Disclaimer: Honestly don't own anything, I think. Because since Cheri gave them to me for my birthday, I think I'll give them all to her for her's. Yay! Because I wrote this for her on her birthday. OMGSIXTEEN. I remember when I was that young. JUST KIDDING. Anyway. Don't laugh at the total cliche-ness of this story. It's good anyway. Psht.

Oh wait, title credit goes to Sitabean who rocks my planet too but it's not her birthday until April so she doesn't get a fic yet XD.

Paper Hearts and Roses

God hates me.

I know it sounds like a great thing that my crush asked me to go shopping with him, but seriously. He's my crush, and he's absolutely torturing me by doing this with him to help him buy something for his crush.

First, I hate the mall. I just do. Florescent lights are bad for your eyes, shrieking kids are bad for your ears, and I'm agoraphobic. The mall is death.

Now You throw Ivan "Skittery" Dolan in the mix? Yeah. Thanks God. Love You too.

I'm actually a little surprised at how well he fits in. He's a basketball player, tall (though not as tall as me, of course) and lean, not the type you'd typically see at the mall. Then again, I'm not that type either. I mean, I'm the musical encyclopedia, a complete and total band geek. The only time I'd ever set foot in a mall is for the CD Warehouse. And psht, Best Buy is just as good, and I don't need a mall for that.

But here I am. In a mall. With Skittery Dolan.

Fuck.

"So. Where do you want to start?" I ask, looking at him.

"I... don't know?"

I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. "Look, Skittery... do you even know what this chick likes?"

"Chick? No one said it was a chick we're shopping for, Snitch."

Oh yes. The bane of my existence. Skittery's bisexuality. "So it's a guy this time?"

"... Maybe."

"Skitts, yes or no, please. The difference does matter."

He purses his lips at me. "Okay, fine. It's a guy this time."

Interesting. "Okay. Come on. What does he like?"

"Um... I don't know."

Jesus. No wonder he asked for help. "You honestly don't know what he likes or doesn't like. You suck at this."

"Why do you think I brought you along?" Ouch. Fucking low. But what can I do? Deny him joy? No. Never that. As much as it fucking tortures me, I can't.

So I sigh and shove my hands in my pockets, sullenly leading him through the masses of people, trying to keep my throat from closing up. It's a Saturday, and the Saturday before Valentine's Day, so naturally the mall is completely full. Even the Virgin Megastore requires careful study and planning before entrance. Boys are sweating and fretting, trying to find good gifts for their girls, who are perfuming and cooing, hinting at what the want and feeling lucky that straight boys are so easy to shop for.

"You seriously have no clue what to get him?" I ask, browsing the books in Border's. Skittery shrugs.

"I don't know. I really don't." He picks out a book which analyzes Lord of the Rings. "Think he'd like this?"

"A: I don't even know who he is. You won't tell me. So how am I supposed to know? B..." I pluck the book from his hand and put it back on the shelf. "Don't assume that everyone is a LotR fanatic. You know I only saw the movies 'cause of Elijah."

"Who is totally with Dom."

"Don't start that argument. It's all about Monaboyd."

"You wish." He grins at me, familiar, friendly, and nothing more. I'm not even pretending to hope it's me he's shopping for. Aw man. Yet another reason to hate the mall. Fuck. But I keep up the teasing. He expects it. How can I break routine?

"You now, doing LotR RPS just makes you gayer than you think you are."

"Fuck that."

"Dude, if you jack off to mansex, you're fucking gay. Deal with it." His neon pink blush is the final hint, and I know I've won. This time.

"Okay, fine. I fold." He pouts slightly. "Now help me!"

"Well... what's his personality like?" I pick out a paperback edition of Phantom of the Opera; the classics of literature are my favorites.

"Um... he's kinda nerdy and two-shoe-ish. He's really smart?"

Nope. Totally not me. Damn. Die, already-dead hopes. "Well... smart people like smart books. I think. Yeah. The things that require a lot of thought in order to remember details and figure out symbolism and plot."

"Which books are like that?" He's so cute, his chin tucked into the collar of his red-orange ski-jacket, his hands stuffed into the kangaroo pocket. I smile and gesture for him to follow, leading him to another section.

