It’s Tuesday afternoon and the two of you are sitting on the floor of your small apartment. He’s got this huge grin on you face at what you said but you can’t even remember you’re laughing so hard right now. He leans over and places his head on your shoulder trying to catch his breath and the both of you are panting and it probably wasn’t even that funny but both of you are grinning like fools. He presses a quick kiss to your neck before you both burst into laughter again.
It’s the weekend and the two of you are sitting on a bench in the center of town. He’s just out of work and you’ve barley managed to escape your producers and editors to get away. The both of you are walking back to his place, laughing as some guy chases a girl down the street yelling some bullshit about being sorry. You crack open a beer when you get back and the both of you get smashed so you stay the night. He kisses you hungrily when you climb into bed with him.
He’s over your house again and you’ve crack out a bottle of fine wine. It’s a special occasion, one of them you think, so it seems appropriate to pull it out from the depth of your pantry. He pulls out two glasses as you just drink it out of the bottle so he just puts them back and grabs it from you. By the end of it the two of you are tangled up on the couch with shitty movies and sweet kisses.
You close your eyes, images passing through your mind. All of the would haves and could haves, should haves, but didn’ts. You said you’d come over tonight but it’s nothing like you wished it would be, just friends. No quick, hungry or sweet kisses; just platonic hugs and a single drunk experiment when you were teens.
Your name is Dave Strider and you’re head over heels for your best friend but he’s strictly “not a homosexual” so you can only dream.