What if he was mine - Part One: The Thing About Best Friends

The slowest burn. The deepest cut.

They’ve been best friends for years. Jamie is out and confident. Drew is straight—at least, that’s what he’s always told himself. But when Jamie starts dating someone new, Drew feels something he can’t explain. And maybe it’s not just about losing his best friend… maybe it’s about finally admitting who he really wants.

A slow-burn, best-friends-to-lovers M/M romance told in five parts—full of longing, banter, jealousy, and the kind of love that sneaks up and wrecks you.

What If He Was Mine?

He was never just my best friend. He was the one I couldn’t have… and wanted anyway.

Jamie

The thing about best friends? They ruin you for everyone else.

Drew’s socked feet are propped up on the coffee table, one ankle crossed over the other. My legs are tangled with his on the couch like they’ve always belonged there. There’s a half-finished bowl of popcorn between us and some action movie playing in the background, but I couldn’t tell you the plot if you paid me. Not when he’s this close.

“That guy has a grenade launcher,” Drew says, nodding toward the screen.

“Very observant. You should be a detective.”

He elbows me, not bothering to look over. “I’m just saying. If I had a grenade launcher, I’d be unstoppable.”

“You’d trip over your own shoelace and blow yourself up.”

He laughs, that low rumble I feel in my chest more than I should, and tosses a piece of popcorn at me. It hits my cheek and bounces to the floor. Worth it.

“What was that for?” I ask, wiping at my shirt.

“You looked smug.”

“I am smug.”

He snorts. “What else is new?”

I shrug. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” He asks.

I hesitate, then grin to cover it. “How we’ve been friends forever, and it’s basically like we’ve been married for eight years. That’s longer than any actual relationship I’ve had.”

“Tragic, really.” He stretches, arms up, shirt riding high. I look away too fast. “You should aim higher.”

If only you knew who I’ve been aiming for.

There’s a lull in the noise. The kind that settles in when the joke fades and comfort takes its place. His thigh presses against mine. Our arms brush. I think about leaning into him… just a little.

But I don’t.

I never do.

The thing about being this close to him, arms brushing, legs tangled, shoulders bumping, is that it’s never been weird.

Not once.

Because Drew’s straight.

That’s the safety net, isn’t it? The reason it’s always been okay to sprawl across the couch together, to crash in the same bed after a night out, to wrestle over the last slice of pizza like a couple of frat bros in a beer commercial. He’s never pulled away, never flinched. And I’ve never had to explain why I linger a little too long when our eyes meet. Why I hold my breath when he leans too close.

Because there’s always been a line. A rule. One we never said out loud, and one I’ve never dared cross.

When I came out in college, he was the first person I told. My hands were shaking, and I could barely get the words out. I’d played every reaction in my head, over and over, bracing for the worst. But all Drew did was shrug, like I’d just told him my coffee order had changed.

“Cool,” he said, “you wanna grab tacos or something?”

Like it didn’t change a thing. But it did. At least for me.

Because by then, I’d already fallen. Quietly. Hopelessly. And if I told him…if I ever told him… I knew I’d lose him. Not because he’d stop being kind. But because he’d pull away. Guard himself. And I’d rather have this… close, familiar, almost-enough, than nothing at all.

So I smile. I tease. I keep my hands to myself.

And I look at him now, laughing at something on the screen, popcorn in his hair, and think…

You’re the rule I never wanted to follow.

Drew shifts beside me, absently brushing popcorn crumbs off his hoodie. “You seeing anyone lately?”

The question’s casual, a little too casual, like it’s just filler noise between explosions on the screen, but it still tightens something low in my stomach.

I shrug. “Not really.”

He glances over. “Not even that guy from the gym?”

“Matt?” I huff a laugh. “He ghosted after one date. Said I was intimidating.”

Drew smirks. “You are intimidating.”

“Says the man built like a linebacker.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking over me. “We both are. You’re like… gym bro meets Greek god with resting jerk face.”

I snort. “Wow. Thanks.”

“I’m just saying, if I think you’re a lot, what chance does a soft-spoken book guy have?”

I toss a pillow at his head. “You’re the worst.”

He bats it away easily, grin smug. “I just think you need someone who can handle you.”

I raise a brow, teeth sinking into my bottom lip before I can stop myself. “Like you?”

His eyes cut to mine, playful. “You wish.”

Yeah. I do.

But instead I laugh, like it’s all part of the game. Because it is, isn’t it? This dance we’ve been doing for years. Push, pull. Flirt, deflect. Always toeing that invisible line.

He stretches again, arms behind his head, like this is all normal. Like my heart isn’t trying to climb out of my chest.

“If we’re both still single at forty,” he says, “we’ll just marry each other. Problem solved.”

“Great,” I say lightly. “We can split rent and die of sexual frustration.”

Drew chuckles. “Speak for yourself.”

I smile, but it doesn’t quite reach. “We’ll see if I’m still interested in confused straight boys by then.”

The movie ends without either of us really noticing. Credits roll, casting a soft glow over the living room. We don’t move.

For once, Drew isn’t talking. He just stretches, one arm behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. His shirt rides up again, of course it does, and I make the mistake of looking.

Not just at the skin. Not just the V of his hips or the way his chest rises and falls.

But at him.

Bare feet on the coffee table. Shirt stretched over muscle from years of pick-up basketball and protein shakes. Hair a mess. Eyes half-lidded, lips parted like he might say something and decided not to.

It’s not just attraction. It’s not a crush. It’s not some stupid, fleeting thing.

It’s him.

It’s knowing the sound he makes when he stretches in the morning. The way he only drinks orange juice with pulp. The fact that he still keeps Band-Aids in the kitchen drawer because I once scraped my knuckle trying to open a bottle of wine.

It’s love. Deep, stupid, impossible love.

And for one second, just one, I think about saying it.

Not in some dramatic confession. Just something quiet. Testing the words. Do you ever think about it?

But I don’t. Because he’s never looked at me like that. And if I say it, if I put it out into the world and he laughs or pulls away or says he doesn’t want to lose me as a friend…

That would destroy me faster than silence ever could.

So I swallow it down. Like always.

“Goodnight, Drew,” I whisper.

He doesn’t hear the ache in it.

To be continued… Come back tomorrow for Part Three..

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: September 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix