I stopped short, staring through the open door, bags in hand, and a shocked smile flashing across my face. She looked up from the box she was unpacking, brilliant blonde hair falling haphazardly across her face. "No. Way."

We both burst into disbelieving laughter as she jumped up and tackled me into a hug. She always gave the best hugs. I ignored my racing heart, choosing instead to give her a happy smirk. "What are the odds?" I pulled away to drop my bags on what I assumed was my half of the room. "It's good to see you, Princess." What had it been? Two years since we had seen each other? Two years since I ran away from my best friend?

She flopped down onto her bare mattress, making the old wood creak slightly as she bounced. "So now we're roomies. College roomies. Wow. Who'da thought?" She flew back up into a sitting position. Always so full of energy. She hadn't changed at all since high school. "So how are you? I haven't seen you in forever! What's up in the freelance author world?"

I smiled at my job description, moving to pull out my sheets. I, for one, wasn't planning on braving whatever the previous owner had left on the bed. "It's not a lot of money," I admitted, "but I love it. I wake up some days and I can't believe my dream came true. I'm really doing it, you know? I'm following my dreams. I travel, I write, I take pictures, and I get to meet some great people all across the country. It's crazy." I shot her a wistful smile and shrugged. "But I'm here now. Finishing some school. Tied down for the time being. What about you? How's the teaching program here?"

She kicked her feet, unconsciously swaying to the beat of someone's music down the hall. Adorable, I thought. "I don't know," she sighed. "It's difficult. Sometimes I wonder if it's really for me. I mean, do I seriously look forward to the day when I have to stand in front of a bunch of unhappy high schoolers and tell them stuff they don't want to learn? And student teaching is a pain. Do you know how many high school boys try to hit on me?" She looked surprised. I couldn't help but laugh.

"I would think a heck of a lot, considering." Apparently she was still a confident narcissist since she didn't bother asking me what I meant by "considering." She knew that I thought she was beautiful, irresistible, and painfully stunning, she just didn't know that I was also one of those star-struck admirers who hit on her in high school.

We smiled at each other awkwardly for a minute. "...I guess we have a lot of catching up to do then, huh?"

"I guess we do."

--SIX MONTHS LATER--

Old Christmas lights illuminated our shared room, casting a soft glow on her always-perfect hair. I don't know how, but after a couple weeks we'd gone right back to normal and it felt as if I had never left in the first place.

A part of me was ecstatic, but the more sensible part knew that seeing her again, being friends again, being her trusted advisor again after years of trying to forget how she made me feel, wasn't a good plan. Normal for us meant a hell of a lot more flirting than any of my other friendships, and I knew from experience that getting my hopes up left me with nothing to do but fall. Not that I could ever keep myself from hoping that one day she'd notice. 

My nonchalant disregard for personal well-being, especially in matters with emotional relevance, had not improved despite my half-assed attempts to prevent more heartache.

And now the object of my greatest heartache sat right in front of me, her knees knocking against mine with every frenzied gesture. I'm sure she barely noticed. Calling our situation unhealthy might be an understatement, but I didn't have the willpower to leave again, not when it felt so good to finally be able to speak with her, to see her smile. Even when she went off on rants about her boyfriend, I couldn't find it in myself to express my disinterest because it felt so good just to know that she wanted to talk to me. It was like we were right back in high school, her telling me tales of her many adventures, and me running away to travel the world and try to forget how it felt to be stabbed in the heart day after day by her obliviousness.

I glanced up when I noticed her go quiet. "Hey," she called, "earth to Kaia. Are you listening?"

I forced my gaze away from her and stared blankly at the floor. Today hadn't been good; I had failed a write in English--my best subject--and my professor had outed me in front of the whole class, questioning what the world was coming to since someone who obviously had no mastery over the English language had found a job as an author. "No, not really."

