(no subject)
Yeah, not sure how this one came about. Definitely not personal experience. I dunno. Happy early Singles Awareness Day, everybody.
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.” ~Neil Gaiman
***
He was the odd one out in the class, the new kid that nobody particularly liked. People mocked him behind his back. Why does he have such girly hair? I heard his family’s whacked out. He only ever hangs out with the girls, might as well be one. You never mocked him, but then again, you tended not to mock anyone unless they proved that they were an idiot.
There was nothing special about you, or him - just two people in the same class, you supposed. He was the weird kid, you were a popular kid. So you couldn’t understand why he picked you to come up to, holding his heart in his hand as he murmured “I like you,” eyes downcast as if already fearing rejection. It took a minute to get that he meant it in a ‘girls like guys’…well, a ‘guys like guys’ way, anyways.
He looked horrible and unsure of himself, and it halfway broke your heart to say that you didn’t feel the same way about him. You couldn’t think of anything to soften the words, but tried to cheer him up anyways, saying “I’d like to be friends, if that’s okay.”
He had practically fallen into tears by then, and you did your best to make him stop crying, but after a while he just got up and ran. You sat in your bed for the rest of the night, feeling horrible about everything, but when you got to school the next day he sat next to you during lunch, just listening to your chatter about everything and nothing. “He’s my friend,” you said when people whispered, “so shut up already!”
It didn’t take long for the two of you to become best friends, and after a while he didn’t even look a bit heartsick when you absentmindedly talked about a girl who had caught your eye. He merely nodded along, agreed with your analysis of her traits, and jibed you about your crush for the entire week you had it, until she kicked you in the face for groping her.
And then, suddenly the two of you were cutting class on the green years later, when you were still the popular, sunny kid, but he had become the mysterious, aloof teen with the dark past who all the girls suddenly wanted to get to know. You said something, and he snorted, and you turned to yell at him and the light caught his profile just right, and
oh.
And suddenly he isn’t just your best friend anymore, but a guy who looks stunning, a guy who already knows all of your stories and secrets and past adventures and belongs in your life as much as you do.
“Go out with me,” you say without thinking, and he snorts again, tilting his head to the side and resting it on your shoulder. “Idiot,” he says.
“No,” you say, something twisting in your chest and tugging forward and to the side. So this was the proverbial lump. You wonder if he felt this way when he confessed to you, all those years ago, but you can’t stop, now that you’ve started. “I like you.”
You can feel him rolling his eyes next to you, and the knot gets tighter as he sits up straight. “I would hope so, we’re…best…”
He must have seen your face, because he stops speaking. When he next speaks up, his voice is gentle, and you want to hit him. “I…” he starts, then shakes his head, as if trying to clear it. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel that way about you anymore.”
Something hot and wet builds up right above your cheeks, and you look away. “Alright,” you say, trying to pretend that your voice isn’t coming out low and slowly.
He rests a hand on your shoulder. “I -”
“Don’t worry about it,” you cut him off, squeezing cheer into your voice like milk from cheese. “It was just a stupid joke, anyways.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he says, and tries to spin you around to face him. Your eyes remain fixed on the ground, your head tilted decidedly away. You can’t look at him, you won’t look at him. “It wasn’t a joke. And you’re not all right.”
“I’m fine,” you say, and are horrified when your nose betrays you by distinctly letting out the sound of a sniffle. You’re no baby anymore, and you don’t need it when he hugs you, even if you do lean into him and dribble into puddles on his shirt.
“We’ll…” he says, and sounds helpless. The two of you have sworn to hurt anyone who breaks the other’s heart - never have you considered that it could happen between you again. “We’ll always be friends, right? I’ll be here for you, even if…I can’t be there in the way you want me to.”
And you never thought you could hate a word in the English language so badly - even ‘murderer’ or ‘genocide’ can’t possibly inspire the anger you feel at ‘friends’. ‘Friends’. ‘Friends’.
You wonder how much strength it took for him to just sit down next to you the day after you invoked that hateful word, to just sit and listen and pretend that everything was fine. Because that is what you will have to do - smile and reassure him, and sit down next to him and pretend that everything is all right until it finally is. You owe him no less, but you wonder how much it will hurt.
