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I’m pulled from my thoughts as Caz dissolves into a loud coughing fit. And the melodramatic part of my brain programmed to assume the worst of everything instantly thinks: Oh god. This is it. He’s going to tell me he’s suffering from some kind of chronic condition and he’s been keeping it a secret this whole time because he doesn’t want anyone to worry but he only has two months left to live. We’re going to end up in a depressing movie montage of his last days with me and there’s going to be a bunch of blood-colored sunsets and slow walks by the beach and one day he’ll just collapse before my
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LOL so relatable
move on to Step Three: Observe Him More Closely. The apparent logic behind this is that crushes are like mirages; they don’t hold well under intense scrutiny.
ahahahaha not if ur demisexual
When you care about someone, you want to be inconvenienced—you wouldn’t mind being inconvenienced by them every day for the rest of your life. That’s what love is. That’s all love really is.”
No one answers, but I can hear it: The shuffle of movement. A faint cough. He’s inside. So of course, I do what any composed, rational, completely nonchalant person would do: I bang both fists against the door and start yelling loud enough to be heard from the next building.
“Most sincere things feel at least a little embarrassing. It’s part of our defense mechanisms. Our heart’s way of protecting us from potential hurt.”
