This One Goes Out to the One I Love
Chapter 1
Astrid
Seven years ago
My heart swelled in my chest as his thumb lightly grazed over mine.
Was this really happening right now?
Theodore Jessop, (or Theo, as he preferred to be called so he wasn’t associated with a Monarch from the Middle Ages), my best friend since year seven, was currently squeezed next to me on the sofa, eyes transfixed to the TV screen for our usual end-of-week movie night. Every Friday, for the past seven years since we were eleven years old, we’d taken turns to go round each other’s houses and choose the most bizarre film that we could possibly find to watch. Admittedly, it started out pretty tame in the beginning. Theo’s mum would often hover by the door, baring a massive tray of snacks for the both of us. Even back then, we knew she was much less interested in providing the popcorn goods, and a lot more interested in making sure that two eleven year olds weren’t getting up to any funny business on her living room sofa. It’s safe to say, at that point the ‘weirdest’ films we could get away with without her having a coronary were the whole of Tim Burton’s back catalogue.
Thankfully, after a few years of her realising that Theo and I would rather poke an eye out than miss out on movie time to get frisky, she laid off the loitering and left us very much to our own devices. This was an absolute score for us, meaning we could finally indulge in the good stuff. Danny, Theo’s older brother, started sneaking us the actual weird shit. He would awkwardly shuffle into the living room and whip out a shiny disk from his hoodie pocket, frantically darting his eyes around the room like a disgruntled drug dealer to make sure that Theo’s parents didn’t see him supplying us with the films that we almost definitely shouldn’t have been watching at that age. Alas, the tradition of Freaky Friday’s was born. Neither of us ever skipped out on it, it was practically a holy night. Even when Theo had norovirus, I, (perhaps stupidly), still came round despite his parent’s incessant nagging not to. We watched a film called Tusk , you know, the one where that guy is so obsessed with Walruses that he kidnaps and drugs a man, slowly turning him into his very own pet Walrus. I remember we had to pause it every 5 minutes so he could spew the contents of his stomach into a sick bowl and ever since, it’s been a running gag between the two of us that Theo wasn’t actually suffering with a virus, he was just that repulsed by the film.
These Friday nights were honestly what I lived for. A simple 2-3 hours spent grimacing, giggling, and shoveling popcorn like there was going to be a national shortage. He didn’t even care that I was one of those annoying people who provided a running commentary throughout every film. I just got so immersed in the moment, and I knew he enjoyed that.
It wasn’t until last year that these film nights started to evoke a whole new feeling of weirdness within me, and no, it wasn’t to do with their content. I cursed myself every time I started to feel my face heat whenever he rang the doorbell to pick me up. This was Theo for goodness sake.
The little, gangly, Theo, with his mass of Brown hair that was half-way down his back because he wanted to experiment and see if he could grow it to look like John Lennon’s. The Theo with the thick-rimmed glasses who spent hours building Lego sets, rather than doing his homework, the Theo who, in year 9, turned to me during a PE lesson after I scored a goal, winning the football match for our team, with the biggest, most heart-achingly adorable smile and said, “Well done Astrid! I’m so glad you were on my team, you’re basically like one of the guys.” Except, he wasn’t that same Theo anymore .
We were seventeen now, and it was undeniable that I had feelings that were a whole lot more than platonic. In one year, Theo had become an entirely different person. Not in a negative way. There was just something in the way he carried himself now. He exuded a newfound confidence that he’d never shown before. He never liked to admit it, but I always knew that he was insecure. He often disguised this self-detriment with jokes, but as his best friend, I could always see the truth. It was literally as if he'd woken up one day, drank a potion, and decided to completely reinvent himself. He walked into form after the summer, (bearing in mind he’d been on a family holiday in Australia for the entire 6 week break, the longest I’d ever been without seeing him), and I remember physically catching my breath. He was in his sixth from uniform, a tight white shirt that sculpted his biceps perfectly, he’d clearly been working out. He’d ditched the glasses and opted now for contact lenses, his baby blue irises now glistening on full display. His hair-experiment had come to a dramatic halt, with his once long and straggly Brunette mane, now cropped into a style that was short on the back and sides, but slightly longer and tousled on the top, framing a bone structure that I didn’t even know he had. My heart was genuinely in my throat as he came and sat next to me, beaming that same molar-flashing grin of his. All the girls were suddenly turning their heads, despite never even bothering to learn his name before, and I couldn’t ignore the stab of jealousy I felt. He looked so handsome , and it was in that very moment, that I knew I was well and truly fucked.
“Astrid?,” he turns to me, clicking the remote to pause the TV and bursting my daydream.
I can’t stop the wave of anxiety that ripples through my stomach, his face looks so… serious.
Obviously clocking my nerves, the corner of his mouth tips up into a playful grin, “you look like you’re going to throw up, don’t worry, we’re not watching Tusk tonight.”
It’s then that I let out a relieved chuckle, this was literally Theo. Sure, he was an extremely-mouth-wateringly-heart-racingly handsome version of himself, but it was still him. I didn’t need to work myself up.
Gently taking my hands in his and intertwining our fingers, he hesitates briefly before finally speaking, “I’ve been driving myself insane trying to figure out how to say this.”
The nerves make their supporting appearance again, bubbling through me like sparkling wine as his eyes bore into mine.
“I think I’m in l- sorry, this has literally taken me 7 years to build up the courage”, he awkwardly stutters over his words, rubbing a hand over his forehead.
I squeeze tighter onto his palms, encouraging him to continue.
“Astrid…I don’t want to ruin things between us. I know we’ve been best friends for ages, and I value your friendship more than anything, so please stop me if you think I’m going too far-”
I don’t know what comes over me, it’s like my brain isn’t even connected to my body, 7 years of tension and confusing feelings all bubbling to the surface, demanding to be known. I lean over, run a hand through his tousled hair, and kiss him, stopping him in his tracks.
Almost immediately as I do it, I hoist myself away, absolutely mortified at my eagerness. “Oh my god Theo, I-I’m sorry,” I say, placing a shaky palm over my mouth.
“No, don’t be sorry.” He says through a rapid exhale, taking his finger and tucking a stray hair behind my ear. His face instantly morphs from one of confusion to a familiar smirk, “You know what? Bugger it,” and with that, he cups my face in his hands and begins planting hot and desperate kisses on my lips, like I was the water to his dehydration.
He pulls away, but I can still feel the thunder of his pulse. “Look, Astrid, I’m just going to say it. I’m in love with you. Always have been, always will be. ”
He says it so matter-of-factly, like it was something as simple as breathing or blinking. It made me want to cry. This was happening . Theo and me.
“And it’s completely fine if you don’t feel the same way, I just had to tell you. I couldn’t hold it in any longer.” He whispers.
“Theo,” I giggle gawkily, trying to avoid the butterflies that came with meeting his gaze, “If it wasn’t obvious already from the fact that I literally just snogged you, I’m in love with you too dipshit.”
His face breaks out into a huge smile as he playfully nudges me. “It’s about bloody time!”
“7 years late, but better than never.” I wink, cozying up closer to him.
He traces down my arm, looking at me with so much love, it’s actually unfathomable. “Are we finally doing this?”
My face crumples into a goofy smile as I stare back at him, “I guess we are.”
I suppose I always knew all those years ago that there was something there, slightly-more-than-friendly, something fleeting. But in this moment, I knew with absolute, undeniable, certainty, that I was in deep. I was in love with Theodore Jessop, and I always would be.