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I always knew I was ... unattractive. Say the word, my girl, say the word. Ugly. I thought I'd accepted it, almost relished it. It protected me from so much folly; allowed me to have so many friendships that I wouldn't otherwise have had. I didn't anticipate the burst of utter fury that ran through me when he let slip that remark. Poor sod, always in trouble for blurting out whatever came into his head. Maybe that's one reason I liked him. I didn't take him seriously. Sweetie, cutie, but, oh dear me, not sexy. I was allowed not to want him but he wasn't allowed not to want me, is that it, if I'm honest? Where now? Can't we just be friends? Can we just be friends?
This sketch of one way of tackling B.M. Corwen's scenario of a friendship that isn't a love story was inspired by a possibility raised in Jay's answer above, one that several readers seem to have found offensive but I found poignant and believable.
Here's an example of this subject treated well in fiction (drama in this case), as requested by the OP, with the genders reversed. When I was a kid in the 70's there was an American comedy show called Rhoda. I remember almost nothing about it except one scene. A man and a woman are having dinner. The man has obviously been courting the woman for a while and is building up to asking the big question. He asks it. And, cringing with embarrassment, she says no, and stammers out an explanation. He's kind. He's intelligent. He's witty. But she just - doesn't - fancy - him. And looking at him you can see why.
That everyday tragedy of the friendship that never became a love story because of the brute fact of involuntary sexual rejection is one, sadly realistic, way of explaining the absence of a romance. An exploration of how their friendship fares after that moment could be very moving.
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