Legal Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own the characters (Tom Lynch) nor do I own this title (Langston Hughes).

Rating: PG-13 for now, will differ as the story continues

Pairing: Always Spashley.

Feedback: Is appreciated. Good and bad.

Summary: When I stopped envying her curves and started envying the hands that got to touch them unabashedly. Yeah I'm not a fan of making summaries …

A/N: So yeah, I started one again because I thought "Hey, let's start another fic I'll probably neglect after 3 updates!" That and I was writing an update for And So It Goes the other day and I totally got stuck. And when I get stuck I start new fics … Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy and I'll be still updating my other fics of course. It's just the iwhen/i that will be a problem.

I'll start with a small intro that should set the situation. Enjoy!


Her breath is hot on my neck and my chest rises at a higher pace than normal. This really shouldn't affect me any more than it already does. I've been in this position so many times in so many situations. There used to be a time when this was completely normal and innocent. When the puffs of air that were warming the backing of my neck, we're only doing that. Warming my neck. Now it warms my entire body.

Her bare arm tightens the grip around my quivering waist. I say quivering because this simple movement is perfectly complicated. The way she tautens her grasp every few minutes. Capable of squeezing just the right amount. Able to protect without suffocating me. She's always been so protective of me. Going as far as punching the bullies who'd push me in the mud, to ripping Madison a new one because she'd spread vicious lies about me. About us. Lies that sometimes don't feel like lies. Lies that I wish were truer than this reality I'm in right now.

Her body is molding with mine and every singly part of me electrifies. I never stood still at this compilation that we form. I never wondered how it was that our bodies fit so perfectly. How every singly bump was engulfed and every single dip was filled. I never stood still at this because our bodies have accustomed to the other throughout the endless nights of our innocent sleepovers. But the thoughts that have crossed my mind during our sleepovers these days are anything but innocent.

She nuzzles the back of my ear with the delicate tip of her nose and my breath hitches. I wonder when it all changed for me. When the hugs she gave me didn't feel friendly anymore, but intimately suffocating. I wonder when the touch of her hand started scorching my skin. When I stopped envying her curves and started envying the hands that got to touch them unabashedly. When I stopped loving her and started being in love with her.

She softly kisses the tip of my shoulder and a lonesome tear rolls down my cheek. Because the changes that coursed through my mind and body have not coursed through hers. The frightening feelings that I'm undergoing are only exposed to me. Because I miss the strength, the braveness, the audacity to tell her about her scorching touch and my fluttering heart. Because the lips that touch my skin will never linger as long as I want them to linger. The looks she'll hand me will never be filled with the same desire as the ones I hand her.

She sighs contently as she murmurs that she loves me and my heart constricts. Because the love she feels for me isn't as strong and meaningful as the one I share for her. Because every single of her touches, looks, kisses do not have an ulterior motive like mine do. They are what they are and they're only produced to intensify the notion of our everlasting friendship.

Friendship.

Such a beautiful, unique and special concept. Yet every time our relationship is described as that, my guts wrench in the most painful manner. Because it's just that and nothing more. And even though I should, I can't seem to simply accept it and try and move on and go back to that easiness we once felt. The easiness I once felt, because she's perfectly content with what we are now and what we always have been.

She sleepily wishes me a goodnight and I quietly reply the same to her. I steady my voice the best I can, because I do not want her to know. I don't want to mess up what we're sharing now and have been sharing for years. I want to bask in this closeness with her, even if it brings more ache than relief. The last thing I want to do is scare her off and lose her for good. I already lost such big part of her to him. I don't think I could handle losing her completely. So like every night, I firmly shut my eyes and silently beg the tears to stop. And just like every night, I quietly pray that she won't hear the muffled sobs and notice my strained smile in the morning.

She unhurriedly threads her steady fingers with my trembling ones and I wonder for how I long I'll keep up this exhausting charade.