The rest of the day was uneventful. Lizzie, James, Wyatt, and I played board games while Harper went to Charlies. None of them brought up our conversation from earlier again, even if they did seem doubtful of my answer to their questions. It was evening now, Skye went to bed a while ago, and I can hear the sound of my parents talking to Nikki downstairs, waiting up for Harper, who's still out.

I throw my hair out of the bun it's been up in all day, wincing at the sight. It's knotted and frizzy. The only way I'll be able to brush through it is with a handful of conditioner. I guess I'm washing my hair tonight.

I grab Pjs to change into before walking into the washroom, my fingers tugging at the knots in my hair, trying to break them slightly before washing them. I don't expect anyone to be in here, they lock on the inside, and Wyatt and I have both gotten used to locking both locks whenever we were in here. It seems he must of forgot today because as I enter the washroom, Wyatt is stepping out of the shower. A white towel wrapped around his waist.

I pause a few feet away from him, my eyes growing wide. Wyatt's hair is wet, his curls sticking to his forehead slightly. Wyatt's always been slim, but that didn't make him scrawny by any means. On the contrary, he'd grown a little bit of muscle over the years. I could see it in his arms. His stomach was more toned than it used to be too. He looked good. So good I didn't want to look away.

What are you doing, Marley? I snapped myself out of whatever trance I was under, my eyes flying up to meet Wyatt's, like mine. His eyes were wide, "Sorry, I uh guess I forgot to lock that." Wyatt chuckled awkwardly. His one hand holds his towel closed, his other tugs at his wet curls. A droplet of water lands on his shoulder, and I have to force myself to not follow it.

I avert my gaze to the ground, not daring to look at his arms or toned stomach again. I'd seen Wyatt shirtless countless times when we were teenagers. We'd go swimming all the time in the summer. This feels different, though. I feel different.

"No, it's my fault," I shake my head, my hand reaching for the door handle. I keep my gaze on the floor, avoiding his. The more I look at him, the less likely I am to look away. Had he always been this good looking? "Just uh, text me when the bathroom's free."

I exit the room before Wyatt can reply, slamming the door a little harder than I meant to. Part of me wants to call Lizzie and ask her what it all means? Why was my heart hammering so loudly in my chest over seeing Wyatt shirtless? It shouldn't be that big of a deal, but it is. I can't stop picturing the way droplets of water clung to his perfectly chiselled collar bone. Or the way his wet curls hung over his forehead.

I get a text from Wyatt not even a minute later. My phone chiming, bringing me away from my thoughts. The bathroom was all mine now. It's only a big deal if you make it one, I remind myself as I lather my hair with lavender-scented shampoo, using my fingers to brush through the knots in my hair. Wyatt seemed so chill about the whole thing. Meanwhile, I'm overanalyzing it all. I can't stop thinking about him.

I make sure both doors are locked before starting to change, sliding into a pair of lavender track pants and a black t-shirt, my hair wrapped high above my head in a teal-coloured towel. I just need some sleep. I blame these conflicting feelings about Wyatt on my siblings, who are so adamant that we are something we're not. They've got me in my head, that's all.

I go to step back into my room, unlocking both mine and Wyatt's doors when I hear something coming from his room. It sounds like he's talking to someone. I can't make out his words exactly. He's mumbling to himself.

I should just go to sleep and forget it ever happened, but Wyatt's faint whispering continues, and I can't help but feel curious. I knock on the door before I can overthink the decision, tugging my hair out of the towel, so my damp hair falls on my shoulders.

Wyatt's muttering to himself stops a second later before he opens the door. His hair is still wet, but he's changed into a blue hoodie and grey sweats. I'm thankful his arms aren't on display anymore, no longer distracting me. "Hi," He breaths, his eyes looking anywhere but at me, "look um, I'm really sorry about that, I-"

"Wyatt," I cut him off. He really has no reason to apologize. I was the one who entered without knocking, "It's fine, I should have knocked, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," He nods. I can't tell what was going through his mind. Clearly, this situation that we're brushing away meant something to Wyatt like it does to me, "well, goodnight then."

Wyatt nods at me stiffly. I should just go back to my room let this moment pass, much like our moments over the past few days. I don't, though. Instead, I take another step into the room, "you, okay?" I ask him, my head tilted to the side with concern.

"Yeah," He forces a tight-lipped smile on his face, moving to the other side of the room, "just tired."

"No, it's something else," I shake my head at him. Unlike me and my sisters, who wear our hearts on our sleeves, Wyatt's always been a lot better at hiding what he's feeling. It never bothered me much as a teen. He told me everything anyway. I never had to wonder what was going on in his head. "Seriously, Wyatt, you know you can tell me anything."

"It's stupid," He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. As if he's making fun of whatever it is he's feeling. Wyatt sits on the edge of Lizzie's old bed. Staring down at his hands. "I'm fine though, don't worry about it."

"It's not stupid if it's upsetting you," I move over to sit beside him, keeping as much space between us as possible, "and you know me, I do worry. If you don't tell me what's up, I will do nothing but worry all night." I expect a slight smile to tug at the corner of Wyatt's lips, but it doesn't. He looks so serious, so in thought. Like his thoughts are running a mile a minute, "I won't judge. I promise."

"My management constantly talks about how I look," Wyatt begins explaining, his eyes still focused on the floor as if it's the most intriguing thing he's ever seen, "I'm not as buff as some of the big blockbuster actors out there. It's something they like to remind me of often, as if I can change the way I look at the drop of a hat. From the minute I got to LA, they told me, 'Look kid, you've got a nice face, but if you want the girls to like you, we're gonna have to change your image.' From then on, they started telling me how to stand, how to talk, how to smile..."

