Deepins

(tgk: fixnamazyak) The neon light in his room that evening seemed unusually soft, somehow homey. Vanya was sitting on the floor, his back against the sofa, where you were comfortably settled. Between you stood an open pizza box, already cold, and two glasses of cola, the ice long gone.

Once, in moments like these, the air between you crackled with tension. An accidental brush of fingers, as you both reached for a piece of food, would make him freeze, and you would awkwardly look away. He caught every sparkle in your eyes, trying to discern something more than mere affection. But that time is over.

"Listen," Vanya said, still glued to his phone, handing you the other half of the sandwich he'd picked up on the way. "I still can't handle it. Take it, or you'll forget about dinner while watching the movie again."

There was no longer that hope in his gaze. And his voice lacked the usual ingratiating tone that usually creeps in from guys hoping for bonus points for showing concern. It was simply a dry, familiar statement of fact: he knew your habits, you knew his, and you were both perfectly comfortable this way.

You took the food, barely grazing his palm. Vanya merely adjusted his perpetually disheveled hair and yawned lazily.

"What time are you free tomorrow?" he asked, finally looking up at you. Those same eyes that once brimmed with undisguised adoration, tinged with a hint of sadness. Now they held only a calm, pure friendship. "I wanted to invite you to help me choose the lighting for the new video. You have a better eye for this kind of thing, you know."

“At seven,” you answered, involuntarily continuing to watch his reaction.

"Okay, then we'll text each other," he rose easily to his feet, stretched, and gave you a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Should I order a taxi or should we finish watching one more episode?"