He’ll Facebook message you earlier in the day asking what you’re doing later, because it’s been a while since you two have hung out. As friends.
He won’t text you until 10pm, at which point you can come over. As a friend.
You’ll be sitting on his bed, in the middle of a sentence, choking back tears, because you just showed him the broken tail light and dented bumper you had acquired from carelessly backing into an SUV on the way over to see him, and he’ll cup your chin in his hand and bring your lips to his. As a friend.
You resist but he maintains hold of your cheek and tells you to relax and just kiss him. As a friend.
You give in, and he begins peeling off both your clothing and his. Still—you guessed it—as a friend.
As he’s about to enter you, he’ll kiss you deeply, as a friend.
While he fucks you, he calls you “baby” repeatedly. As a friend though, so don’t get any crazy ideas.
He watches your face when you come, momentarily putting his satisfaction on hold to revel in yours. Because that’s what friends do.
After you’re finished, he’ll try to cuddle and tell you how special you are and how much he loves you and is glad you’re in his life—but as a friend, of course.
You get sleepy just lying there—you both do; it’s past 1 at this point. Sometimes, as you’re getting your clothes back on, he’ll ask if you’re sure you don’t want to sleep over.
This time, he’ll tell you not to get too comfortable or else you’ll fall asleep, and up until a month ago he’d been sharing a bed with someone else almost every night, and he knows that no matter how much you say you’ll stick to one side, eventually you’ll move your 98-point-six-degree ass into his personal space, and he won’t have you heating up his bed all night.
You start putting your clothes on, and he’ll try to pull you back down on the bed for a few more minutes. As a friend.
When you finally do leave, he’ll give you a hug at the door, but won’t even walk you to your car. Not even as a friend.