I've never wanted to scream at anyone more than I want to scream at Wyatt's management. He was broken because of them. They're the reason he was so stiff and formal when he first got here. He hasn't been able to act like himself around anyone but his parents in so long. They've made him feel insecure about things he has no control over, things that I would never in a million years change about him.

"They constantly point out my flaws," He continues, tugging at his damp curls, "and when you walked in, you could barely look at me. I guess it just brought back some old feelings."

"Wyatt," I shake my head, wishing he'd just look at me. That couldn't have been further from the truth. I've just spent the last ten minutes, unable to stop thinking about how attractive I found him. "That's not-"

"I told you it was stupid," he cuts me off, his knee shaking. "You really don't have to apologize. It's fine."

"Wyatt," I reach down, placing my hand on his knee. His knee stops shaking as soon as my hand comes in contact with it, instantly calmed by my touch, "I didn't walk away the way I did because I thought you look bad." Wyatt finally looks over at me. His brow quirked unconvinced; he doesn't believe me. I didn't want to tell him the truth, but it was clear I need to. I want Wyatt to know his management is wrong, "I walked out the way I did because I knew if I didn't leave, I wouldn't have wanted to look away."

My voice is quiet and bashful, quiet enough so only Wyatt can hear me. I felt like a high scholar again. My stomach was in knots, my palms sweaty. What is happening to me?

"Really?" Wyatt asks, his tone laced in disbelief.

"Really." I nodded. My cheeks were warm. I'm sure a blush was beginning to spread across them, "your management is wrong and clearly needs to get their eyes checked."

Wyatt chuckles. His smile is genuine. I missed it. I would do anything to make sure he doesn't lose it again, "I appreciate it," He nods, sitting up a little straighter. "I'm sorry about all this. I try not to be, but it's hard not to be insecure sometimes."

The more Wyatt talks about it; the less glamorous Hollywood is beginning to sound. It sounds stressful, the kind of place where no one could ever truly be themselves. The more he told me about it, the less I want him to return.

"You never have to apologize to me," I reassure him. We'd both shifted closer. I was close enough to Wyatt that I could smell his shampoo. It smelt like Peaches, "trust me, I get being insecure."

Wyatt only knew insecure me. The girl who hid amongst the crowds and never spoke up, the girl who hated any sort of attention being drawn to her. Sometimes, I wonder what high school would have been like if I wasn't so scared of what others thought. If I'd been confident in the things that made me, me. Instead of wanting to change them.

"I guess you weren't the only one who changed to fit in," I shrug absentmindedly, tugging at the bottom of my long hair. It was still damp, but the ends were curling slightly. My natural, frizzy wave would be on full display once it fully dried.

"I don't get why you thought you had to," Wyatt admits, shaking his head at me, "I always loved your hair when you wore it natural. I mean, sure, it was wild and crazy at times, but it was you."

"I was a mess," I inform him, laughing. And I was, I don't regret a lot of the changes I'd made once I moved to New York. I started dressing better and learned to do my makeup. I looked professional. The kind of girl people wanted to hire.

"Well, I thought you were beautiful," Wyatt states, disagreeing with me. If my blush wasn't viable before, it sure is now. It felt like my face was on fire, "I mean, obviously you are now too; but really, I thought you were pretty back then. Frizzy hair and all."

"Wyatt, you really don't have to," I shake my head, chuckling. I didn't need his reassurance that I had been pretty back then. I know I wasn't. He doesn't need to lie to make me feel better.

"I'm serious," He informs me, "I had this huge crush on you and everything. During the summer before I left." His eyes grow wide as soon as he realizes what he's said, an embarrassed expression on his face.

"W-what?" I stutter, taken aback. I wait for him to indicate that he's teasing, but he doesn't. He's being serious. I never had feelings for Wyatt back then, even if Lizzie would always question otherwise. He was my best friend. I always assumed he thought the same. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was leaving soon," He shrugs, a sad smile on his face, "Figured it would make things harder."

I can't help but think, what if? What if Wyatt had told me back then? What if I reciprocated the feelings, and we ended up going out? Would we have lost contact still? Would Wyatt have fought harder for us?

The thought of Wyatt and me being together didn't sound foreign or odd. We would've made sense. We still would. I'd never really pictured myself with any other guy before. In high school, I never had crushes on guys. And I think it was because of Wyatt. He was the only guy I'd ever envisioned spending my future with.

"Yeah," I nod, finally responding, "it probably would have."

"I guess we'll never know," Wyatt shrugs. If he's notices the fact that my mind is exploding at his revelation, he doesn't mention it. "I do know that I am grateful for second chances, though. Life's a lot harder to get through without a best friend."

Best friend. The word that I was so used to associating Wyatt with, the word that perfectly described who we'd been. It didn't feel perfect anymore. Not like it used to.

"Agreed," I nod, smiling. I was grateful too, even if my feelings were all over the place, "I, uh, should get to bed. I slept terribly last night."

Wyatt laughs. His smile takes over his whole face. He was so perfect. Even his imperfections were beautiful, "Me too." He stands when I stand from the edge of his bed, following me to the door that connects our rooms.

"Night Marles," He whispers, pulling open the door for me, "Thanks for this. It means a lot."

"Of course," I nod, stepping into the bathroom, "Goodnight, Wyatt."

I fall onto my bed as soon as I enter my room, not bothering to undo my blankets. All I can think of is one thing... My siblings were right. Somehow, they'd been able to spot it before I could even admit it to myself.

I like Wyatt.