"You alright?" she asked, brushing her hand over mine. Stop caring, I wanted to say. Stop pretending to love me. I did my best to ignore the painful clenching in my chest. Since we had been close friends for a long time, I had gotten used to her constantly touching me, but that didn't make it any easier to bear when I remembered that that's all we were.

Two and a half years, I thought. I couldn't get over her in two and a half years? What's wrong with me? Her hand wrapped itself around mine, our fingers interlocking perfectly, like my hand had found it's home. Nothing, I realized, staring at our hands and failing to stop the butterflies in my stomach from waking up. Nothing is wrong with me. She's perfect. How could I ever get over someone so perfect?

"Kaia," she called out again. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" I winced inwardly at that, but I forced myself to nod and smile for her. No, I couldn't. If I told her how I felt, if I admitted how much she meant to me, what I wanted us to be, I would ruin our friendship.

Sometimes I would consider it--ruining our friendship that is--but even when keeping a secret from the person I treasured above everyone else got too hard, I still refused to tell her. Instead, I would leave. Run away. Travel for weeks on end and pretend I had gone to find inspiration for my next novel. I couldn't risk taking a chance and driving a wedge between us; I was never that bold.

I almost told her a few times. When we were being extra flirty with each other and I had hope that maybe, just maybe, I had a shot.

We would be laying side by side on the roof gazing at the stars, I would be confessing things to her that I've never told anyone before, and she would be listening quietly, grabbing my hand and telling me she loved me and that I was worth the world even as the tears slipped down my cheeks. It hurt more than I could ever hope to explain, to have her next to me but never be allowed to call her mine.

Tears pricked my eyes yet again, and I helplessly attempted to hide them. I hated myself sometimes, always letting my emotions run wild and rule my life. It's not like I wanted to cry. Softly, she gripped my chin, forcing me to look at her.

"Kaia," she whispered, eyebrows knotting together in confusion and worry. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Is someone bothering you?" I shifted in her hold, painfully aware of the heat radiating from her body and the scent of peppermint on her breath. She'd stolen my gum again. Her gaze darkened. "Who is it? Who do I have to beat up? Is it some guy? Your asshole teacher?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and tore away from her only to find her hands on either side of my face. "Tell me," she ordered.

I stared. She was perfect; there was no other word to explain her. Light auburn hair with hints of blonde, deep blue-grey eyes--the color of a cement building's reflection in a river, I had once commented--framed by long lashes, a smile like the sun on a cool autumn day, and a kind of easy confidence that drew people in. She was perfect, but for some reason, she took an interest in me. She gave me hope, told me I wasn't alone, made me feel loved and understood.

I felt my heart clench once again as I took note of the few short inches of air between us. "Who?" she repeated. I choked. A sound I didn't know I could make left my throat, somewhere between a squeak and a hiccup. I tried to play it off with a quick cough and a breathy laugh.

She came closer still, moving to wrap her arms around me. I screwed my eyes shut. This was torture. To have what I wanted right in front of me and yet so far away. I could reach out and touch her, but she wouldn't understand. She wouldn't feel the same.

Why is it always like this? I screamed to myself. Why does she do this to me? Why is she so damn oblivious? And quieter, why am I so damn stupid.

"Don't," I cried as I jumped out of the bed before she could hug me, all the while fighting desperately to keep myself from telling her the truth. It's you. It's you. It's always been you. "Sorry," I whimpered, trying to explain with a look that I just needed space and that I wasn't running from her. I don't know how well it worked since I was basically trying to lie with my face.

Throwing the door open, I ran. Like a coward. Like a dirty. Fucking. Coward. "I love you," I whispered shakily as I sprinted through the freezing night air, cold nipping at my skin through the holes in my jeans. A tear rolled down my face. 

"I love you. I need you. I love you." I forced my feet to stop while I caught my breath. "I love you," I choked, having no idea where I was and no motivation to care. I was probably still on campus. Maybe. The stars gazed down on me with pity, and I collapsed to my knees on the cool cement. "I'm in love with you and I can't ever tell you."