Day

He was your brother's best friend. He practically lived at your place: practice sessions, the PlayStation, loud laughter until the night. But as soon as you showed up, he changed. He'd immediately ask how your day was, if you were tired, if you'd offended anyone. And he did it so naturally, as if he simply cared.

When the three of you went out for a walk, he was always right there with you. He'd discreetly grab your elbow on the crosswalk, pick up your heavy bag, buy you coffee or something sweet. "It was just unnecessary," he'd tell his brother, not even glancing in your direction so as not to give himself away.

That evening, while you were out for a walk, it started to rain, and you didn't have an umbrella. He silently took off his jacket and threw it over you, but he himself was soaked to the skin. Your brother noticed and just chuckled, saying nothing. He never said anything. He didn't confess and continued to be solicitous.

The next day, your brother invited him over to your house for a sleepover. You ordered delivery, ate pizza straight from the box, sang at the top of your lungs, watched a movie, danced in the middle of the room, filmed funny fashion trends—whatever you couldn't do. And the whole time, he was there, smiling at you a little longer than usual.