Today I Can.

10. The Simple Things.

★ It's the simple things you do, I just can't get enough of you. It's that perfume that you wear and the way you do your hair, that I love so much.
And it's the simple things you say, and how in bed we play. It's the way you kiss my cheek when you think that I'm asleep
I love it so much ★

.The Simple Things. Michael Carreon.

★★★

Love hated being angry; he hated that awful feeling in his chest, that pressure, that breathlessness he got whenever it happened. He hated the way his brows furrowed, his skin becoming tight and achy; he hated his clenching hands and his sore muscles; he hated that he could not stop thinking about the problem until it went away completely, not being able to let anything go; he hated that everytime he closed his eyes, his mind would wander there once more.

He hated being angry, and he hated it even more when it was because he had made someone he loved, upset.

Love couldn't get P'Tangmo's hurt expression out of his head. And he couldn't stand any longer that his P' was not talking to him, that he seemed to be avoiding Love. Or, even worse, he was still talking to him, but not like before. Love could tell, even if P'Tangmo had told him he wasn't upset anymore, that he still was; in the way he barely made eye contact with Love; in the way he didn't stay after practice to be with him anymore; in the way Love had just seen him a few counted times during this past week.

Love hated being angry; but he hated even more to be the person P'Tangmo was angry at.

And Love felt frustrated, impotent, as if he hadn't even had a chance to be a part of what had happened. Love hadn't even said anything, and, still, P' had been mad. Now, a week later, he was wondering what he should have done to stop it, to stop his mistake, so that things would be normal again. P'Tangmo was the love of his life, he was his best friend; Love could not bare any second more of this torture, of being so close, yet at the same time, so far from him. P' was there, and he was speaking, and his eyes were looking at him, but he wasn't really seeing Love, he wasn't really talking to him.

He wasn't really listening.

P'Tangmo had become selectively deaf; selectively meaning that he only chose to ignore Love among everyone else, and that he was only listening to what he wanted to listen. And Love didn't have a choice anymore.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted when he felt a hand on his back, and Love jolted, raising his gaze.

P'Vier had a small smile on his lips, the skin beside them barely crinkling, and Love could spot the soft tenseness in his eyes, the glint that meant pity.

Or, perhaps, it was understandment. Because who else could understand him better right now than P'Vier, who had been ignored by the love of his life in the past?

"Hey" P' said, softly, his hand staying put, and took a seat next to Love on the bench. "Am I interrupting your alone time?".

Love quietly chuckled, shaking his head.

He remembered having told P'Vier once that he sometimes needed some alone time; to think, to figure things out. P' had merely laughed - not mockingly, just amused - , which had caused quite the banter to start between them.

"Don't worry. I think I've had plenty of alone time this past week" Love replied, his eyes going back to the field, where some boys were taking advantage of the sunny day to play football. Love sometimes wondered if the people who seemed more at ease had troubles themselves; he couldn't picture himself enjoying something when he was in a gloomy mood, he would just screw it up. "More than I would have liked".