably catching Lucy’s scent.
— Miss your mom already, buddy? — he murmured, scratching the dog’s head. — She looked so beautiful today. Like always...
Kojo gave a soft bark, as if in agreement.
Tim stood and walked to the bedroom drawer. He opened the bottom one and pulled out a black notebook.
No one knew he wrote in it. Not even Lucy.
He sat on the bed, notebook on his lap, and started writing slowly — like someone confessing in a language no one else could read.
"She thinks she’s hiding it, but I see it.
I always see it.
When she bites her lip, when she avoids my eyes.
When she pretends our hands touch by accident.
The problem is: I feel everything.
And I can’t do a damn thing.
Because she deserves someone who won’t mess it all up.
Someone who won’t break her like I’ve been broken.
Someone who loves her gently.
And I only know how to love with fear.
I miss her more every day, even when she’s sitting right beside me.
Every time I look at her, I picture her as my wife, the mother of my kids — I want that with her...
Forever."
He paused, staring at the page.
Kojo climbed onto the bed and rested his head on Tim’s leg.
— You think I should tell her? — Tim whispered. — Would it be crazy if I said sometimes… I think she feels the same?
Kojo gave another short bark, then laid down, as if saying "yes, you idiot."
Tim closed the notebook and tucked it away.
He sat there for a long time, staring at the wall, his heart too tight to breathe.
Lucy.
Her name felt like home.
But he still didn’t know if she would ever let him in.