Chandler

"Chandler," a soft, soothing voice woke me from my slumber, causing me to grunt and roll over in the soft bed and blankets I was currently tangled in, "Chan, I've got to get to work. I'll be home at four. Be sure to rest today, okay?"

I hummed, trying to open my sleepy eyes to wish him a proper goodbye, but my eyelids felt much too heavy. With a soft pat on my shoulder, Henry's footsteps cascaded out of the room, the only other sound announcing his exit being the click of the front door closing.

I stretched my arms over my head and groaned out into the cool air of the bedroom as I eventually opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Today was the first day since Henry welcomed me to stay with him that I'd be alone. He should be at work for, according to the clock on the bedside table next to me, seven more hours. I slowly breathed in a breath of air, nuzzling my nose in the comforter slightly. The familiar scent of my best friend clung to them, causing my eyes to fall shut and a warm tickle to spread in my gut.

I snapped my eyes open, feeling a warmth rise to my cheeks as I realized just what I was doing. I cleared my throat and sat up, practically throwing myself off of the bed and making my way to the bathroom to relieve myself.

After washing up, taking my time since there was no rush, I stepped out into the hallway and looked around for something to do. I stepped into the kitchen, toweling my freshly washed hair as I searched the refrigerator for something to eat. I was sifting through the groceries Henry and I bought the other day when something on the last shelf caught my eye.

On a porcelain plate was a perfectly put together breakfast. Omurice was dressed with a smiley face made of ketchup and surrounded by sliced fruit. It was one of the few things I'd taught him how to make when we were just kids. When his mother was at work, he had nobody to do things for him around the house so easy and quick meals became something he enjoyed discovering.

I couldn't stop the airy laugh that pushed past my grinning lips as I pictured Henry slaving away in the kitchen to prepare breakfast before he went to work. I removed the plate from the fridge and grasped the little sticky note that was stuck to the plastic wrap that covered the meal.

'Eat me, Chandler! :)'

The note was scrawled in familiar, neat handwriting that I knew so well. My heart warmed uncontrollably as I shook my head softly, not believing just how lucky I was to have a best friend that cared for me so much. My imagination spiraled as I imagined a certain chestnut-haired boy scrambling around the kitchen in his baby blue apron I'd bought him last year. I imagined his bangs pushed off of his forehead as he tried his very best to make the meal perfect for me.

I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the perfectly plated food, sending it to Henry along with a message.

'Thanks for the breakfast! You're always coming to my rescue, aren't you?'

I put my phone on the counter after it sent and made my way to the couch to eat the home-cooked meal. After I finished, I cleaned up, making sure there were no crumbs in sight before strolling back to Henry's bedroom.

I sighed as I took in the sight around me. I felt guilty as I observed the messy bed and floor that was quickly becoming untidy. I got to work immediately, making the bed and even going as far as fluffing the pillows before vacuuming the carpet and making sure all of my clothes were put away neatly where they belong.

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Wiping a bead of sweat from my brow, I sat on the foot of the bed. The clock read half past noon, and I tried to ignore the tinge of disappointment that circled in my stomach. I'd be home alone for a few more hours, and I felt like I'd already done everything that I could to make time pass by faster.

I cleaned, ate breakfast, showered, and sat around. What else was there for me to do? I was strictly told not to drive under any circumstances as a safety precaution for a couple more weeks- not that I had a car at the moment anyways. The way everyone was putting it made it sound like I was bedridden. There was nothing I hated more than not being able to come and go as I please, and being alone made it harder to cope with.

I would never admit it to anyone, but being alone often meant that I would get lost in my head. I would overthink things that didn't matter, and I would let myself dwell on things that I couldn't control.

Henry knew this about me without ever having to be told. He says that I'm different when I'm alone; that I change into a smaller, weaker me that shows a vulnerable side of myself that I don't allow others to see. I remember him once telling me that it's a side of me that he savors in a bittersweet way when he gets to see it. I never quite understood why he would try and remember me that way- less chipper, obnoxious, and outspoken but instead more solemn and stuck in my head. According to him, it's because it's a side of me that I don't feel comfortable enough to show openly. In a way, he reads me like a book that's written in a language incomprehensible to everyone else.

It was things like this that made me wonder how someone like Henry even exists in this world. He was nothing short of pure, sweet, kind, caring, witty, shy, and determined. Everything that people aspire to be all rolled into one person, he takes the cake. Yet, he doesn't realize it. That reality always confused me the most about him.

He overthinks his actions and chooses to help others instead of himself. If he had to choose between saving a stranger and saving himself, he'd pick them in a heartbeat. He focuses on his weaknesses but never fails to remind me of my strengths.

It's painful to see someone with so much good in their heart not give themselves credit. However, I suppose a hero wouldn't be one at heart if they boasted about all of their good deeds.

I finally decided on watching movies until Henry got home, settling myself on the couch and snuggling under a throw blanket that was extremely soft and welcoming. I let my mind run for a while, thinking about everything and nothing, but images of a certain someone continued to swirl around in my head.

It was starting to get slightly frustrating. Why was I thinking of him so much? Yes, he's my best friend, and it's normal to think of someone you care about. Yet, it was happening more and more often nowadays.

I never felt this way before. Henry had been I valued greatly for many years. We did everything together. We saw each other at our best and our worst. There was really no reason for me to start having these odd little thoughts out of nowhere, but my brother's words started to push at me.

'He's in love with you. It's so obvious.'

There was no way someone could be in love with another person for this long without coming clean. That would be complete and utter torture. How are you supposed to go on ignoring how you feel when you see the person holding your heart on a daily basis?

Most importantly, what did all this mean for me? I've dated girls since I was fourteen. I went on countless dates and never once questioned it. I never had any feelings for guys like I had for girls. The soft feelings I always felt for Henry were friendly feelings that came from loving him like a best friend; loving him like a brother. I wanted to protect him and take care of him the way anybody would for someone they care about deeply. I'd grown up with him through the hardest and most pivotal years of our lives. Whatever Henry struggled with, I stayed beside him. We were stuck together at the hip for all that time; there was no way I could have mistaken romantic love for what I thought was platonic affection, right?

The possession one feels over their best friend must be a common occurrence. Knowing that nobody gets to see their true colors and know all their secrets the way you do is a magical thing, so precious that it becomes a bit of an addiction that you fear it will get taken away. Surely, Henry had always felt that, too?

Above all, why was this insistent tickle suddenly coming to life when he was around me in any way, and why wasn't I able to shake it off? Something was different, but I refused to dwell on it too much. It would drive me insane.

I felt guilty for not being able to let myself go completely when he was around because I was scared- of what these sensations mirroring what I would have felt for a high school crush and nagging voices meant when looking at the bigger picture. I couldn't really find myself giving a shit about my where I was on the sexual spectrum or what others would think; I cared about why this was happening now and what it would mean for our friendship moving forward.

Could I get over this on my own? If so, how?

I shook my head and tried to think of something else, to waver my thoughts from his smell, face, and voice as I curled up underneath the blanket and tried to drift off into a sweet world of dreams that could hopefully make the time fly before Henry got home from work. As I started to finally succumb to the soft lull of bored sleep tugging behind my eyes, those soft doe eyes and long lashes burned into my brain stubbornly.

I tried my best to ignore the fact that I could feel something changing deep inside my heart. Starting as a seed, it was developing quickly, roots thickening and spreading around all the recesses it could reach. It was beginning to squeeze at the organ, not an ounce of irresolution present as it began to sprout into a budding flower-small, but most definitely there.