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
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
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
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 *