•strictly platonic• boy x boy •

•nathan and oliver•

Nathan Hawkins

I had locked myself in my room. I couldn't bear anymore of this sh*t. Would my parents shut up for once? Would they stop being such jerks? Would they stop being homophobic? Would they stop calling gays faggots? I wanted to run away, but where would I go? I had nowhere to go and despite everything that has happened, my mind always wanders back to Ollie.

Oh, Ollie. I had already accepted the fact that Ollie is never going to love me the same way I love him. The lingering gazes, the tender touches, the hot gasps of air, the sweet nothings. They're all a joke. I'm a joke. The soft kisses, the quick makeout sessions are what friends do from time to time. I sometimes think I have a chance, but then I see the way he looks at other people and I'm forced to look away. After talking with Robyn, I felt like I finally acknowledged my true feelings. I couldn't stay in denial forever. I know that I should try to talk to him one last time. It's not as easy as it sounds. This might be the last time. We could ignore all of this, go back to the way it was. If I attempt to confess my feelings, I'm afraid he will push me away for good.

As long as I'm with him I'll be content. Let it stay a friendship. I don't care. Even if I can see him from a distance.

Don't lie to yourself.

For the umpteenth time today, I became choked up at the thought of losing him. Why can't these feelings just go away?! I clutched my shirt, as if the pain in my chest would go away. My heart clenched, tears falling down my face. I could taste the salt, the bitterness. Why did it hurt so much? Does he hate me? I wish I could rip my heart out.

A sudden knocking on my door startled me out of my self-deprecating thoughts. I jolted in place and sat on the floor like a deer in headlights in anticipation of who was at the door. "Who's there?" I asked, trying to sound like I hadn't been crying for the past thirty minutes. I cringed at how poorly I did so, my voice cracking and raspy.

Whoever it was didn't answer and walked into the room, slowly opening the door. I recoiled in my place on the floor and watched the door open with wide eyes. Everything happened in slow-motion as I was met with a familiar mop of sun-bleached, blonde hair. Blue eyes that held desperation. Ollie.

My bottom lip quivered as he took a step towards me. I couldn't look at him anymore. I was a mess. "Nate." He spoke quietly, barely above a whisper.

I was staring at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. He shouldn't see me like this. I couldn't even open my mouth, frightened that I'd choke on my words and start sobbing again. I was a fragile glass of water pushed to the edge of a table, silently pleading that it wouldn't be spilled. "Nate?" He was still quiet, but I could hear him shuffling around. He closed the door softly and I saw his feet before he kneeled in front of me. "Why are you crying?" I should be asking him who let him in the house.

At least he didn't ask "are you okay" because it should've been apparent that I was definitely not. At least he didn't ask what was wrong because he should know damn well what was. Why was I crying? The list is too long. He should have asked me when am I not crying because everything reminds me of him; nothing seems to make me smile anymore except the memories of him. How ironic.

Instead of answering his question, I forced myself to speak, refusing to make eye contact with someone who led me to this state. "Why are you here?" It sounded angrier than I had intended so he flinched in his place.

"I-uh. Well, I thought about what you said." He had to be more specific. "I broke up with my girlfriend."

That's the first thing he says to me after this whole time? What's he getting at? "Why should I care?"