let them boys be

(3 times he opened the door, and 1 time he didn't)

Summary: The three times you opened the door and let him in, and the one time you forced yourself to leave it closed. It's for the better, you said to yourself, for the both of us.
Themes/Tags: 3+1. onesided love. angsty. decisions. friends with benefits?
Warnings: very angsty. some love-making (though the 'love' is questionable). how not to treat a friend (especially one that really cares for you too much). loaded with innuendos that are just metaphors, i swear.

(3 times he opened the door, and 1 time he didn't) -

i. He was so drunk he couldn't even stay standing.

Still, you opened the door wider, allowing him to stumble in. He tripped over the welcome mat and instinctively, you caught him. He stank and his eyes were dazed and his voice too loud and his words slurred and incoherent, but you dragged him to the bathroom and helped him into easier clothes. You'd just planned on letting him sleep it off, because this wasn't the first time he decided to crash at your place. That's what friends did, after all.

But this time, he didn't just instantly pass out when he hit the pillows. No, this time he was still awake enough to pull you down with him, to grab you by the arms until you fell on top of him, and before you could even react his lips were on your lips and you were frozen while his hands burned holes on your skin. There were no words to be said and by the time the shock wore off you couldn't go back. And so you let him have that. It was just one night, and he was hammered as hell, so there was no way he would remember in the morning the way your voice came in stutters and hot breaths and how his fingers felt tracing your thighs and how hard you clenched the sheets trying not to wake the neighbours at this fucking hour. You let him have that, because secretly you couldn't deny that you'd wanted this for a long time.

You didn't say anything in the morning, when you woke before he did and took a shower and picked the clothes off the floor and made him breakfast. He didn't say anything either and you left it at that. That's what friends did, after all.

ii. He didn't come back for three weeks.

And while that wasn't anything new, what with both of you no longer kids and having work to do and people to see, you couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed. Maybe he really was too drunk, maybe he really didn't know what had happened. You couldn't forget though, which sucked, honestly. But you didn't say anything to him when you caught him on the phone, you didn't act any different when you met at the bar with your other friends and he didn't do anything to make you suspect that he knew.

And then it happened again, and you wondered how the hell you didn't see it coming. He just got dumped by that girl he met when he went on that trip to the island, he'd been complaining about it all week and you had sighed and told him to find someone new to get laid. Sometimes you said really stupid things, which sucked, because he listened. He always listened to you.

In the middle of it all, he stopped and stared right into your eyes and you couldn't breathe for a moment because you couldn't remember if he was drunk or not. You couldn't remember if you were drunk or not, just that you were so intoxicated with him. And his smile was softer than you'd ever seen it, such a shock that you wondered if you were imagining things. He kissed you on the lips and you thought, Perhaps I was drunk after all. You couldn't decide which you wanted more.

He was gone in the morning, leaving behind nothing but the stained sheets and your aching body to prove that he was ever there.

iii. He said he couldn't stop thinking about you.

You scoffed, thankful that he couldn't see your face across the phone because it was burning slightly. You're a goddamn liar, you replied, and he chuckled because you both knew that that was the truth. Still, you couldn't help smiling the rest of the week because he texted you the same sentence every night and it was nice, even if it didn't really mean anything. You knew that.

You saw the pictures on his page, of some girl at his local gym that you bet couldn't even pronounce his last name properly. You didn't cry, because real men didn't cry and what was there to cry about anyway. He was straight, you knew that.

Still, you unlocked the door that night when he came knocking and you pulled him in and smashed his lips against yours with enough force to blast the moon two inches to the left, creating storms everywhere, like lightning tingling down your spine and shooting electricity right through your very veins. He almost seemed at a loss of how to react, and you almost laughed at him. Who's the one floundering now? you wanted to shout at him, to leer above him and sneer because he would never have known the strange twinges occurring in between your chest when you hear his name, he would never have realized the constant straying of thoughts towards his direction when you hear that stupid song that wasn't really about love because you refused to believe in anything less than concrete, he would never have even gave a single thought about uncontrollable fucking feelings that you wished from the bottom of your throbbing and swollen heart that didn't exist at all----but how, how when he was right there on your floor, hovering above you as you dug your fingers into his back and he pressed right into your skin, wordless and hearts beating too loudly and you wanted to scream in frustration and pain but his teeth felt so goddamned good dragging across your thighs and you sighed in surrender instead.

He smiled at you in the morning and you turned away before you could puke, or worse, smile back.

et i. "Heyyy, I know you're in there. What's wrong? I thought you looooved me."

You put your head back, leaning against the door. He kept knocking, keeping his voice low so the neighbours wouldn't call the police on him. And you almost wished he'd stay like that forever, begging and pleading to come in, asking you to let him in, telling you that he wanted you so, telling you something close to what you've been waiting to hear all your life. And that's what did it, see. Because they were all lies. You knew that.

He said your name again, and you closed your eyes. Your hands twitched to unlock the door and touch his face, just like you'd done so many times in the past, just like you'd done so many times in your dreams. And it would have been so easy, so fucking easy to let him in once more and let him swallow you whole, to stare into those feverish eyes burning with something you wish were more than just lust, so fucking easy to give in to your desire and pretend again that he actually wanted you for more than your body. But you never bought any of those fairy tales, and you knew that he would never ever be able to give you what you deserved.

"... C'mon, babe, I love you."

You nearly threw open the door right then, but you clenched your fists against your head instead. Coward, you thought harshly, fucking coward. Of all the lies he'd thrown at your face, that was one you could never ever take. And he knew that, but still, he slipped up, he was drunk, like the blithering idiot he was. And your heart still pounded at those three words because it's him, it's always been him. He didn't mean it, he'll never mean it, and it broke your fucking heart.

So you let the door stay closed. It's better this way, you thought, for the both of us.

That's just what friends did.

fin.