"Jane," he called.
Peter's wife slowly turned her head towards her husband. Peter could feel Jane's feelings; like getting weak on the knees at the sound of someone you hold dear calling your name. Her bright, green eyes, meeting his dark browns.
Damn. Whatever this little shockwave I'm feeling in my chest, I hope you could feel it too, Jane, Peter thought.
"Hmm?" said she. Peter felt like some angel was playing a harp just attuned to that voice. Ah, how wonderful it is to love someone who loves you back. It's like falling at the right place, with the right pace.
Peter took three steps towards Jane, slipping his hands around her slender waist, and kissed. His breathing heavier by the moment, he tightened his hug, his tongue searching for the perfect match. Found it, caressed it. You sure are the luckiest girl in the world, Jane, he thought, for someone to helplessly fall for you; no doubt, no backup plan.
Until he realized that her arms stood still, her body passive, her tongue unmoving. Peter pulled his lips an inch away from hers and saw Jane's green eyes, never closing since he started kissing. What the f--
Those green eyes were communicating something back, but whatever it is, it sure isn't that kind of love you would kill to feel for.
He froze in his position, hands still at her waist.
"You know how much I love you, right?" Jane spoke, treading carefully through her every word.
"You were my best friend. Not that we aren't, anymore," she laughed, "but I love being by your side. Hearing your voice; you've no idea how it soothes me. Like I can always fall helplessly backwards -- and I know you'll catch me in no second. I love having you around, you cheer me up in no way anybody else ever could," she said, happily.
Peter's brain was frantically entering analyzing mode. He picked up Jane's words, tone, body language, facial expression, fuck, even the rhythm of her breath. So Jane does love him, but--
but he knew. It's not that kind of love -- that kind of love that would melt you of your feet, that would send you spinning from just a peck on the cheek. His love for her is on a whole, different, level. If Peter could rate love from the scale of one to Inferno, Jane's is probably on the second floor.
Peter pulled his arms away from Jane, took a step back. Jane looked confused, even a bit hurt. What the fuck? Peter thought. Stop fucking confusing me.
And with that, he walked through the front door. There was nothing else to do. His own wife just friendzoned him.
Jane held her tears back. It always hurts to see him hurt. She felt a sharp stab in her chest.
Dear God, she whispered. Whatever ship this is we're in, please. Don't ever let it sink.