An actual, undrabbly, oneshot. And zomg, It's a moliver! xD

I took a story I wrote up for the Literary Magazine at my school and kinda made it fit with Hannah Montana. It sort of worked because I did have Miley and Oliver in mind while I was making my original characters. Yeah, I've got Obsessive Moliver Disorder xD

Be warned, Jake's character is over exaggerated in this story, but all in good fun. And, sorry if there are any inconsistencies with the show. I know my Hannah stuff, but the storyline wasn't exactly tailored for HM, even if the main characters are based off of Miles and Ollie.


Patience

Jake Ryan. Oh, Jake Ryan. Yes, he had been my idea of perfection – that seemingly unattainable Mr. Perfect that you envision in your dreams. Yeah. He looked like a total Prince Charming. His face was the reason I once believed in that whole 'waiting for love to come to you' stuff that you see in the movies. You know, the 'wait for true love to come and smack you in the face' thing? I had been skeptical about that fairytale-like 'system', because anything with the word 'wait' in it is a total eyebrow raiser for me. Yeah, I wasn't sure about the whole waiting deal, until he came along.

Now I'm absolutely positive it's a load of cow manure.

By that little spiel, I guess you can tell that I really, really liked him – emphasis on the liked – for entirely superficial reasons, I'll admit. Even so, I liked him even more when I found out he liked me back. See, as much as I enjoy the 'thrill of the chase' and eye-stalking the guys that I like, I much prefer the end of the chase where I reign victorious, which happens seldom... and victory is totally sweet when the result of that whole waiting game is a total hottie.

Victory was sweet for me, for a short while. Then... you know how it is... well, let's just say, he was like a seemingly appetizing bowl of pudding that actually turned out to be liver. Gross right? Well, that's what Jake was; a pretty bowl of liver.

And then, you know.

I figured that out, let him go, and he came back again, and kissed me and it was just like the movies and my imaginary fairytale again… it was like I had just been dating everyone in the time I hadn't seen him because I'd been waiting for him all along. So we got back together… again.

When will I ever learn, you may ask?

Will, I did.

Finally.

We were in class the other day, and I remember him running his hands through his perfect, shaggy, flaxen hair - one of the many reasons I was so into him. He turned in my direction and smiled. I smiled back... but he hadn't been looking at me. He'd been staring at his reflection in the window.

"Would you like to borrow a mirror?" I'd teased.

He'd stared at me for a little, and I blinked at him. Maybe he didn't like jokes like that. Maybe it hurt his man-ego.

"Babe. That. Would be. Awesome."

… or not. I rolled my eyes and ended up handing him one of my compact mirrors. He seemed to be eying the foundation in it a little suspiciously. I just sort of watched him play with his own hair incredulously, until I felt a poke at my shoulder. I turned in my seat to find Oliver beaming at me.

"Don't forget to offer him some blush. Your skin tones don't exactly match up... he might look a little pasty in that color..."

I gave him a look which I hoped to be scary, and ruffled his bangs. He frowned and tried to fix them, but smiled again when he made a quick glance at my Mr. Perfect. And he hadn't been entirely been kidding. Jake was actually dabbing some foundation on. I ended up covering my face and listening to my idiot guy friend snigger behind me for the rest of the class.

And then, there was another time earlier this week, where he was standing by my locker, waiting to walk me to class. He kind of just opened my locker door a little wider, looked at all the pictures in there, pursed his lips, and nodded. I glanced at him.

"Is something wrong?"

"No... no. Of course not. Nope..."

I brushed off his odd behavior and went along with my business.

"... it's just..." he sighed, and I looked up. "...there are barely any pictures of me in here..."

Seriously. Are you freaking kidding me? I kind of gaped at him afterwards. If he hadn't been my boyfriend, I would've thrown out an insult that probably would've made him snap his fingers in a 'z' formation. Instead, I just ignored him, and shut my locker. We stopped by his as we walked down the hall... when he opened his locker, there was a whole collage of pictures inside… pictures of himself. Alone. It was then that I started to feel like he was cheating on me with himself. The prospect of that both worried and amused me.