"Edward Bloor is really good. Tangerine and Crusader are both favorites of mine. And he has a new one out that would probably be a safe bet. Oo, or Gregory Maguire. Wicked and Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister are his better works."

Skittery glances over the books I've suggested, doing the old test of opening it and reading the first page. He looks up at me once he finishes, his head tilting to one side. "This stuff looks hard."

I shrug. "Not really. Bloor always writes at a sixth-seventh grade level. It's his plots that are complicated, not his style."

He puts the books back, looking slightly disappointed. "What about gay books? GLBTQ stuff?"

"Alex Sanchez or David Leviathan. Hands down. Those two are the best. Without a doubt."

He laughs. "Hm. Maybe books aren't a good idea after all. Let's try music."

Oo. Music. My forte, if I can make a lousy pun. "Something I actually know something about! Great! Let's go!"

Even though I'm practically running out of the store, Skittery just ambles along, window-shopping and generally torturing me. On purpose.

"Fucking-A, Skittery!" I scream finally. "You're so fucking slow!"

He gives me this lazy, smartass grin, and I stop in my tracks, stunned by just how goddamn sexy he can be. His hair falls into his eyes, the corners of his mouth perk up, and the urge to just run up to him, jump on him and wrap my legs around his waist is almost unbearable.

Somehow, I manage.

Unfortunately.

"Impatient," he chides when he finally catches up. "Learn to wait."

"Dude, you dragged me here against my will. Sam Goody and Virgin are the only places here I feel at home. I want to be there."

"... You don't want to be here? At the mall, I mean?"

And now he's pouting. Fuck. "Skittery, you know I hate the mall. We've been friends since freshman year. You know this sort of thing by now."

"Yeah. Sorry. It just came out wrong." He grabs the sleeve of my sweater. "Come on. Into the Goody."

He doesn't have to ask; I even end up leading him again, relishing the smell of plastic coverings and paint, the blaring sounds of Green Day, the blinding orange and yellow. I love Goody's. It's my favorite.

"Jesus, Snitch!" Skittery cries, putting his hand on my shoulder as he enters the store behind me. "Kill me, why don't you?"

"Get some longer legs." Not that I mind that long, beautifully curved waist, of course. "Do you know what music he likes?"

Skittery smiles. "You have good taste in music..."

Oh, don't flatter me, bitch, it hurts. "Psht. I'm a music snob."

"You have good taste," he insists. "So I'm sure he'll like anything you like."

I'm not really sure if that's a true statement; I love music, but I can pretty damn picky about what I listen to. Rap, for instance? Out of the question. I'll admit it takes skill to rap, but it's not music. Get it out of my music store. It's bullshit. Only exception? Linkin Park. Them, I love. Anyone else, though, just needs to stop before I bust a cap in their ass.

See? Picky. And don't even get me started on Country vs. "Crossover Artists" or the Heavy Metal Screamers. I'll go on for hours.

Skittery's eyes widen, pleading, and I melt. "Fine, fine," I mutter, starting to browse:

"Hate, hate, hate, okay, never heard of these guys, loathe, despise, eh, okay, hate..." I look at Skittery, who's obviously trying not to laugh as I dismiss band after band. "Are you sure I should pick? You know him, at least, and my tastes in music aren't exactly normal."

"You at least know rap isn't music."

"Something I had to teach you, fool."

"Hey! So not fair!"

"Oh shush, and tell me, does he like Broadway? That's always a good bet."

"... You are so gay."

I raise my eyebrows and he laughs. "Some people shouldn't be talking."

"Oh shut up." He blushes and picks up Bowling for Soup's first CD. "I'm bi."

"You still like penis."

"Shut up!" He shakes his head and gives me the CD. "How's this one?"

"Eh, okay, but I wouldn't bet on it." I put it back and continue browsing. "I think they're a little too... uh, new is maybe the right word? Try something no one else has heard of, period, or someone everyone knows."

