Mr. Ted Popular

The Night Of Deep Thoughts (Edited)

Then he yawned, closing his eyes.

"You've never really talked about religion," he said, "so do you believe?"

"I do. I haven't been to church since I was a kid, and I rarely pray, but I still know the Lord, or at least I think. I accepted Christ at four, and from what I've heard after that day he'll never leave you. But afterwards my dad stopped,"

"Why?"

"My mom was a Christian. I guess religion in general reminded him of her, he stopped going. What about you?"

"I don't know. I guess I believe too, but then again I believe in aliens so," he chuckled, "I just want to believe it's something other than Earth. Killing, stealing, sadness, just so much pain. I hope there's something after."

I lay there stunned. Tonight had gone over a one direction society, to thoughts of death, to religious beliefs, just all over the board. I had decided to name it, a habit I had now fully adopted.

"The Night Of Deep Thoughts," I said aloud.

He smiled. "I like it," he said.

I turned back over, lying on my back again. He sat up, now being right next to my face. I felt chills from his presence, entangling my aura. He was going to kiss me. But I wasn't ready. I only sat there waiting because I wasn't ready. I was, but the moment was wrong. He was going to do it. Would I return it, or be so ecstatic I couldn't move and he'd think he looked stupid. I was going to do it first, I leaned in.

"I can't lie on this floor," he said, thankfully before I could embarrass myself.

I stopped my head so fast I could have gotten whiplash.

"Oh, well I could try it," I said, avoiding what he was implying. But he and I both knew what he was saying. Something I could not think about.

"I'm not going to bite you head off," he said, "Besides, I have my own blanket."

I tried to think of an excuse that didn't sound too straight forward. (I don't want to lay next to you because you look like a Sex Fantasy, and I don't want to be tempted into sleeping with you until a million years later while your parents not too far away) But I couldn't find a simpler way to express that.

"Sure," I said without my own input.

An unbearable compulsion. Always uncontrolled answering of questions with yes when I've thought for a long time. Now I couldn't take my reply back.

"Sure," I said again, probably oozing anxiety.

He stood up. In my face. Facing me. Still in boxers. Still. . . just still.

It would be impossible to describe what I felt, or what I seen, without making myself feel awkward. So I just skipped the moment just as he did, like it didn't happen. But boy that would be difficult to pretend didn't happen.

He walked over to the bed, and flopped onto it like he was falling down a well. So hard that I almost flew into air. Once again he fitted himself into his signature sleeping position; hands behind head, and eyes on the ceiling. He put his throw over everything except the upper chest. It was a little warm in his room but he must have not wanted to turn on the fan that sat to the right by the slanted wall holding the window. I tried to think of different things to distract my mind. I searched around until I spotted a focus point. His various posters of Tom Brady, My Chemical Romance, and video games sat guard around us, and I felt safe, and distracted.

"Goodnight," he said.

"Goodnight," I replied.

****