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“God, I love Hugo. All that snark and sassiness in one small, handy twink.”
“He’s not a twink, he’s, like, thirty or something.”
“Looks younger. But yeah, I know.”
“He’s…different.”
“He’s not my type, at all,” Mark said.
“Thank God for that,” I huffed.
“Do you know whoismy type?”
“Yes, Mark, I know. His name is Finn. You know? The bloke who sleeps in your bed and loves you something crazy. He’s your type. I hope.”
“Yeah. Of course he is. But he wasn’t my first true love.”
“No?” I suddenly felt a bit hot. Mark shifted on the sofa, tucked his feet under his legs and turned so he was facing me.
“We shouldn’t be drinking because you make me say things I shouldn’t.”
“You do that anyway.” I smiled, trying to make light of the situation, then I looked at him. All that familiarity was suddenly too much for me to handle.
“Don’t you dare cry on me! We’ll end up spilling wine on the sofa, and you know what Finn is like with stains on his precious sofa.”
“Then don’t make me cry!” I howled. I wasn’t going to, but he made me feel things. Things I didn’t want to really admit to.
“You. Deserve. This,” he said sternly.
“What?” I huffed out. “Talk properly. I have no idea what you’re on about.”
He reached out and stroked my cheek, which was almost too much for me. Right now, I needed stupid banter. To watch something on the TV. To talk about work. Anything but this.
“Did you know…” he started, only to smile into his wine glass. “I never told you because it would have gone straight to your head.”
“What?” I grunted.
“That first year at college? I was so in love with you that it was actually…stupid. I knew you weren’t into me like that, and I still couldn’t help it. You were just…everything to me. And you—”
“Mark,” I warned. Because this? THIS?
“I still love you. Still wonder what would have happened if I’d pushed harder. If I’d been more open and honest.”
“I’d probably have run a mile and made things weird.” My voice barely held.
“No, you wouldn’t. Because I think, if we’re really being honest here, you caught feelings too. How else would we have lasted this long?”
“Sounds like you’re breaking up with me,” I muttered.
“I’m not breaking up with you. We are who we are and things will always be good between us. We’re the ultimate couple—without the benefits.”
“Fuck you, Mark.”
“No. Don’t.” He laughed. Fuck. “I’ve loved you since I was, like…barely twenty. And I always will, but we need to make some changes, otherwise neither of us will ever become fully functioning humans. You have to stop saving me. However much it hurts to admit it, I’m so bloody dependent on you, and I need to fucking grow up, Ben. I do. And in return, you need to fucking grow up too. You need to stop being my boyfriend who I don’t have sex with and become my best bloody friend instead.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” I admitted before I could think proper coherent thoughts. He met my gaze and held it.
“Thank you for being honest,” he whispered.
