gt oneshots

unrequited

"Can you stop saying shit like that?"
"Shit like what?"
"Stupid shit." I look down. "It's making me fall in love with you again."
"Is that bad?"
I have to think about it. "Yes."
"How come?" He moves closer to me, just an inch. The uneven surface of the comforter shifts under my feet and almost sends me toppling over into his chest. I think he did it on purpose.
"Because you think it's a joke," I say, pointedly looking away from him. I can't look at his face right now; he's wearing that shit eating grin that makes it hard for me to decide whether I want to kiss him or hit him. Neither of which would be very effective, considering I fit into the palm of his hand. "You think everything's a joke."
"It's a good way to live," he says, turning his eyes up toward the ceiling. It's like a dance, both of us trying not to look at the other for as long as possible, but sometimes stealing a glance when one of us looks the other way. At least I do. This time I can feel his faint breath on my cheek when he talks. Well, it's less talking and more like mumbling in the soft way that he does, half his face buried in the sheets. "If I think everything's a joke, then I can't be sad ever."
"Except you are sad, like, all the time," I point out, just to make him squirm with the knowledge that I've pretty much seen everything that goes on in his apartment. Him crying into buckets of ice cream every night hardly goes unnoticed. I'm never good at making him feel better, so I stopped coming out to check on him when it happens. I just wait until it's over.
"So you do see me crying, and you just don't bother to come out of your little hiding place?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. The bitch can read minds, I swear.
"What good does me coming out even do for you?" I ask, and it's starting to feel like we've had this conversation at least a thousand times already, but I keep it going, because I truly am in love with him. Except he laughed it off when I first told him, and I never knew what to make out of that. Beside the fact that he must not like me like that and I was an idiot for thinking there was a chance that he would.
"Makes me feel less alone," he mumbles into the blankets, hiding more of his face. Somehow he's even closer now, and I can see his eye bags clear as day. He never sleeps during the night, and then expects to feel energetic after a six-hour school day with a three-hour shift at Perkins right after with nothing in his system but a bagel and a couple of Red Bulls.
"Well, maybe I like to be alone," I say, but we both know it's bullshit. I wait around for him to come home everyday like a goddamn dog, sitting by the door and getting excited when I hear the key turn in the lock.
"Alright, fine then," he says, and the air around us feels heavy. I wish he'd laugh or something to make our words sound lighter, but he doesn't. Just closes his eyes and stays quiet. I can smell the cologne on his clothes from here, and it makes me want to curl up against him and never move again, despite the frustration I feel heating up inside me.
It still hasn't boiled over after all the time of waiting and pushing, hoping for something in return with nothing to show for it.
He still doesn't like you. The thoughts rattle around in my head. You're just some pest he found in his cabinets that he decided to keep.
You're not even a person to him.
Finally he breaks the awful silence, resting a hand against the space beside his chest on the bed. "C'mere."
"I'm already here, Jonathan."
"No, I mean, right here."
Before I can move away he cups his hand behind me and nudges me forward. I stumble a little and he scoops me up against his fingers, pushing me into his broad chest. The smell of his body spray is suffocating now, not that I mind it. I push against his chest just to be a dick, but he doesn't move his hand. I'm pretty much stuck.
"Stay," he whispers, and his breath brushes my hair back. A blonde strand of his own falls into his face, and I'm tempted to reach up and brush it away. I don't think I could reach it if I tried.
"For how long?" I grumble, trying not to lean into his chest. But it's really warm, so I end up caving and curling against him anyway.
"Until I can physically make myself get out of bed," he says, eyes still shut.
"So I'm supposed to sit here and be your teddy bear until you get your ass up?"
"Yes. So shut up. I'm trying to sleep."
"You're an ass."
"I know. But you love it for some reason."
I pause, listening to the hum of the ceiling fan. "I do."
Then he presses his lips against the top of my head. I want to hit him, I really do, but it makes me feel something in my chest that I haven't felt in a really long time. So I let him kiss me, even if I know he's just leading me on. But maybe it doesn't matter, so long as I know it won't go anywhere. I won't let him fuck with my feelings again.
I rest against him until his breath evens out and I know he's asleep before I carefully climb out from behind his hands. As soon as the warmth leaves me, I want to go back to him. I want to stay in his hands forever and let him play with me, even if it's all a big game to him. Just as long as he keeps kissing me and making me feel like it could lead to something more.
But I don't. Instead I go back into the walls alone, leaving the stupid feelings I have for him behind me.
He can play with those instead, because I'm done being somebody's dumb little pet.