"Like Britney?" He teases; he knows how much I loathe that stupid twat. I mean, come on. If you want a skank's music, at least get a skank who can actually fucking sing, like Christina, who can also at least admit she is a skank, unlike Brit. Jesus. I hate that bitch. Like no fucking other.

"Don't even get me started, butthole." I give him a look, raised eyebrows and pursed lips and he relents.

"Okay fine. Who here do you like?"

"Lots of people. The Killers. Green Day. Maroon 5. Linkin Park. Of course classics, classic jazz, and Broadway."

Skittery smiles, but it's a different kind of smile. More... affectionate than his other smiles. He sighs as he does it, and his eyes soften ever so slightly; my pulse speeds up as I watch him.

Then, quick like a bunny, it's gone. His eyes are focused on the hundreds of CDs before him (although very few are any good), and his cheeks and the bridge of his nose burn pink.

Jesus. He's so fucking gorgeous.

"What?"

The spoken word jars me from my extended study of his features. "Whathuh?"

"Dude. You're staring at me. What's up?"

I can feel my own face heating up. "Oh, um... uh, nothing." Fuck. Caught. He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. He's almost like a kitten studying a toy mouse, getting ready to pounce. I turn away from him.

"Do I have something on my face?"

Yes. What would you like to hear about more? Your stormy eyes? The beauty marks on your cheek? Your perfectly curved nose? The absolutely adorable tiny of pink in your skin? "... N-no."

"... Are you okay?"

"Yeah. C'mon, let's keep-" When I start to move past him, his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, dragging me back.

"Snitch, what's wrong?" He grabs my shoulders and tries to make me look at him, but I stubbornly turn my head away, refusing. "Come on. Snitch?"

"I wish you were shopping for me." It sounds pathetic, and as soon as it's out of my mouth, I wish I could take it back. "... Fuck. Sorry."

"No, wait... what? You... oh Jeez." He puts one hand over his mouth and takes a step back. "Oh, Snitch, I'm sorry-"

"It's okay," I cut him off and lean against the display rack. "Don't worry about it."

"Snitch, look-"

"No. It's fine. Any more ideas or suggestions for your special guy?" I smile at him, both pleased and disgusted with myself. I'm a great actor when I need to be; no matter what emotion is raging inside me, tormenting my brain, I can always smile and go on without letting others know. I'm still not sure if this is a blessing or a curse; at times it can feel like both.

"Snitch." I raise my eyebrows, looking innocent, and he sighs. "Come with me."

"But we gotta-"

"Snitch."

"We haven't-"

"Come on." Skittery starts back out to the mall area, his hands in his pockets. I stand at the rack for a moment longer, then jog after him, keeping my head low.

"Where are we going?" I ask. He shakes his head and says nothing. My brain starts spinning with fear and my stomach flops. What's going on? Did I just ruin four years of friendship?

"Skittery?" I look at him; he doesn't return the gesture. "Skitts?"

"Come here." In a little delve next to the Gap is a hallway leading to the restrooms. He takes me there, into the restroom, where he stops.

"Skittery?" My heartbeat is insane, slamming against my chest as he turns to face me. "What's going on?"

He tilts his head to the side, then takes a step forward. Afraid, I step back, away from him, and he smiles.

"Aw, Snitchy," he says softly. "You're so blind. Sweet and talented and fun... but blind."

I take another step back, pressing against the wall as I try to stay standing upright. "... Why?"

I hear his palms slap against the plaster before I see him, his arms pressing against the wall, his chest a breath away, and his face within kissing distance. I realize that I'm looking up at him for once, that I'm cowering under those intense eyes and that, somehow, despite this odd fear, my khaki pants feel just a little too tight.

"For years it's been you, Snitch. We first met in seventh grade, you know, and it started then."

Wait, me? What's he saying?

"I managed to pretend I didn't like you until freshman year, when we got to be friends. Then it just got worse."

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

"Dating other girls, dating other guys... attempts to get over you or to make you jealous. And this guy, the one we've been shopping for? Didn't even exist." He smiles shyly, turning his face away. "I just wanted to spend a little more time with you."

I stare at him for a moment, then straighten up, my knees popping. "... You had to know I liked you back, then. Right? I mean..."

