rain.

It was uncommon in late April, so I hadn't thought to bring an umbrella. To avoid the droplets pelting me and make it in time for Jamie's presentation, I hauled ass across campus like I was fleeing the apocalypse itself. The overhangs and shelters fringing some buildings didn't help me with the open stretches of footpath between the Business Faculty and the new conference centre.

By the time I arrived, not only was I flushed and sweaty and likely odorous but also soaked to the bone.

I gave the wide-eyed volunteer attendant at the front door a bashful smile. I slipped into the conference centre, dripping a trail in my wake. My hands trembled as I followed the signs and the sounds of the emcee, amplified by a microphone. Then a wide auditorium yawned before me, semi-spherical rows of chairs tilting down to the speaker's lectern at the front.

Where Jamie stood.

The emcee—who looked like a professor of Innovating Philanthropy if I ever saw one, graphic t-shirt underneath a blazer and all—introduced Jamie.

It wasn't fair that someone could look that good in navy dress slacks and a pastel blue shirt. He buttoned and rolled up the sleeves, revealing his tanned, muscled forearms.

And yet, Jamie didn't seem to shine the same positive light on himself. The emcee left the slideshow remote in Jamie's hands and promptly walked back to his front-row seat.

Jamie took one breath and froze.

Oh, no.

I knew what it was. I saw the symptoms. One hand clutching the remote and the other squeezing the hem of his shirt. Fearful, wide eyes that roamed the audience. Stage fright. Jamie was used to performing—as a varsity football player—but seldom with his words and never alone.

Jamie's searching eyes fell on mine.

I waved discreetly, communicating without words. Hey. I held my index and middle fingers to my eyes. Eye contact. Then, a thumbs-up.

You got this.

A watery smile tugged at his lips. His shoulders relaxed. Then a dominating title appeared on the dual projector screens—Entern.

"Good evening, everyone," he greeted smoothly. "My name is Jamie, and I want to share how my innovation could change not just philanthropy, but the world."

I took a spare seat in the very back as debilitating relief swept over me.

At that moment I knew two things.

First: Jamie would ace this presentation.

Second: damn.

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"Entern is only one small and simple strategy to combat a large and complex issue, but I truly believe in it all the same." Jamie fought to say, over the rising applause, "You can ask me questions at my stall, and thanks for your time."

My heart was fit to burst. Though I'd seen his presentation over and over, I was still reeling from the surprise of him; all worldly and philanthropic on the surface, but still the same funny, considerate man I'd known for two years.

A dual wave of affection and guilt crashed over me. In the earlier stage of our friendship, I relegated him to a certain group of street smart individuals, more instinctive than expressly highbrow. Then, since working with him on the Innovating Philanthropy project, I'd changed my mind. I knew his motivation and passion matched mine perfectly.

But seeing Jamie in action made me wonder when he got so... perfect. Had there been a change in him, or had he always been like this?

The next half-hour passed agonisingly. Jamie was the last student to present, but the familiar, mind-numbing thanking-the-sponsors part filled the rest of the time. All I wanted was to go to Jamie's stall and pick his brain about his app. I'd ask him questions, I'd tell him I was so proud of him, how much I loved him.

But as soon as the emcee dismissed the crowd, I saw Farrah grab Jamie by the arm and drag him off to the side of the auditorium. There was already a small cluster of blazer-wearing gentlemen forming, arms reaching out in congratulations.

Right, this was his night—not mine.

My heart warmed thinking about the opportunities Jamie would get in the hopefully near future, the dreams he would make come true, but at the same moment terror struck me at the thought of not being there to see it. Not being the one he came home to at night.

I slid out of my seat, shamefully noting the burgundy wet patch I left on the red upholstery. What was I thinking coming here? Jamie had to mingle with sponsors and CEOs, kick-starting the rest of his life, with Farrah on his arm. My presence would only drag his attention away from the most important priorities. My presence was selfish.

And good friends weren't selfish.

I cast one last longing glance at Jamie and Farrah, the former making an entire group of businesspeople belly-laugh, and followed the crowd out of the auditorium.

As if I had never been there.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The plan was to wait.

I intended to wait for the Innovating Philanthropy conference to finish, until all the would-be sponsors and mentors filtered away and I could find Jamie. The glass doors of the conference centre slid open quietly when I passed the motion sensor. It was still raining when I exited.

Instead of re-soaking myself—I wasn't sure my handbag would survive it—I wandered to the back of the building, where the public couldn't see me. Underneath shelter, I leaned against the polished slate wall and let my head fall back onto the frigid surface.

I planned to apologise for my shitty behaviour. Being an awful friend. Using Jamie just for sex. Shutting down his attempts at conversation. Then if he forgave me, I wanted to tell him how I really felt about him. It was up to him whether we took things further or wound things right back to when we were simply platonic friends. One word from him, and I'd never broach the topic again.

The plan was to wait. But I realised I'd kept him waiting far too long. How many months had it been? I had no right to be hurt that Jamie finally quit his worst habit: me.

Fuck.

"Viv?" Jamie's deep voice came from the left. "What are you doing back here?"

I jumped upright immediately, smoothing my hair down. The low light from the conference centre's glass windows cast the angular sides of his face and neck in gold. His eyes were shadowy; I couldn't read them.

I plastered a sweet smile onto my face. "Just getting some fresh air."

Jamie cocked his head. "Didn't you have the WISA panel tonight?"

"Yes, I did. But it finished early," I lied, "So I thought I might try to catch your presentation. You did amazingly."

