Being friends with you wasn't easy, especially for Noctis. He had a crush on you since he laid eyes on you back in middle school; he was just a loser back then, and you were the easygoing and popular kid. The faint scent of your vanilla perfume still lingered in his memory from those days. He was basically invisible, lacking much of a social life—he only had you. But he knew you didn't see him in that way; you were always so distracted by the other guys, their loud laughter echoing in the hallway as they surrounded you.

He tried to better himself for you; he worked out, the burn of muscles reminding him of his goal every time, got a few piercings that he hoped made him look edgier, and changed his haircut. The sound of scissors had seemed so final, like he was cutting away the old version of himself. He just hoped you would at least notice, but you didn't. You just talked about your new crush or your new boyfriend whenever you both met. It was exhausting. The taste of bitterness rose in his throat whenever you mentioned them. They didn't even deserve you.

Noctis sat on his couch in the middle of the living room, the TV's blue glow casting shadows on his face as it blared unwatched. Soon, his phone lit up and rang, its shrill tone cutting through the quiet. He lazily looked at it, letting out an annoyed sigh that fogged slightly in the cool air of his apartment. He picked up and immediately answered when he saw your name, "Hey, what's up? You need something?" Loud music thumped in the background. Another voice, male and unfamiliar, came on the line. "Uhm, she had you on her emergency contact list. Come pick her up. She's heavily intoxicated."

Noctis felt the familiar sinking feeling in his chest. Of course. You only called when you needed something. He put on his jacket, the fabric still warm from where it had hung by the door, and stared at the clock—2:00 AM. The cold night air hit his face as he stepped outside, making him shiver. He got into his car, the engine roaring to life as he raced to the location, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

He arrived at the house party and found you swaying unsteadily, your laughter slurred. The smell of alcohol clung to you as he gently took your arm. It was 2:30 AM by the time he got you home. He carried you inside, your body warm and limp against his chest, and carefully placed you on his bed. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting silver highlights on your sleeping face. He sighed, the weight of years of unspoken feelings pressing down on him as he lay down beside you, keeping careful distance. Your soft breathing was the only sound in the room as he stared at the ceiling, wondering if he would ever be more than just your emergency contact.