The early morning light filtered through the curtains of Kit's bedroom, soft and warm against the pale blue walls. You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the even rhythm of Kit's breathing beside you. Sharing a bed during sleepovers had been normal for years, but lately, these moments felt far from casual.
Kit Connor, your best friend since forever, had a way of making your heart skip beats. It wasn't just his boyish grin or the way his messy hair fell into his eyes when he was tired. It was the way he did little things—like holding your hand absentmindedly, cuddling close during movies, or pressing gentle kisses to your forehead or cheek. Each gesture felt intimate, intentional, yet he never said anything to suggest he saw you as more than his best friend.
You sighed quietly, trying to push the thoughts aside. Today was a big day for Kit. He had an early meeting at 8 a.m. and a packed schedule ahead. You wanted to do something thoughtful, something small to show him how much you cared.
Slipping out of bed carefully, you tiptoed to the kitchen. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. You gathered what you needed—bread, deli meat, cheese, and a few snacks—and began assembling a lunch for him. As you worked, you found yourself rehearsing conversations in your head.
Kit, I need to tell you something...
No, too abrupt.
Lately, I've been feeling like...
Too vague.
I like you. Like, really like you...
Too blunt.
Frustrated, you shook your head. Words failed you every time. How could you risk ruining everything? Yet, how could you keep living in this limbo, unsure if he felt the same?
The sound of Kit's alarm pulled you from your thoughts. It blared from the bedroom, loud and relentless. You hurried to finish packing the lunch, adding a small folded note before sealing the bag.
"Morning," Kit's voice, groggy and warm, startled you.
You turned to see him leaning against the doorway, his hair adorably disheveled, wearing a soft gray hoodie that made him look impossibly cozy.
"You're up early," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and yawning.
"Couldn't sleep," you lied, holding up the brown bag. "I made you lunch. Thought you might need it."
His face lit up with that signature smile—the one that made your chest ache. "You're the best," he said, walking over to you. Without hesitation, he wrapped you in a hug, his arms firm and warm around you.
You closed your eyes, savoring the moment. His chin rested on top of your head, and you felt the gentle press of his lips there. "Thanks, love," he murmured, his voice low and affectionate.
"Kit," you started, pulling back slightly, but he was already moving away.
He grabbed the bag from the counter, flashing you another smile. "I've gotta run, or I'll be late. You're amazing for this, by the way. I'll see you tonight, okay?"
Before you could say anything more, he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.
You stood there for a moment, the kitchen feeling emptier than it had before. His affection felt so real, so genuine, but the lack of clarity gnawed at you. Was this just how he was with you? Or was there something he wasn't saying?
Later that evening, Kit returned home, his energy visibly drained but his smile as warm as ever. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when he dropped onto the cushion beside you.
"Long day?" you asked.
"Exhausting," he replied, leaning his head back. Then, after a pause, he turned to you with a soft smile. "Thanks for the lunch. Seriously. It made my day."
"You're welcome," you said, hesitating. Your heart thudded in your chest. This was your chance.
"Kit," you began, your voice softer than you intended.
"Yeah?" he asked, his eyes meeting yours.
"I—" Your words caught in your throat. His gaze was so open, so patient, and it made you second-guess everything. What if this ruined everything? What if—
"Hey..," he said, leaning closer. His voice was quieter now, his expression unreadable. "What is it?"
You hesitated, then let out a nervous laugh. "Nothing. Just... wanted to make sure you're okay."
His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't press. Instead, he reached over, took your hand in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm always okay when you're around," he said simply, his thumb brushing against your skin.
And there it was again—that affection that felt like more, yet wasn't.
You swallowed hard, your heart aching with the weight of unspoken words. Four more days of sharing a bed, of these blurred lines, stretched ahead of you. But you resolved that before the week was over, you'd find the courage to tell him.
Because if Kit Connor didn't feel the same way, you needed to know. And if he did? Well, maybe this story was just beginning.