"Aw, shucks. But I couldn't have done it without your help."

"Don't be modest. It was mostly you." I'm really proud of you. I love you.

But I couldn't say it. A bitter lump formed in my throat when I tried to get my true feelings out.

Instead I said, "Why did you mute me from your promotional stories?"

"Ah," Jamie smiled sheepishly. "I figured you'd find out about that, eventually. I don't know. Maybe I was afraid of what you'd think. I know the shit that some of my teammates get up to—and I don't approve, but it's also hard to stop."

He dipped his head. "You might have called my interest a token gesture or hypocritical or something—maybe validly. I mean, I didn't even know what tokenism was until you started me researching systemic sexism. I was being careful, I guess."

My chest throbbed with guilt. "I'm sorry for being judgmental. You know, I saw some of your teammates at the panel. And your twin."

"Was that the giveaway?" Jamie asked, scratching the nape of his neck.

"Absolutely. But, I was wrong earlier. Football players are not as bad as I thought. I was prejudiced. I should have gotten to know the team a bit more when they came around to the dorm, and, gosh, Ravi is an absolute gem."

Jamie raised his brows with a frown.

"You and Jake, too, before you get offended," I chuckled, "Plus, Game Days are good for boosting morale."

"Thanks, Viv."

His mirth gave way to intense curiosity at my change of heart, leaving me under the scrutiny of those forest green eyes. Suddenly my hands were shaking badly. My breath came in shallow pants. My whole body trembled, and not because of the rain.

And because I couldn't force the words out, I started babbling. "Also, you maybe— might have a good sense of humour. I mean, this isn't objective. But I think you're pretty funny."

"Wow," Jamie drawled. "This is a huge development."

I shrugged, glancing at my pumps. Anxiety wrapped itself around my throat.

"Credit where it's due. You've gotten some zingers out since junior year." Zingers? Why the fuck did I say that? But my mouth would not stop, "So... yeah. You've got good banter. Sometimes."

By the glint of light on his sclerae, I could see Jamie searching my face. "You're red."

"No, I'm not."

"Okay," he chuckled, appeasingly. "You're not."

I nodded, my cheeks flaming.

Why couldn't I say it? Was it rust? It had been years since I had a relationship.

But it could have just been Jamie. He was too inquisitive. I felt like if he looked at me too long, he would see right to the broken, bruised, still-beating heart of me and hate it. I struggled to remind myself that this vulnerability could be a beautiful, nurturing, healthy thing.

"Well, If you just had to share your newfound appreciation of the sport," Jamie quipped dryly, turning the way he came, "We should head inside now—"

My hand shot out to grab his wrist, his skin warm and dry compared to my clammy fingers. "Wait."

Jamie turned around and leaned against the wall, his expression expectant and increasingly cocky.

My stomach twisted. "Fuck, you're really gonna make me say this."

"Hey," he exclaimed innocently. "I'm not making you say anything. If you want me to go, I'll go."

And if I want you to stay?

I had to get over my fear. I couldn't make him chase me down if I wanted a relationship with him. I had to, in Sushmita's words, jog a little. Reciprocate. Give back. If I was afraid, Jamie deserved to hear it from me instead of having to read minds. If I was appreciative, I should show it.

And if I was in love...

"Okay. Okay." The heat in my face spread to my throat and stomach, my heartbeat pounding in every nerve of my body. It felt like a thousand tequila shots. "Ugh. Wow." I wrung my hands together. "I really considered getting drunk for this, but the bar isn't between Business and the conference centre and I love you."

"What was that?"

"The bar isn't between Biz 1 and here, which is a real shame. Maybe the Foxhole should franchise. They probably need a second one for this side of campus—"

"You said you love me," Jamie repeated softly, his eyes unblinking. "But is it like, love you, dude—" His fist thumped twice against his sternum. "—or..."

This was it. I collected all the fear and the desire and the admiration gusting through my body, using it to push me past the strange limbo I'd been in with Jamie.

"It's like, I'm in love with you."

The most hideous yelp rocketed from my mouth. Did I really just say that? I just said it. Keep going.

"I love your jokes and your compassion. I love how considerate you are. I love that you're supportive. I love that you can code," I snorted, my voice becoming more delirious by the second.

But I didn't care. I loved him.

The rain pelted down harder, so I raised my volume. "I love that you'd beat your high school self up. I love that you know how to deal with my endo. I love that you ask for help. I love that you've been patient with me."

Now I could see him grinning in the lowlight. And I did my best to finish strong, with some shred of composure and wit intact.

"Happy? I love you, Jameson Tanner." I smacked both palms to my cheeks, the heat sinking in. "Goddamnit. I'm a freaking tomato right now, aren't I?"

I was nearly distraught. This was entirely his fault. I'd never enjoyed making heartfelt gestures, but for Jamie there wasn't much I wouldn't do. Except if I cried from emotion overload right now—

Jamie's hand caught my chin and tipped my face towards his. I could finally see his pine-green eyes, swimming with emotion. "Yeah," he muttered. "You are."

Then he kissed me.

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Okay, there you go. They've kissed and made up! I'm a fan of the blunt, digressive, random confession—it's true Viv style. There is so much fluff and smut coming your way, I literally had to write a murder one shot to counteract the sugary sweetness. (It's hard writing romance when I'm not super romantic, lol.)

In other news, I'm having so much fun planning my future stories and fleshing out my characters. My twin said I had a god complex towards my universes and ... he's not entirely wrong?

TLDR; I wish I owned a cabin in the forest and just wrote every single day.

Aimee x