“For what?” He asked
He looked down at her.
“For this” she said, whispering softly against his sweater.
She turned her head just enough to give him a quick glance.
“To go for a walk… for treating me more like a person than a project.” She said,“For simply being my…friend.”
Fred remained stiff.
Simple and everyday the word slammed into the still morning air with the unwanted finality of a prison door.
Friend.
It didn't feel enough; it was a courteous rejection of the electric current that flowed between them and a rejection of the way his chest constricted when she was close.
He wanted to speak up and challenge the label with something more direct and demanding of the facts they had just avoided.
In his mind the thought cried out “I don't want to be your friend. I want someth