“Yeah,” you say, because you’re too old to run. “Yeah, we’ll always be friends.”
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.” ~Neil Gaiman
***
He was the odd one out in the class, the new kid that nobody particularly liked. People mocked him behind his back. Why does he have such girly hair? I heard his family’s whacked out. He only ever hangs out with the girls, might as well be one. You never mocked him, but then again, you tended not to mock anyone unless they proved that they were an idiot.
There was nothing special about you, or him - just two people in the same class, you supposed. He was the weird kid, you were a popular kid. So you couldn’t understand why he picked you to come up to, holding his heart in his hand as he murmured “I like you,” eyes downcast as if already fearing rejection. It took a minute to get that he meant it in a ‘girls like guys’…well, a ‘guys like guys’ way, anyways.
He looked horrible and unsure of himself, and it halfway broke your heart to say that you didn’t feel the same way about him. You couldn’t think of anything to soften the words, but tried to cheer him up anyways, saying “I’d like to be friends, if that’s okay.”
He had practically fallen into tears by then, and you did your best to make him stop crying, but after a while he just got up and ran. You sat in your bed for the rest of the night, feeling horrible about everything, but when you got to school the next day he sat next to you during lunch, just listening to your chatter about everything and nothing. “He’s my friend,” you said when people whispered, “so shut up already!”
It didn’t take long for the two of you to become best friends, and after a while he didn’t even look a bit heartsick when you absentmindedly talked about a girl who had caught your eye. He merely nodded along, agreed with your analysis of her traits, and jibed you about your crush for the entire week you had it, until she kicked you in the face for groping her.
And then, suddenly the two of you were cutting class on the green years later, when you were still the popular, sunny kid, but he had become the mysterious, aloof teen with the dark past who all the girls suddenly wanted to get to know. You said something, and he snorted, and you turned to yell at him and the light caught his profile just right, and
oh.
And suddenly he isn’t just your best friend anymore, but a guy who looks stunning, a guy who already knows all of your stories and secrets and past adventures and belongs in your life as much as you do.
“Go out with me,” you say without thinking, and he snorts again, tilting his head to the side and resting it on your shoulder. “Idiot,” he says.
“No,” you say, something twisting in your chest and tugging forward and to the side. So this was the proverbial lump. You wonder if he felt this way when he confessed to you, all those years ago, but you can’t stop, now that you’ve started. “I like you.”
You can feel him rolling his eyes next to you, and the knot gets tighter as he sits up straight. “I would hope so, we’re…best…”
He must have seen your face, because he stops speaking. When he next speaks up, his voice is gentle, and you want to hit him. “I…” he starts, then shakes his head, as if trying to clear it. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel that way about you anymore.”
Something hot and wet builds up right above your cheeks, and you look away. “Alright,” you say, trying to pretend that your voice isn’t coming out low and slowly.
He rests a hand on your shoulder. “I -”
“Don’t worry about it,” you cut him off, squeezing cheer into your voice like milk from cheese. “It was just a stupid joke, anyways.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he says, and tries to spin you around to face him. Your eyes remain fixed on the ground, your head tilted decidedly away. You can’t look at him, you won’t look at him. “It wasn’t a joke. And you’re not all right.”
“I’m fine,” you say, and are horrified when your nose betrays you by distinctly letting out the sound of a sniffle. You’re no baby anymore, and you don’t need it when he hugs you, even if you do lean into him and dribble into puddles on his shirt.
“We’ll…” he says, and sounds helpless. The two of you have sworn to hurt anyone who breaks the other’s heart - never have you considered that it could happen between you again. “We’ll always be friends, right? I’ll be here for you, even if…I can’t be there in the way you want me to.”
And you never thought you could hate a word in the English language so badly - even ‘murderer’ or ‘genocide’ can’t possibly inspire the anger you feel at ‘friends’. ‘Friends’. ‘Friends’.
You wonder how much strength it took for him to just sit down next to you the day after you invoked that hateful word, to just sit and listen and pretend that everything was fine. Because that is what you will have to do - smile and reassure him, and sit down next to him and pretend that everything is all right until it finally is. You owe him no less, but you wonder how much it will hurt.
“Yeah,” you say, because you’re too old to run. “Yeah, we’ll always be friends.”