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     I looked down at the nearly-empty bottle of Jack Daniels that sat on my coffee table in my living room, which was glowing a light blue due to the PS4 controller shining onto it. Repressing my feelings with alcohol and gaming were my vices, like many other middle-age guys. Though, I wasn't mourning over a someone, a relationship, or even a financial thing. I was upset over him.
     I knew the jackass since 4th, maybe 5th, grade and I knew that the two of us would be unbreakable. It was a stupid stomach feeling, something that couldn't be tackled with math or logic – much to my dismay.
     I hated when something couldn't be reduced to the basic, explainable parts of some sort of solid concept. It was a lot more prevalent as a young man, but being a semi-successful engineer now still called me back into the mindset. Fuck my analytical brain for caring about me so much.
     As said before, I knew this person for so many years. We tackled middle school together, looking out for one another as we went through our specialized classes. We didn't share all of the same interests, but that was okay. None of my friends were complete copies, and I liked it that way. Admittedly, I had some bad blood with an ex-friend who may have had a stick a bit too far up his ass, but I was mature about it and just didn't give him the attention he felt he needed.
     Then we hit junior high. Junior. Fucking. High. It was a nightmare, honestly. The classes got 100x more confusing, my anxiety and depression I inherited by both my mother's and father's genes finally started to rear their ugly heads, and then... he started talking to me. Really talking to me. We would stay up until the late hours discussing whatever sickening shit we could think of. We'd also talk about our characters and how the characters would mingle with each other. Like any other characters too, they both embodied a good bit of us. I subtly had my character flirt with his, to only receive snarky replies back.
     It was nice, though, just knowing he was there for me. We would have wonderful, in depth conversations where we would basically cough up our deepest and darkest feelings and attempt to make ourselves feel better. He was therapeutic, but joking at the same time. We were joking around, but we knew deep down that we cared about each other like siblings, or so I thought.
     Now, I didn't and/or don't really like to confine my romantic orientation. My romantic orientation fluctuates constantly, so I usually just use 'gay' as a broad term. Yes, I would consider a part of my attraction to be gay, as in a male possessing romantic feelings for another male. This person, though? He made me think about myself and dig deep. I'm still up for anyone, but he made me have my feelings pulled like specialty taffy like no one else had done before. It was insane.
     We kept doing this, up until we got to college. Went to the same college, ended up applying to be roommates and got our wishes. We would spend many nights up studying or quizzing with each other while we sipped on our shitty Keurig coffee. It kept our minds awake, aside from the terrible jokes and lo-fi music playing in the background.
     One night, just one night, in college though... It's something I will never, ever forget for the life of me. We were doing our usual thing and I needed to lean over to grab some sort of pencil or pen, and the two of us managed to end up in some contortionist-level embrace. Us, being tired and coffee-buzzed, did what would have been the most logical in said position.
     We kissed. He held my face with his soft hands and brushed over the slight stubble that I had yet to shave. His own stubble brushed against mine and created an electrifying feeling between us. I had to pull back for a second to gauge my friend's reaction. He was, bewildered to say the least. We kept going on like that for a while, eventually until we were in one of the most compromising positions I had ever been in; being a kissing and makeout virgin.
     We were both new to this, especially with us being the same gender. We were young and stupid, so we just sloppily went along with what we had planned. After only about a half hour, we laid in our dorm room at 3 in the morning; we sat there spent.
I knew it was because of the tiredness.
I knew it was because we had no better inhibition. I knew it was because the feelings I had for him but could never confess to him.
I knew this feeling of being domestic and loved was fleeting.
     We had ended up on his bed instead of doing something on the couch, so I simply slipped out from under his (warm, loving, grounding) embrace and slipped into my own (cold, harsh, anxiety-inducing) bed – alone. It hurt me deeply, but I knew that was how it was going to be.
     He woke up in the morning with no previous memory of last night, greeting me like I didn't give him my first ever blowjob. I wanted to say something, but it just felt wrong. It would get awkward between us and it would cause my anxiety to sky rocket. Pretty selfish and shitty, right? Well, that's how I felt for the rest of our college experience.
