Alfred

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I sat in the car, driving home, mulling over what Francis asked me. When are you two gonna hook up? No. Just... no. I wasn't gay! Or... well I never dated a girl, or a guy before, but I still thought girls were hot as fuck. The thing that really got me I guess was the odd feeing I got. It was like the fluttering of electric butterflies, and it made me nervous. For another unexplainable reason, I couldn't look at his eyes. Why was I so messed up? Why did Francis's question perturb me this much?

We got to his house and he opened the door for himself, flipping his blonde hair the slightest bit on the way out. Perfect. No! What was I thinking? He's not perfect, just a normal friend I hung out with. Nothing else.

I drove to the apartment, the feeling slowly ebbing away, much to my disappointment. It wasn't an instant good feeling, but I liked it nonetheless. Did Francis have a point? Why was I even concerned about this, I barely knew the guy, only that his name was Arthur and he was gay. And why did him being gay trigger a small, tiny feeling inside me? Enough. I wasn't going to think that way anymore. He was just a friend now that happened to be gay. I only had to avoid his emerald eyes, his hair, and his accent. Shouldn't have been that hard, right?

I got home and was relieved to see the water hadn't gone through my bed yet. I sighed in exasperation and looked about the apartment. If I switched the bed and the beanbag chair, then scooted the beanbag chair a bit closer to the wall and put a bucket there, the problem would be solved. I set myself to it and tossed the beanbag chair near the window overlooking the city. I easily pushed the bed up against the wall where the beanbag chair used to be, and went to find a bucket. There wasn't a bucket in the closet, only a small area rug. Great. Now the water was dripping onto the hardwood. I threw my hands in air in exasperation. Stupid neighbors above me. I grabbed my brown jacket and closed the door behind me as I left to get a bucket, or find one.

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