Always you : Falling for my best friend [NOW ON GALATEA]

POV: Laura

I never believed in fate. But sometimes, I wonder if the universe was laughing at me.

The first time I met Stephan Miller, I was twelve, and he was the new boy in town. Our fathers worked together, so our families naturally became close. He was all sharp smiles and easy charm, the kind of boy who made trouble look effortless. And I? I was quiet, careful, the kind of girl who never let herself get too close to people who could break her heart.

I should’ve known better.

By the time we were sixteen, he had become my best friend. He sat beside me in class, copied my homework, stole the last bite of my lunch. He called me by ridiculous nicknames, teased me endlessly. But when something upset me, he was the first to notice. The first to pull me aside, to make me laugh again.

That was the thing about Stephan—he knew me.

And that was the problem.

Because by seventeen, I had realized something terrifying: I loved him.

It wasn’t the kind of love that came suddenly, like a lightning strike. It was slow, creeping, settling into my bones before I even had the chance to fight it. It was there in the way my heart stumbled when he smiled at me, in the way I memorized the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, in the way I never let myself hope for something more.

Because Stephan was a flirt.

He belonged to everyone—his arm slung easily over another girl’s shoulders, his name whispered in hushed conversations by lockers, his lips on someone else’s at a party.

And I told myself it didn’t matter.

But then there were nights like this—Friday movie nights in his basement, just the two of us. Where the world outside didn’t exist, where he let his guard down in a way he never did with anyone else.

Tonight, the screen flickers in the dark, casting soft light over his face. A song plays in the background—something slow, something that tugs at the edges of nostalgia. I don’t know the name, but later, I will never forget it.

Because that’s the moment Stephan pulls me closer.

His arm around my shoulders isn’t new. Neither is the way my head rests against him. But this time, when I tilt my face up, he’s already watching me.

My breath catches.

“Laura,” he murmurs, like a question, like a secret.

His gaze drops to my lips, and for a heartbeat, I wonder if I’m imagining things, or if I’m living out one of my dreams. But then, slowly, he leans in, giving me the time and opportunity to push him away. I don’t. His lips meet mine, and he kisses me.

It’s soft, uncertain—like maybe he’s just as terrified as I am. Like maybe he knows, even in this moment, that we’re stepping onto dangerous ground. But it’s also tender, making my heart feel like it’s going to explode. A tidal wave of passion I’ve been hiding so deep now crashes over me.

When he pulls away, he searches my face, waiting for something. Maybe regret. Maybe permission.

But I can’t say anything. I can’t move.

Because I know the second I do, this fragile moment will shatter.

Stephan is still close enough that I can feel his breath against my skin, still watching me with that same searching gaze. Like he’s waiting for me to say something. Do something.

But my heart is racing too fast, my thoughts a tangled mess.

Because this is what I’ve wanted for so long, and yet, I don’t know what to do with it.

So I just sit there, frozen, my lips still tingling from his kiss.

He shifts slightly, pulling back just enough to put space between us, but not enough to erase what just happened. His expression is unreadable now, like he’s already second-guessing it.

The weight of reality starts to settle over me. We’re best friends. We’ve always been best friends.

And best friends don’t kiss.

My throat feels tight, my stomach twisted in knots. I should say something—laugh it off, make a joke, pretend this was nothing more than a moment of curiosity. But I can’t.

Because it wasn’t just curiosity for me.

Stephan clears his throat, running a hand through his hair in that way he always does when he’s nervous. “We should, uh… we should finish the movie.”

The words land between us like an unspoken agreement. A way to move past this. To pretend it never happened.

And I let him.

I nod, forcing a small smile, though my hands are trembling. I turn back to the screen, but I don’t see the movie anymore.

All I can feel is the ghost of his lips on mine.

The next morning, I wake up with my lips still tingling, my heart still racing.

For a few blissful seconds, I’m floating between dreams and reality, reliving the way Stephan looked at me, the way he kissed me—soft, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

But then reality crashes in.

What happens now? What does this mean?

A nervous, excited warmth coils in my stomach as I get ready for school, but I don’t know if it’s hope or fear. What if last night changed everything?

Or worse—what if it didn’t?

The moment I step into the hallway, my eyes find him.

And he’s… laughing. Joking with his friends. His arm slung casually around some girl’s shoulders.

And then—like a punch to the stomach—I see it.

He kisses her.

Not on the cheek. Not just a friendly peck. A real kiss. Right there, in front of everyone. In front of me.

For a second, the world tilts.

And I realize, with horrifying clarity, that last night didn’t change anything. At least not for him.

I force myself to keep walking, pretending I didn’t see. Pretending it doesn’t matter.

But something inside me cracks.

The days pass in a blur of aching silence.

Stephan is the same as always—texting me memes, inviting me to movies, throwing his arm around me like we’re just best friends. And I play along, even when it feels like I’m breaking inside.

Maybe I imagined it.

Maybe last night was nothing more than a passing moment to him, something easily forgotten.

Maybe I should forget, too.

A few nights later, our parents have dinner together, just like they always do. The air is warm with the smell of roasted chicken and laughter echoing between glasses of wine. It should feel normal. Safe.

But my skin prickles with awareness every time Stephan moves, every time our eyes meet across the table.

After dinner, when the plates are cleared and our parents settle into their usual post-meal conversations, Stephan nudges my foot under the table and tilts his head toward the back door.

I don’t even think—I just follow.

The night air is cool against my skin as we climb onto the roof, a bottle of stolen wine between us.

“This is a terrible idea,” I mutter, but I take a sip anyway, the warmth burning down my throat.

Stephan smirks, stealing the bottle from my hands. “Terrible ideas are our specialty.”

We sit in silence, staring at the stars, passing the wine back and forth.

The buzz settles into my veins, making everything feel looser. Lighter.

And then—so quietly I almost don’t hear him—Stephan says, “Do you ever think about that night?”

My breath catches.

I don’t ask which night. I know.

I turn to him, my heart pounding, the alcohol blurring the edges of my fear. “Do you?”

His eyes flicker to my lips.

This time, there’s no hesitation.

He kisses me, and I don’t stop him.

It’s not like the first time. Not soft, not hesitant.

This time, it’s hungry, desperate, full of everything we’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.

His hands slide into my hair, pulling me closer, and my fingers clutch his shirt, anchoring myself to him. The world around us disappears, lost in the taste of wine and the heat of his touch.

And for the first time since that night, I stop thinking.

I just let myself feel.