A/N: A little fic inspired by a conversation I had a few days ago with Akaiblush, the author of the oh-so-excellent "Game, Set, Match."



"How He Feels Tomorrow"



It began with a strangely alluring moment, silent and delicious like sugarcane against closed lips, as he smiled at me one morning over one of our many before-class card games and it occurred to me with mild surprise that I was in love with him. I already knew that I loved him of course, just not like that.

"Hey," he had asked me curiously when I paused for a moment to register the new information. "What's with the weird look?"

"I just realized that I'm in love with you," I explained, because he was who he was, after all, and it would be silly to hide my affection from its object. He and the others blinked at me and I played my next card. I didn't bother to bring it up again, because I never really thought it mattered.

He asked me about it a week or so later, very nervously and acting like he expected me to be mad for bringing it up. We were in his room, doing our homework, and he just suddenly blurted, "Are you really in love with me?"

I was surprised at the question- I'd already told him I was; why would he doubt me?- but I reconfirmed the sentiment and went back to my math, which was giving me a headache. He showed me how to do it, and blushed slightly when I thanked him.

It didn't come up again for a few more weeks- I had no real reason to mention it; he already knew how I felt and that meant if he ever decided he returned the feeling, the next move was his. The game of love does have a few rules I won't break. I may be hanging out with his other side too much, though. I've been comparing almost everything to games lately.

Finally, though, his other side decided the situation, as it were, was worth discussion and cornered me behind the school. I think I made him angry, actually. He kept trying to find layers of meaning in everything I said to him, and I couldn't understand half of what he was saying himself- although that may have been because he was speaking in Egyptian. Ancient Egyptian at that. It didn't sound like anything he should be saying in school either.

Whatever happened, he wound up slapping me. I don't think he meant to hit me as hard as he did, but he was so angry that he used a great deal of strength and left a bruise on my cheek. The moment he hit me all of the anger just drained away, but neither side of him has spoken to me since. Which hurts, in a weird way, but I try not to notice that so much.

The others are worried about us- they drag me aside in hallways and whisper angry words, demanding to know what has become of our friendship that he ignores me where we were once closer than brothers. I can tell them nothing, only shrug it off like it doesn't make me ache and wonder at it myself.

They assume it is something that I have done, though, and they are most likely right, though I don't know what it could be. The bruise has mostly faded, and he can look at me again, but still never says a word in my direction. I can only hope that it will pass too.

But I don't worry too much now- I can't believe that he hates me after all we've done together. Whatever's wrong, he'll get over it, and we can get back to normal. It'll be okay eventually. I have to believe that. So when I see him in the hall and he smiles at me, I give him my best grin and for no reason, he laughs. And then we're talking again, like nothing was ever wrong between us.

And nothing ever could be, you know. Even if we can't always both "get it", that doesn't take away the fact that we are best friends.

Or more. Depending on how he feels tomorrow.



* ende *