Oh, and let's not forget the wonderful football game of last week. It was a home game… we went to go see it. He'd put his track sweater around me because I was cold. Yeah, yeah, cute, I know, right?

Well, not really.

We'd been climbing up the stands when I tripped over a stupid bottle of Red Mountain Dew and went sliding down the steps on my spine. Thankfully, Oliver had been sitting with Lilly and Jackson a few rows down from where we were heading and stopped me from sliding out all the way down to the walkway, and possibly from plummeting down to the football field and to my unfortunate death. He'd been fighting a smile when he pulled me up from a step.

"Are you okay?" he'd asked, after helping me up. He patted my back and held me up, ignoring the evil people who were laughing on the stands.

Yeah, I was not okay. I'd just had the wind knocked out of me, I couldn't stand straight, I could barely breathe, and I felt like a sumo wrestler had just jumped up and down on my back.

"Uh... yeah," I'd managed to wheeze out. I rolled up my left sleeve to find this big bloody gash on my arm. The sweater got ripped too. I heard Oliver murmur an 'ouch', and he reached for the bloody arm.

He suddenly yanked his hand back when he saw Jake fly down the stairs towards me. I was wondering where he'd been...

"Oh my goodness," Jake gasped when he saw my arm.

"It's okay, I'm alright..." I managed to get out, trying to smile reassuringly at his concern. Because, as many probably are already aware, Jake Ryan does not get concerned for other people that often.

"... my sweater!"

My jaw dropped. Oliver pulled me closer – away from Jake, whose gaze was fixed on my arm – oh no, wait. Sorry. Whose gaze was fixed on his sweater.

But, see, I was a good person. I gave Jake another chance... I believe this was about the seventieth chance I'd given him in this life time. I honestly hadn't even taken that little situation seriously until he made me wait for him, all alone, for over an hour for a date that he'd arranged. After that hour of pure boredom and building irritation, he finally showed up. He ran to me, perfect hair flowing in the wind and all, and I almost smiled, until he reached me and swung his head sideways to get his bangs out of his eyes.

"Sorry... I just got a haircut... it totally slipped my mind..."

"It totally slipped your mind?" I'd said through grit teeth. I'd been grinding my teeth together at the time. My mom and my orthodontist said that I shouldn't do that. But I didn't care… I was mad.

"And your hair doesn't even look any different!"

"Really? Well I just kind of got a trim... see? The ends are layered now."

Yes, my mouth went ajar again, and I just gaped at him... again. He blinked at me and flipped his hair again. My eye twitched. He never ceased to amaze me. I refrained from slapping him, or making any rude jests. Instead, I told him I had things to do, and went home before the urge to react violently kicked in. I felt guilty for turning away, because he had the ability to make anyone melt into a puddle of goo with his adorable sad face, but I stayed strong. Because, I was done. I couldn't believe it had taken me that long to realize that he liked himself way more than he liked me.

All this time, I really thought he'd been the guy. He certainly looked the part, and he played it well for a while. But in those few short weeks I'd spent with him, I found out that, firstly, most guys suck, and secondly, if you want to determine whether or not that said guy is the best possible result of the 'waiting game'... well, listen to him with your eyes closed for a while. That way your judgment won't be clouded by however gorgeous he is. And lastly, try to avoid just sitting around waiting for Prince Charming to come around and sweep you off your feet, because you might just end up alone, sick, with a slight fever, and hard feelings towards your hot, self absorbed ex-boyfriend (who was supposed to be your Prince Charming, by the way)– the day after you dump him.

I mean, look at where this whole 'waiting' game has gotten me. I'm currently on my back, on the couch, in the living room, with this warm, damp face towel over my eyes. And of course, I'm… alone, sick, with a slight fever, and with hard feelings towards my hot, self absorbed ex-boyfriend (who was supposed to be my Prince Charming) - and yes, I just dumped him yesterday.