     Even from that single night, I had memorized the noises and faces he made. I couldn't believe I was the one who had given him that type of pleasure. He enjoyed it, even if it was a guy sucking his dick. I would play those noises and picture those faces in the back of my head when I got too bored at night. It sucked.
     It hurt even more when he met her.
    A friend of mine from my drafting class was over one day in hopes of me helping her out with the ridiculously complex blueprint we had to have by the end of next week. He had come home early from one of his classes, mumbling something about the professor being too hungover to teach the class and saw her. She looked back, and I could practically see the sparks flying between the two. I wanted to reach out and snap the wire, but I knew it would hurt me just to touch it.
     As the faint riffs of 'Pour Some Sugar On Me' played throughout my dorm room, I tried to focus as best as I could to help my friend with the blueprint. I could see her sneaking glances at him when she thought I wasn't looking. I wanted to vomit in my mouth; it made my stomach churn. Why couldn't that be me? Why couldn't I be the automatic new love interest of him? Why wasn't I good enough?
     As the days, weeks, months passed, the two of them started dating. She would always use drafting as an excuse to come over to our dorm and hang out, usually leaving me to do all the work – not that I minded. It kept my mind off of the dull throb in my heart when the two of them would cuddle on his bed. The same exact bed, mattress, duvet, comforter, and all, where I had loved him so much that night.
     Rest of my college years? Same thing as explained. My heart was in constant pain, my back was slowly deteriorating, but I had my degree and I was ready to use it. My two friends did too; they'd kicked off their graduation by sharing a kiss in a photo that I had took. I couldn't bear to look at it for too long, so I simply sent it and was done with it.
    We moved into the same apartment building, due to our works being extremely close together. Ironically, I could never get rid of him. Him and his girlfriend had a cozy domestic life that I happened to intrude sometimes, just to get a glance at what life would be like with him as a domestic partner. It still hurt, even compared to the hours of restless drafting for the most recent arm prosthetic I was working on.
     One of the many days I had gone over to his place, though, I remembered all of his girlfriend's things being gone. Up and left. I don't want to be that guy, but my heart practically unclenched itself in my chest. It was the same guilty feeling as before; like I felt in college. Still, I sat there and helped him keep himself on track.
     Weeks went past and I was still over at his apartment. I was practically living there unless I had late night work, like tonight; the night I knocked back three-quarters of the Jack Daniels bottle I had in the fridge. It tasted terrible, honestly, but anything to numb me from the terrible thoughts that replayed over and over again.
     Alcohol blocked out the bad thoughts, and my sense of reason. That's why when I drank the rest and got up on shaking legs; I went directly over to his apartment and sat down with my back to the door. I split my feelings like I split the Keurig coffee I had made for the both of us back on that one night
     "You know, I've loved you ever since I met you. It was crazy, honestly, how hard and easily it was. I loved you with my whole heart and it had never fuckin' left all these years. I memorized that heavenly night in college. You looked amazing when I stared at your face. Your hair fell like a fuckin' halo. It made it feel even more sinful. Then you met her and everything went to shit. My heart hurt for so long during those years. Then you two broke up and I thought I had a chance, but all those nights... All those nights we were drunk out of our minds and I never wanted to take advantage of you. I couldn't fuckin' do it. I would have killed myself knowing I did something to you against your will. Now, I'm just a mess. I have no clue if you're drunk or sober or whatever; I don't care. I love you and you make my heart hurt when I see you. I'm fucked up and I know it. Good night."
     I got up, cracking my back, and stumbled over to my apartment door. I could hear the door crack open from the room over, where he lived. I couldn't face the music. I swung open my door sloppily and closed it, making the whole room shake more than it already did from the alcohol fucking up my vision.
     All I could do was sit with my back against the door while the tears started flowing down my face. I had to close my eyes because the light was just getting to me; it really was all too much at once. All of my senses were being overwhelmed and I couldn't help it. I just sat there – my head a mess and my feelings even messier.

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