PTX Oneshots

Pathetic

Mitch Grassi had a problem.
And it was a horribly petty problem.
It wasn't important, not like the problems of book characters, where their girlfriends have some sort of terminal illness, or their boyfriends are moving away.
Nothing like that.
His problem was that he was hopelessly in love with his best friend, Scott Hoying.
He knew he shouldn't be, but he was helpless under his gaze.
He wanted him so badly.
He wanted his eyes that held the morning sky, his lips ever turned up in a slight smile.
He wanted his hands around him, forever.
He wanted the almost-kisses to become real kisses.
Mitch wanted every single part of him to himself, even though he could never have him.

Scott Hoying had a problem.
Considering all the things happening in his life, it was a pretty big problem.
It was equivalent to falling off the top of the Empire State, but a bit less bloody.
His problem was that he was completely in love with his best friend, Mitch Grassi.
He was smitten for his smile, desperate for his lips on his.
He was lost in his eyes, the same color as melted caramel.
He shouldn't be.
The worst part was how obvious he could be. His boyfriend knew about it. His boyfriend.
Scott wanted his whole essence to his own, but he knew he was pretty much trapped.

Sometimes they would individually wonder if it would be better if they spent days apart, just to escape the warm rush of blood they felt rise to their cheeks every time the other smiled.
But then they would individually realize:
If they were helpless with each other, without each other, they would fall apart.
So they stayed best friends, conjoined at the hip, and even though they would never say a word, the world knew.
Because the world could see their smiles, and how their eyes would light up, and how their cheeks would flush red.
They were just oblivious.
Helplessly oblivious.
Pathetic.