Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon…

Kiss Him Wrong

By: CrimsonAnjel

Walking towards him with a kiss on my mind. He's been ready to see the worst of me for a long time, but he's not ready for this. If he thinks I'm gay any longer, I'll prove him wrong; if I kiss him it will be like in all the movies. If I kiss him he will feel nothing--I will feel nothing--and this stupid argument will be over.

He's so smug in a crowd of friends, chatting as if he wasn't yelling at me two minutes ago. His chocolate brown eyes, so beautiful and capable of deceiving, are laughing along with his smile as he cracks another joke. His pearly white teeth flash against his tanned skin, only ten feet away from me now.

Those lips will be my proof. And then there will be nothing left to argue. If I do this now and everyone sees that it means nothing--that we are nothing--then the questions will end, the worrying will end, and the nightmare will end.

This chance is golden. My breath is flawless, my lips are smooth with Chap Stick, and I am at my best; there will be no excuse. There will be no more questioning or looking for loopholes. All the stress and worrying that's filled my mind will be gone; all the arguments we've had: he loves me, I don't love him--back and forth like a tennis ball--all the fucking headaches--they will be gone. And then… I can go back to not thinking about love; I can go back to laying in bed and not questioning a damn thing. There will be no questioning. There will only be solid proof after it's over that I am right, and he is wrong.

Five feet away. He's turning now to greet me as I return from the bathroom. His eyes are the first to turn and they flash just for me--in that way they always do--before smiling with his lips in an easy grin. I'm going to wipe the grin off his smug face.

Everyone is here; they're all going to see it. Two feet away. One foot away. He's staring at me now, wondering why I haven't stopped. He almost sees my plan in action; I can almost smell his deodorant working harder as he breaks out into an immediate sweat. Six inches and he has no time to pull away. He sees my smooth lips, he smells my clean breath.

He knows it's going to happen. And it does.

I turn my head and capture his grinning burgundy lips in my own, crushing them together almost painfully—hitting teeth, making it obvious—and he has no time to react. His eyes shut and his arms go limp and every little bit of his body loses its confidence and persona and melts away into the Tai I know. The Tai in the back room telling me he loves me like so many times before; the Tai everyone wondered about but was too afraid to ask; the Tai who confused me and messed with my head, who deserves this his kiss to prove him wrong. He is the one and only Tai who could melt when I kiss him. And I feel powerful now, knowing he loves this kiss; loves the taste of my mouth and the smell of my cologne from so close, mixed in with the shampoo I always use. He loves this—he loves me—and now everyone can see plainly that I… am still kissing him.

What?

His lips are still pressed against mine and too much time has passed. Oh shit. We haven't moved—I've been thinking too hard again! What am I doing kissing him here, in front of everyone! Am I mad? Why am I even kissing him at all? I don't like boys. I certainly don't like Tai. I hate how his lips are bigger than mine and surround my mouth in pillow-like warmth; I hate his stupid smell and warm body; I hate the taste of his breath mixing with mine, like coke and toothpaste. I hate how his eyes shut and how his arms dangle and how everyone is watching.

But now… I hate how I can't pull away. So he does. And I haven't won because he's smiling. I can't even justify it anymore—I have no excuse. But he leans in and he smiles again against my ear—a smile only he can pull off—and he whispers,

"Told ya."