My Only (Boyxboy) [OVERHAUL; ON HOLD]

Excuses

(A/N: At least the titles are getting less and less cliché. I think...)

Justin's POV

*Wait, what? What did I just read?*

I reread the poem once, twice, five times over, and each time, my heart clenched at the last line:

"You are my one and only, my one true love."

I had an image of Jake's face bouncing around my head, and I had this irreplaceable feeling resting upon my heart.

Normally, I would be completely confused as to why this was written for and about me, but, looking back at today, Jake's actions match the poem's whole "aura of eternal love" pretty damn well.

*Think about it, though; he didn't say it to you. He even walked away from you, and probably REALLY doesn't wanna see you right now. Its probably just an incredibly late April Fool's Day joke, that's all.*

I shook my head, folding the poem back without taking care to make it neat, and tossed it into Jake's bookbag, zipping it back up.

I remained on the bench a while longer. Breathing in the crisp autumn air, I gazed at the moths hovering around the lamp light, like the planets to the sun.

I didn't want to believe what he said. Really, I didn't. He didn't need me, and I already had Tori. Breaking her heart was the last thing I wanted to do.

*Here's the problem: why aren't you absolutely repulsed by the idea of being more than just friends with him?*

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Walking into my house, I was hit with a scent of smoldering hickory. I spotted the fireplace in the living room to my right being filled with wood by my dad and took in the sight of the fire crackling and spitting in the hearth.

I dropped my bookbag down by the hall closet, still carrying Jake's, then calmly padded over into the kitchen directly ahead.

With mahogany brown cabinets lining the walls and state-of-the-art appliances filling in the remaining spaces, I took a moment to appreciate how affluent my parents were.

Sitting down at the island stool closest to me in the center of the kitchen, I dropped the bookbag on the floor and greeted my mom.

"Hey, Mom. What's for dinner?"

She spun around and immediately shoved a white and black-dotted substance on a wooden spoon towards my mouth, lightly biting her lip and staring intently back at me, waiting for my reaction.

Good Lord, my mom knows how to cook! Cheesy, spicy, savory... I moved the sauce around my mouth, allowing the smooth texture to permeate my lips and tongue, closing my eyes with pleasure.

I reopened my eyes, with my Mom's signature smirk showcased before me.

"Glad to see my cooking gives you an orgasm."

"Mom, what the hell!?"

She smacked my arm playfully.

"Hey, I was just kidding! It tasted good though, eh? It's a new recipe I'm trying out on my male guinea pigs here. I like to call it, 'Alfredo Porkchops'."

I gave my mom a death glare at her calling me a "guinea pig", but my dad walked in, saw, and punched me in the arm jokingly.

The standard American couple; a six foot tall man, chocolate brown hair and a large, imposing figure, lovingly wrapping his arms around his five foot, six inch tall blonde-haired wife, gently embracing and rocking back and forth, enjoying each other's presence.