She’d caught him smiling one day, without him knowing.

It didn’t happen often, but when it did, she’d forget how to breathe. His eyes would crinkle and he’d smile with the corner of his lips upturned. And in that moment, she couldn’t help but smile with him.

It was one of those things she’d become greedy for. Seeing him smile.

She hadn’t realized exactly when he’d stopped. When it became harder for her to catch him off guard, chuckling at one thing or another. She should have picked up on it.

But everything made sense after she’d been struck by the truth. In a blink, everything came into place like pieces of a puzzle she didn’t want solved. A slamming door. Receding footsteps. Glistening tears. Only when he’d made it out of the door had it hit her with a force so strong that it knocked her off her feet. She’d wanted to run after him, take back everything she’d said. But her body hadn’t been able to move. It had shuddered with sobs that had seemed to take over her entire being.

She hated herself for knowing she would’ve given anything to catch him smiling again.

-----

The next time she saw him, he wasn’t looking back at her. He was immersed in conversation with one of his group members.

She’d gotten used to him looking at her whenever she happened to glance over at him.

It was selfish, really. Wanting him to notice her every time they were in the same hallway. It was foolish thinking that he’d never get over it. The nervous glances and hesitant gazes. She couldn’t really help it, though.

She wanted him to miss her like she missed him.

But he’d gotten better at walking past her and bowing without making eye contact. He’d gotten better at acting like he didn’t know her.

---

They’d been sitting on the roof when she’d realized just how much he knew her.

As the crimson sun dipped under the horizon, their legs had been dangling off the ledge. They hadn’t said anything for a long time, sitting in comfortable silence. They’d never needed to say anything. He’d grabbed her hand and pulled her up the stairs to the rooftop without a word and she’d followed. It was the first time they’d held hands and she hadn’t let go until they’d sat down on the edge.

When she’d looked over at him, his eyes had been closed, a crooked half smile forming on his lips. She’d forgotten to look away and then he’d said to her with his eyes still closed, how long are you gonna keep staring? Her cheeks had flushed and she’d never been more thankful for the dark of night enveloping the sky. He’d chuckled and looked back at her.

She’d realized then that he could read her like an open book, with the pages spilling out. And she hadn’t minded.

He’d known her much too well. She felt like he’d known her since the first time he’d sat next to her at the piano.

…

She found herself alone in the rehearsal room one night. She’d told her members to leave earlier, telling herself she wanted to perfect the choreography. After hours of practice, she’d been laying on the cold floor for what felt like forever. By the time she’d decided that she was hungry and hurried out of the practice room, it was snowing.

It was her favorite type of snow, the fluttering kind. Snowflakes drifted down, covering her hair and jacket, melting as soon as they landed. In the soft glow of street lamps, the snow sparkled.

She almost didn’t see him.

If she’d turned her head for a moment longer, she wouldn’t have caught sight of him standing at the bus stop, looking up at the sky. If she’d left the practice room a minute later, she wouldn’t have seen him get on the last bus of the night.

But she did see him. And he saw her. It was like one of those moments in movies, where time slows to a stop and all she could do was stare at him. A moment later, she found herself running across the street towards the bus stop. She’d somehow remembered she’d need to take that last bus home.

For a long time, she didn’t dare to speak. Fidgeting with a button on her jacket, she realized she wanted him to say something. Anything. Then he suddenly spoke, “You missed one.”

“What?”

He gestured at her jacket. “The button. You missed one.”

She could feel her cheeks heat up as she fumbled with the buttons. At least she could blame the cold for the blush painting her cheeks.  When she looked up from her jacket, he was staring at her. His eyes were just as captivating as she remembered. And for the first time in years she almost lost herself in them.

She willed herself to look away.

He broke the silence again. “Why are you out so late?”

She stopped herself from responding automatically like she wanted to. “What’s it to you?”

She could tell from the flash of hurt in his eyes that she’d come off as too harsh. But before she could say something, his face hardened and he looked away, coughing before turning to face the street.

She wanted to wrap her scarf around his neck and yell at him for forgetting a hat. Instead, she just stood there, an arm’s length away from him, trying not to think about brushing off the snowflakes covering his coat. Even though she was closer to him than she’d been for the past few years, she’d never felt further apart.

When the bus finally arrived and he rushed in ahead of her, she tried not to feel hurt.

Sitting on the empty seat across the aisle from him, it took everything she had to not look over. She took out her headphones and shuffled her playlist. She found it difficult to focus on anything but his presence, though.

(Nowadays, that happened much too often for her liking.)

She remembered the first time they’d ridden the bus together. He’d offered her an earphone and they’d spent the entire hour listening to music.

She knew he wasn’t looking, but she left an earphone out for him anyway, half wishing he’d move over and take it. 

He didn’t move, though. Despite the faint notes receding from her music, she felt the weight of the silence envelop the air around them.

Their silence had never been this way. It had always been comforting, blanketing her in warmth she didn’t know she desperately needed until now. This silence was stifling and suffocating, refusing to let her move an inch.

The worst part of it all, she realized, was that he never once looked back at her. She’d been shifting her gaze so he couldn’t tell, but she knew he could feel her eyes on him. He’d always been unusually perceptive when it came to her, to the point that she’d given up and admitted to herself that he knew her better than anyone else would ever know her. It had been a welcoming thought, something she’d mused over countless times. But now, she only felt vulnerable in front of him in a way she didn’t want to be. Because he could see right through her.

She almost forgot to get off when the bus lurched to a stop.