Could you please do this one with Max?

To be fair, there were better ways to confess your love for someone, but there was no actual good way to confess your feelings to your best friend.

You had met each other at kindergarten. He had been your guardian angel, remembering the day like it was yesterday. You had been standing in the doorframe, all tears, desperately trying to convince your parents to – please – turn around and bring you home.

Max had stepped towards you, all confident and brave as he looked up at you. He had grinned at you, little eyes shining with excitement as he reached out to grab your hand.

It was then that the jitters in the pit of your stomach faded. Letting go of your parents' hands and letting the boy, who you had never met before drag you to the other side of the classroom sitting you down.

His hands on your shoulders, steadily pushing you down on the chair. There was a shy blush on your cheeks as he sat down next to you, shit eating grin on his face as though he had just done something very naughty.

However, instead of confessing his wrongdoing he calmly introduced himself.

"Hi, I'm Max"

You had muttered your name under your breath staring down at your light up Skechers. The one's you had begged your parents to let you wear that day.

You did not think it was possible for him to have heard you, but he surprised you when he followed your gaze towards your Skechers and said: "That's pretty, just like your shoes. I like them."

The light-up Skechers had since long been gone, but the reassurance the boy brought was still there.

***

There was something about the pink-purple sky that made him look extra attractive and as you looked at how the sun disappeared into the sea, it hit you - hard.

You looked down at your Nikes, much like you had done that day when you quietly told him your name.

"I love you."

Max, who was sitting on the wall dangling his feet over the edge, almost dropped his phone into the water below. Abruptly looking up at you, brows furrowed in confusion. "W-what?"

It reminded you too much of that time when you were six years old sitting on the same wall, hearing the racing-cars in the background waiting for your ice-creams.

His feet had been impatiently swinging over the edge, much like he did now. His voice uncertain and quiet as he processed the news.

There was a family emergency and he could not go watch the race that weekend.

You looked up, gaze shifting from your sneakers towards him. Your eyebrows, too, furrowing together at his face. You were not sure what you had expected, but his reaction was kind of, disappointing.

His whole body was tense, and his eyes held an emotion you could not even begin to decipher, but the way his lips were apart in a crazed sort of way tugged at your heart.

Your eyes immediately went back to your sneakers and you sort of wished they were light up Skechers comforting you on your first day of school.

They were not.

They were basic white Nikes and they did not do anything for the growing anxiety settling in your chest. Briefly, you wondered how the light-up sneakers could ever hold such power as they did. Until you were freaking out.

Your hands flew up to your face, cheeks burning in shame and the careful hand settled on your leg for some sort of comfort felt like an angry fire.

"I'm sorry, I- I shouldn't have done that. I- I do not know what I was thinking. Just, please be my friend right now, not the guy I just confessed my love to. This is embarrassing."

The beautiful purple-pink sky had suddenly lost all its appeal and you were not a crier, really, but the angry tears were now rolling freely over your cheeks.

Max had hesitantly pulled back his hand, instead he settled for your shoulder and chuckled. It sounded distorted like he was under water, but he was not. He was just crying with you and said.

"You must really miss your light-up Skechers right about now, huh?" A big sigh and then:

"I love you too."

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