•strictly platonic• boy x boy •

•twelve•

Robyn Hook

"Rise and shine," I sang to Em like Kylie Jenner. It was already eight, which was late for Em, the early-riser. I usually wake up before him, but for the most part, that was usually at ass o' clock, before even Em woke up at six, that naturally early-riser. If I didn't have insomnia, I'd gladly sleep for twelve hours straight. "Wake up sleeping beauty~" I sing-songed to Em, who had his arm around my torso and one leg haphazardly thrown over mine. His breathing was even and I could make out his slightly-smiling face. Must be a good dream. I had a pretty decent sleep, but that's usually a given every time I sleep with Emerson. It was slightly dim in the tent, the sun just barely peeking from the horizon. It was odd that he still hadn't woken up after my gentle attempts. Was he really that tired? I nudged him and he stirred, hugging me closer to him.

As much as I would love to stay there for an eternity, I don't think my heart could handle it. Every point our bodies met, touched, or even grazed, burned to the touch, sending tremors to my hands and shivers down my spine. There was a pit in my stomach, dropping like I was on the Tower of Terror. That falling pit, almost making me nauseous, is what people would describe as butterflies. Why do they call it butterflies? Like something fluttering? It was more like a kick to the gut, a kick full of affection, longing, and desire to be with Em, with a dash of pain, knowing that there was only a slim chance of my feelings being reciprocated. I shouldn't be thinking about it. Don't even try. It's not worth getting your heart broken, Robyn. But what if...

I was always trapezing on a thin line. Sure I flirted, but they were under the guise of jests, mocks, and jabs. Em never took them seriously. I never meant them seriously. But what if I started now? Would he even notice? I mean, surely not. He always thinks I'm trolling. Then, maybe I shouldn't. He never reacted well whenever he got hit on. Granted, the majority of them were creeps, but he couldn't even take a simple compliment without blushing.

I blinked away the tears that had the audacity to spill out. Shit, get back in there, tears. Channel your inner Officer Earl. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about him. We're just friends, nothing has changed for the past decade. What makes me think anything would change now? But I wanted him so bad, it was always torture, self-inflicted as a double-edged sword. Yeah, I could cuddle him. And sure, I could kiss him on the cheek. But as friends. Best friends. No further. Whoever ends up as Em's significant other would end up as the luckiest bastard in the universe, but I couldn't imagine anyone even remotely worthy of that position. This back and forth conflict in my head continued when I shakily exhaled and saw Em squinting.

"Welcome to the land of the living, Em." He rubbed his eyes and rolled over to his back. My left side immediately felt cold. "It's a little past eight already. Had a nice dream? You were smiling."

"Oh, geez. Eight? I woke up late... Wait, I was smiling?"

"Well, yeah. Pleasant dream?"

"I guess. I don't remember that much. Just roses."

"Roses?"

"Yeah, I don't know, it was nothing special."

"What color were the roses?"

"Why?"

"Don't know, maybe they mean something. You know, like, flower language."

"I mean I have heard of flower language, but how would my brain give me subconscious clues and meanings if I don't know the correlation between the colors and their meanings in the first place? You know what I mean?" Dang smartass.

"I guess, but what's the color?" I was trying to be attentive, hoping he'd notice, and lay it on him gently. But it's pretty obvious he's as dense as bricks when it comes to stuff like this.