let them boys be

(i know, i know, i know.)

Summary: You know when you're hopelessly, head-over-heels, completely in love with someone, but at the same time you know you're definitely, inevitably, helplessly fucked? 
Tags/Themes: unrequited love. friends-with-benefits. descriptive. repetitive.
Notes: so yeah, apparently i'm a sucker for angst. wrote this on a whim because manga feels; unedited. (also, we started diction in ap english, which is another word for mind-numbing horror because now i'm questioning every single goddamn word i'm typing, ugh)

(i know, i know, i know.) -

I know Tyler like the back of my hand. Even more so, I'd say, because who looks at the back of their hands, anyway. I knew him from when I accidentally bumped into him while I was trying to find my class in a new school and he decided to drag me along as he hid from the vice principal for setting off the sprinklers in one room, again. Ever since, I've spent my time getting to know him, and know him, and know him, until I know him so well, sometimes I wonder if I know him better than I know myself.

I know what kind of cereal he takes in the morning, what kind of clothes he liked best, what kind of music he prefers to drown the world out with. I know how he takes his coffee, and how he only takes it on weekdays because on weekends he likes sleep and caffeine kept him too aware of all the things he's procrastinating on. I know where he likes to shop and how he could spend hours going back and forth in front of the same display until someone finally gets it for him out of exasperation, if not kindness of their own hearts. I know which song contains lyrics that always made him laugh, which song has the power to make him fall silent in the middle of a conversation, which song he could only listen to when he's sure no one would be watching his eyes.

I know the passcode on his phone despite the fact that he likes to change it every three days, so often even he forgets, but he always manages to find me so I could unlock it for him. I know there's a whole playlist on his phone dedicated to Disney songs, and he will never skip a single one when it's on. I know he likes to text late into the night even though people are trying to fucking sleep, I know he wouldn't stop anyway because his insomnia is like a clingy ex that has no concept of a schedule.

I know he can't sing for shit but that doesn't stop him from dragging us all to the karaoke over at Lanedun's, I know he can't really handle fizzy drinks but he can eat a whole buffet by himself and still have room for dessert. I know he's hopeless at studying for quizzes, but somehow can magically ace the finals without difficulty. I know he talks too much and too loudly to make up for the fact that when he gets home alone the first thing he does isn't to head to the fridge for a snack like he makes the rest of them all believe, instead he turns on the tv, turns up the radio, boots up the computer, turns on the lights, does everything to make that empty house feel less cold.

I know he can't take anything seriously unless there's money involved, I know he can't be trusted with a car or anything requiring gas, because there was this one time in a parking lot and in the after dark and somebody snuck booze in from an older sibling and needless to say, we were banned from that place for the end of our lives. I know he hates weed because the smell makes him dizzy as fuck, but he'll light up a cigarette with grace and offer me one despite the numberless times I've refused. I know he keeps a piece of string inside his pocket at all times to fiddle with when he's bored, which is often, I know he hates being ignored or left out and so he'll appear extra obnoxious to all who didn't know him.

I know what he sounds like when he's high off sugar, I know what he sounds like at three in the morning somewhere out in the night, I know what he sounds like when he's barely awake. I know what he sounds like when he's trying to remember the name of that girl who confessed to him three weeks ago and he went along with it for about forty six hours until he decided her mouth just wasn't skilled enough. I know what he sounds like when his eyes are cold as ice and his fists clenched tight as he stares down an offender who dares insult him. I know what he sounds like tired to the bone and so fucking done with everything, because fuck school and fuck his absent parents and fuck their judging eyes and fuck life. I know what he sounds like when I present him with the chocolate he's been dropping hints at like crazy since January, even though we're both guys and I had to bear the heat of all the eyes of girls who were waiting in line with me on February the 13th. I know what he sounds like when his fingers are clutching me tight against him, his eyes squeezed shut and teeth digging into my skin, when I allow him, give in to him, give him, give him, and he pushes against me but pulls back as if he's hanging off the roof of a building just barely. I know what he sounds like when his eyes are too full of emotions I'm still too much of a coward to name, how broken glass and scratchy throat, I know what he sounds like when his eyes are too empty of emotions I'm still desperate to believe he's capable of, how hollow echoes, how sharp-like-knives.

I know how quick he is to anger, how easily he gives in to his emotions. I know how impulsive he is, and how half the things he says he won't remember five minutes later, much less mean them forever. I know just how good he is at acting like someone he's not, purely for the sake of others's eyes on him. I know how his eyes can darken in a way that shoots tingles down south and still manages to get my hopes up, after all this time. I know just how good he is with his hands, whether it's carving figurines or tracing down my spine with an ease I dream of endlessly. I know what sets him off and what calms him down. I know how he likes it rough with him in charge, where to put pressure to make him gasp into my neck, when to lean in to catch his impossible-to-resist lips. I know he'll whisper sweet nothings that mean literally nothing, because he'll leave in the morning and we will pretend nothing happened, like I don't think of him in the middle of the night or watch him with eyes that know better but can't fucking help it. I know he'll treat me like a friend or a stranger or a goddamn puppy and I'll take it like it's worth something, I know because he'll drag me back soon enough and we'll be lying on the same bed with breathless heat and unsaid not-secrets running between us like blood. I know he won't answer questions head on and he's an expert at changing the subject, I know he'll never admit to anything that might possibly tie him down. I know he doesn't like attachments or promises, I know he dislikes the way relationships are built on that, I know he'll never give me anything like that, and in return, he never expected me to either.

I know he's vibrant like fireworks at night, like sunlight in the morning, like watercolour on canvas. I know, like the photographs I collect of the both of us, the way his smile flashes brighter than that of the camera's and I, I am still looking at him like he is the flame that lit my match, which is wrong because he's a forest fire that I watched as it got bigger and burned harsher until I am swept away into orange-red-yellow embers that hurt, and hurt, but oh, so beautifully brilliant.

I know Tyler like the back of my hand, I know him better than I know myself. I know I am hopelessly, head-over-heels, completely in love with him, and I also know I'm definitely, inevitably, helplessly fucked, because I know, I know, I know, that he won't ever feel the same.