"Soup...? Noodle-chicken...? Dad. Da-aaaaad," I croaked out.

I wanted my chicken noodle soup. I knew it would make me feel better, and possibly less bitter about Jake… because chicken noodle soup has super healing powers. For me, anyways. See, I was craving my soup so much that I had actually entertained the thought of standing up and making myself some. But… I felt that merely moving the damp rag off of my eyes might induce vomiting, so I resorted to calling for father dearest instead.

"Daaaaaaaad."

I waited.

"Dad?"

No answer.

So, I waited a little more...

God, I hated waiting… see? It never ends for me! I have to play the waiting game even with soup...

Okay, holy poop, the door just swung open, and I almost vomited from the shock – that was not what I'd been waiting for.

"I have a crow bar in this couch, I swear," I threatened whoever had walked in. It was probably Lilly. She tends to barge in violently without warning.

"Somehow, I don't doubt that."

Okay, that was a guy's voice. That cancelled out Lilly, unless she has something she's not telling me…

"... Oliver...?" I didn't even bother to pull the rag off.

"Yes'm. I ran into your dad at the grocery store."

"I didn't even know he left..."

"You must've been asleep or something."

That would explain the clear flashbacks of Jake in all his self-absorbed glory...

I kept my eyes closed, listening to the door shut. I didn't say anything for a while… just moving my mouth seemed to make my stomach lurch. Oh how I wish that bowl of chicken noodle soup was existent and in my tummy.

"What were you doing at the grocery store?" I asked him.

I felt the weight shift on the couch. He was sitting next to my legs.

"I was actually stocking up on some junk food. I was supposed to have a couple of guys over tonight… 'cuz, you know, I do have more friends than you and Lilly –"

"For a night of chick flicks, gossiping, and gushing about cute boys. Am I right?"

I smirked. I didn't have to lift the rag to see his expression.

"Exactly," he chuckled.

"Then... why are you here?"

There was a pause.

"Well… you know, I ran into your dad and he told me about you and asked me to come here... the man looks like he owns a shotgun so, that's reason enough to cancel on the guys."

I smiled, and yawned. The weight on the couch shifted again, and I heard him walk across the room towards the kitchen. I heard a lot of moving and the opening and closing of cupboards, which seemed to be the familiar sound of Oliver raiding my kitchen.

"What're you doing?" I didn't turn around, because the couch looked so nice without vomit all over it.

He didn't answer me. There was no sound, save for some beeping and the opening and closing of the microwave.

"… Getting you some soup."

"…Why?"

The question left my mouth before I had time to process it. He was being a good friend, and I just had to go and question his kindness… regardless, I was still curious. He just didn't do sweet things like this often. Not that I recall, anyways. Well, there was more silence, until the microwave started to beep. I heard him open it and then walk in my direction. I opened my eyes for the first time, staring into the face towel covering my eyes. I could see his silhouette through it, and watched him sit on the edge of the couch. And then… he answered.

"... So... you won't have to wait anymore."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

I slowly pulled the rag off of my eyes, and I saw him. There he sat, smiling at me with a bowl of that microwavable chicken noodle soup in one hand, a silver spoon in the other. I sat up, feeling just a little better after seeing the steam rise from the cup. I reached for the soup, but stopped midway.

"So… when you saw my dad... did he really make you come here?"

He blinked at me, looking just as at a loss for words as I had been moments ago. He looked a little guilty too. I stared him down, wondering if he was only looking at me weirdly because I looked gross, or if he was actually thinking about the question.

Then, he gave a small shake of his head, still looking guilty.

"No."

This odd, still silence suddenly came as I stared at him a little longer. He looked like a

dork, holding the soup and the spoon. It made me smile.

"Just take some," he murmured after a while, his face coloring just a little, as he pushed the soup and the spoon closer to me.

My gaze flicked back and forth between his face and the bowl in his hand. I took the soup and the spoon from his hands, my eyes finally settling on his.

And... I smiled.

... I didn't have to wait anymore.