The problem with knowing someone since you were five is that you stop looking at them. You see them, of course, but you don't observe them. They become part of the architecture of your life, like the crooked oak tree in your backyard or the specific creak of the third step on the staircase. You know they're there. You'd notice if they were gone. But you haven't really looked at them in a decade.
Jielyn was the architecture of my life
"If you stir that coffee any more, you're going to create a literal vortex and get sucked into the breakroom floor," jielyn said without looking up from her tablet.
I blinked, my spoon clinking rhythmically against the ceramic. I hadn't even realized I was doing it. I looked down at the dark swirl of the brew,black, two sugars, exactly how she'd prepared it for me before I'd even walked into the office. She didn't even have to ask. She never had to ask.
"Stressed," I muttered, finally taking a sip.
"The Miller Account," she stated. It wasn't a question. She knew my calendar better than I did, mostly because she was the one who usually reminded me to eat lunch when I got buried in spreadsheets. "You're overthinking the logistics again. Drink your caffeine, Leo. You're brilliant, but you're a neurotic mess when you haven't slept."
I leaned against the counter, watching her fingers fly across the screen. She was wearing her hair in that messy knot she always favored when she was in 'work mode,' a few stray dark strands falling into her eyes. I'd seen that look a thousand times. I'd seen her with chickenpox, I'd seen her in a prom dress she hated, and I'd seen her cry when she failed her driving test. She was jielyn. She was the person I called when I accidentally set my toaster on fire.
"What would I do without you?" I asked, half-joking.
"You'd likely be shoeless and starving in a ditch within forty-eight hours," she replied, finally looking up. She flashed that quick, dimpled grin that had been the hallmark of our friendship since she shared her juice box with me in kindergarten.
"Fair point," I conceded.
"Don't forget tonight," she said, gathering her things. "The Midsummer Festival. If you bail to work on Miller, I will find your mother and tell her you haven't called her in three weeks."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I said. And I meant it. The festival was our tradition. Fried dough, terrible carnival games, and the fireworks by the lake. It was the one constant in a world that felt like it was moving too fast.
The Sunnyside Festival was a humid, neon-lit fever dream. The air smelled of woodsmoke, powdered sugar, and the lake's cooling breeze. I was standing near the Ring Toss, clutching two lukewarm sodas, scanning the crowd for a familiar head of dark hair.
"Leo!"
I turned, and for the first time in twenty years, the architecture of my life shifted.
Jielyn was walking toward me, weaving through the crowd of laughing teenagers and tired parents. She wasn't wearing her work clothes. She had on a sundress, something light and flowy and the golden hour light of the setting sun was hitting her in a way that felt aggressive. Her hair was down, falling in waves over her shoulders, and she had those small, silver earrings that caught the light every time she moved.
She looked... different. No, that wasn't it. She looked exactly the same, but the lens I was viewing her through had suddenly snapped into focus.
"Took you long enough," she said, reaching me. She took her soda, her fingers brushing mine.
Usually, that touch would mean nothing. We'd hugged a thousand times. We'd fallen asleep on the same couch watching movies. But tonight, that brief contact felt like a low-voltage electric shock. I pulled my hand back a second too fast, my heart doing a strange, frantic rhythm against my ribs.
"You okay?" she asked, her brow furrowing in that familiar way. She reached up, hovering a hand near my forehead. "You look flushed. Is it the heat?"
"Yeah," I lied, my voice sounding a pitch too high to my own ears. "The heat. It's brutal."
"Let's go down to the water," she suggested, oblivious to the fact that my entire internal compass had just demagnetized. "The breeze is better there."
We walked in silence, which was rare for us. Usually, we filled the air with gossip, work complaints, or debates about which movie sequel was the biggest disappointment of the decade. But tonight, I was acutely aware of the swing of her arms. I noticed the way her shoulder occasionally bumped into mine. I noticed that she smelled like jasmine and the vanilla lotion she'd used since high school.
We found a spot on the wooden pier, dangling our legs over the edge. The water below was dark and glass-calm, reflecting the first few stars.
"You're being weird," jielyn said softly. She wasn't looking at me; she was staring out at the horizon.
"I'm not being weird," I protested.
"Leo. I've known you since you were five. I know your 'I'm hiding something' face. It's the same one you used when you broke my Barbie's arm and tried to glue it back on with syrup."
I laughed, the tension breaking just a fraction. "In my defense, the syrup was surprisingly sticky."
"It was a sticky mess, just like you're being now." She turned her head, her eyes searching mine. The playful spark was there, but beneath it was something else, something steady and terrifyingly deep. "What's up?"
I looked at her, really looked at her. I saw the tiny scar on her chin from when we fell off the swing set. I saw the way her eyelashes caught the light of the Ferris wheel. And I realized that the reason I'd overlooked her wasn't because she was invisible. It was because she was everywhere. She was the foundation. And if you mess with the foundation, the whole house might come down.
The air between us suddenly felt heavy, thick with twenty years of unsaid things and a sudden, terrifying chemistry that made the "friendship" label feel like a suit that was three sizes too small.
"I think," I started, my pulse thundering in my ears, "that I've been a complete idiot, jielyn."
She didn't pull away. She didn't laugh. She just watched me, her breath hitching just enough for me to hear it. "Only just realized that, huh?"
The first firework whistled into the sky, exploding in a burst of brilliant gold. In the flash of light, her eyes were wide, reflecting the sparks. The "comfortable" world was gone. Everything was new, and everything was dangerous.
"Jielyn," I whispered, the name feeling different on my tongue than it ever had before.
I reached out, my hand hovering near her face, mirroring the gesture she'd made earlier. This was the line. If I crossed it, there was no going back to coffee orders and safety. There was no going back to the way things were.
She leaned in, just a fraction, closing the gap. "It's about time, Leo."