The Big Red Line

You're not really sure when you first realised that you loved her.

If someone asked you to define that one moment, that pivotal turning point in your life when you realised that your feelings were more than just platonic, you wouldn't be able to.

All you know is that somewhere between her joining the lab and where you are now – she became the one who makes your world go round.

And you're aware of the possible implications of these realisations, and if you're honest you blame the new boyfriend she's got - what was his name? John? James? - for making you realise them in the first place.

Which just adds another unwanted emotion into the mix – jealousy.

Fantastic, now you have unrequited love and raging envy to deal with. You have a feeling you're going to need liquor.

But she can't blame you, surely? It was your duty as her best friend to inform her that her new boyfriend is a twat. A twat of the highest degree.

There was no need for her to have a go at you in the way that she did. That was uncalled for, really.

Although, you did insult her boyfriend.

And shout at her.

And 'accidentally' didn't pass on the flowers that he left for her.

And insinuate that she was a tart.

You sigh and realise that you deserved everything you got.

But you hate it when you row. You miss her already, and you only saw her at lunchtime, just before Leo interrupted your argument and made you go home and calm down.

He should really have sent her home. She was the one who was shouting at you, after all. Mainly.

Okay, so maybe you shouted back a little bit. But what could be expected? You weren't just going to stand there silently while she made some cruel remarks about how you're jealous because she has a sex life and you don't.

Which isn't even true, anyway.

It was after those remarks that you really put your foot in it. You told her that that wasn't the reason why you were jealous.

Why did you do that? Why? What idiotic part of you thought that would be a brilliant comeback?

Mind you, you're not sure whether she understood the true meaning of your words anyway. After a short, stunned silence she just resumed her shouting. This time insulting your ability to act your age.

Which definitely isn't true.

You didn't get to hear the rest of her stream of expletives after that, because that was when Leo grabbed your arm and dragged you away. He didn't seem angry at you. Just disappointed. Which was worse, in some ways.

And now you're at home. Sat on your sofa clutching that glass of scotch like a life support system.

Which is ironic, because you know it won't do you any good.

You probably won't see her until Monday now. Which is good. It means you have time to wallow in self-pity and drink yourself senseless. Then, once you've done that, you can get over her.

Yes. Number one on your to-do list this weekend: Get over the undeniable, heartbreaking, unrequited love that you're harbouring for your best friend.

Well, it beats putting up those shelves.

There's a knock at the door. You're certain it's Leo coming to check up on you. In that nice-but-irritating way that he does.

But when you open the door, it's not Leo standing there.

She is, and she has tears rolling down her cheeks and her arms are clutched around herself as if to hold herself together.

You look at her, not sure what to say.

So many sentences are chasing each other around your head; all apologetic, all heartfelt, all useless. Each one just sounds more ridiculous than the last.

Eventually you step back to let her in. She passes through the threshold apprehensively, like she's scared of what's on the other side.

Maybe she is, you reason.

Maybe you are too.

She says your name, so softly that you almost didn't hear it. Her eyes connect with yours, hers filled with tears, yours filled with trepidation.

Did she come here to tell you how out of order you were earlier? That's what you would do, if you were her.

You realise that several minutes have passed and neither of you have said or done anything other than look at each other.

"Look, Nikki," you start, slowly, "I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I was completely crossed the line, I know that."

"You did cross the line," she agrees quietly.

You nod, knowing that she did come here to shout at you after all.

"Because there's always a line between us, isn't there?" she continues, looking thoughtful.

You're confused now, not sure what her intentions are. She doesn't sound angry anymore, but contemplative and also marginally puzzled.

"There is?" You decide to play it safe; after all, you can't risk the chance that you might just let slip about how you feel.

You haven't even started your 'self-pity and drinking' yet.

"Yes, there is," she says quietly, avoiding your gaze now and instead choosing to stare down at your feet. "A great, big, red line. We both pretend that we can't see it, but that doesn't mean that it's not there."

"A great big red line?" you ask quizzically.

She appears not to have heard you. Her brow is furrowed in thought.

"We try not to cross it, we try to stay on our separate sides…"

It suddenly hits you; a crashing wave of realisation that sweeps over your body. Of course you know what line that she is talking about. How could you not?

"But occasionally one of us might just stray onto the line," you comment softly.

She looks at you: surprised that you've caught on so quickly and terrified of where this conversation is going.

She's not the only one.

"But don't you understand, Harry?" she asks you, almost pleadingly. "We're constantly standing on the line these days, it's like we're just waiting for a gust of wind to blow us one way or the other."

You nod in dawning comprehension. "And we occasionally try and pull ourselves away from it by meeting someone else, and when that doesn't work we ping straight back to where we were before, if not further onto the line."

"Exactly," she says quietly. "You crossed the line this morning, Harry. Your reaction to me seeing Jack, what you said about him, about me…"

"I'm sorry," you say again, rather meekly.

"No you're not," she tells you defiantly.

You've had enough of this. Enough of this skirting around your feelings for each other, enough of standing so close to this metaphorical 'line' without being brave enough to just take the leap to the other side.

"You know what, you're right, I'm not sorry!" You explode. Before you can stop them the words come spilling out. "I'm jealous, is what I am! And I'm not going to apologise for being jealous because it's just how I feel! I hate this 'Jack' because he's dating you, and I hate myself for being such a pathetic wreck, and I hate you for making me such a mess! Now you can shout at me and you scream at me all you want, but it's not going to stop me crossing this great big bloody red line and telling you that -" You stop shouting for a moment and lower the volume of your voice. "That I love you."

A deathly silence follows your outburst. You try and catch your breath. Every part of you is shaking, adrenaline is coursing through your veins. Or maybe that's scotch.

Then she moves, takes a step forwards. You screw up your eyes and brace yourself for the slap that never comes.

Instead, her lips are crushed against yours, her arms are wound around your neck and her fingers are running through your hair.

You kiss her too, your hands splayed on her back to pull her closer to you.

You wonder if this is all some crazy dream and any moment now your alarm is going to snap you out of it.

But you can smell her and you can feel her and you can taste her, and you know that this is all very real.

Then oxygen starts to become an issue, and although at that moment in time you really don't care about oxygen, you both pull back from each other, breathing heavily.

"So much for the big red line," she whispers, her eyes searching yours for any hint of regret.

You gently tuck one of her soft blonde curls behind her ear, letting your thumb linger on her cheek. "I love you," you tell her, feeling this strange sense of relief that you can now say that to her face without fear of rejection.

"I love you too," she mumbles, a smile gracing her lips. "Oh, and just so you know, the only reason I started seeing Jack in the first place was to make you jealous. I'm glad it worked."

You grin in embarrassed amusement, before capturing her lips in yours once again.

Yes, another second person one. This wasn't meant to be as long as this, but I kind of couldn't get closure on it for a while.

I may have to start another multi-chapter soon, but I need a good idea plus I have a nightmare amount of college work and deadlines next week.

Review?