"I had an idea," he admits. "But I didn't want to take any chances. I'd rather never know than end up broken-hearted."

That tears it. I put my fingers behind his neck and draw him close; his hair brushes against my forehead and our noses tap together. I feel him exhale against my lips and shudder. His hands touch just below my shoulderblades, and I don't know why I'm hesitating. Maybe I'm just afraid it will all turn out to be some peculiar dream and I don't want to wake up hurt.

But he tilts his head slightly and kiss the corner of my mouth. I whimper, unable to help myself. "Chris..." he whispers. My real name. And that's all it takes.

Our lips meet and all other thoughts disappear without a trace. It's him and me, alone in the restroom, me sandwiched between the wall and his trim, perfect body. His hands fall to my waist, thumbs slipping through my waistband, softly rubbing my skin. I can tell from his responsive and attentive moves that he was totally serious when he said he's liked me for forever.

He pushes his leg between mine, gently pressing it against my tented pants. "Dude," I whisper, gasping slightly. "Fucking suck."

He laughs and kisses my neck, nuzzling my ear. "Yeah?"

"... Goddamn tease."

"Deal with it." His leg nudges my growing erection again, and I sigh, grinning despite myself. "Snitchy, how far can I-"

"Why are you asking when you already know the answer?"

Needless to say, when we leave the restroom, Skittery's hair is sticking up, my shirt is untucked, and we're both grinning like idiots. He slings his arm around my shoulders, pressing his hip against mine; I put my arm around his waist.

"Well," he says, somewhat breathless, "can't say you hate the mall now, can you?"

"Oh yes I can," I respond, smirking. "What went on in there had nothing to do with the mall."

"It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't dragged you here."

"It would've happened eventually."

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. "Hardass."

"Bite me."

"You wish."

"You bet."

Fuck, I love us.

---

Monday morning at school, I go to my locker and open it without a second thought. Skittery is taking me out to dinner tonight, then to his place for a movie. It's a date I'm very much looking forward to.

But I'm surprised to find a gleaming silver box on the bottom of my locker, decorated with red ribbon and a single red rose.

I shove my books onto the top shelf and pick up the box. There's only one person it could possibly be from; only one other person knows my combination.

I slide the ribbon off and open the box, tucking the rose behind my ear. Hidden under white tissue paper is a small blue book.

"Boy Meets Boy, David Leviathan," I read the title aloud, smiling to myself. "Lucky him I've read it but don't own it."

I open the front cover to find an inscription in scrawled cursive, long crosses on the 't's and slanted 'i's. Skittery's handwriting.

Chris (or Snitch)- it said, Originally the plan was for this to be your birthday present next month from your 'secret admirer' but you broke through that and my admiration isn't so secret anymore. Not that I mind. Happy Valentine's Day. Je t'aime, chéri.

French. Je t'aime, chéri. I don't even take French, but I know what that means.

I hug the book to my chest, my face warm, my heartbeat loose and wild, my lips perked and smiling.

"Hey." I glance up and my smile widens as Skittery leans over and kisses my cheek, laughing and flicking the rose behind my ear. "I see you got my gift."

"Oh, this is from you?" I tease. "I thought it was from my other boyfriend."

He rolls his eyes and hugs me. "Like anyone else could handle you."

"Ouch." I hold the book out and smile at it, running my hand over the cover, simple blue with candy hearts. "Thanks Skittery. I appreciate it."

He hugs me again, and kisses my hair. "Not a problem at all."

"I wish I'd gotten you something-"

"Don't start that." He turns me around and looks me in the eye. "I have you. And that's enough."

Okay. I fucking melt. I throw my arms around his neck and I melt into him like I have nothing else to live for. And right at this moment, I really don't.

He puts one hand on the back of my neck and kisses me, right in the middle of the hallway, the basketball player and the music encyclopedia. I'm sure people are staring, but it really doesn't matter.

He's mine.

And God loves me.

END

:AUTHOR'S NOTE:

... Yes. It's cliche. Shut up. It's cute anyway. And OMG they did stuff in a public bathroom. That's cute. XD Anyway, yeah, happy birthday to my Cheri. XD