Disclaimer: I just own this fic. Nothing more or less.
A/N: Written for Kate, because she's made of win and I think we're the only two in the world who ship these two together.
His thumbs move swiftly over the buttons of the Playstation controller (x, x, square, triangle...) and you stare at him as he does the game, fascinated and unblinking. You should be equally entranced by the first-person-shooter but today it is the gamer, your best friend, that catches your eye.
He glances at you from the corner of his eye and smirks. "Take a picture, man," he says, then his attention is on the game once more.
You duck your head, eyes downcast and fingers twining together nervously. How long had he known you were staring? And does he know why? You have your doubts that he understands, Bart Simpson was never that observant.
"Dude," he says and your eyes are on him again. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," you lie. You're not okay, you haven't been for awhile now, and you're beginning to think it's all his fault.
Before he can ask "are you sure?" you take the initiative and ask "Bart?"
"Yeah?" He doesn't look away from the game and you think it's for the better. Eye contact would have likely made this a lot harder. He curses as he's shot at, the vibrant red bar in the top right hand corner of the screen shortening a little.
"We're best friends, right?" You suddenly feel like you're ten again, not fifteen.
"What kind of stupid question is that?" he asks, eyebrow arched as he leans to the right as though that will make the character in the game turn around and get out of the way faster.
It's not the answer you wanted, but it's the one you expected. You take it as a "yes, of course".
"So, we can tell each other anything, right?"
"Uh huh," he mumbles. You think he isn't really paying attention.
"I gotta tell you something," you say quietly because even if he's more focused on the game than you, you'll have at least finally said it out loud and to someone other than your reflection.
"Uh huh," he mumbles again.
You bite your bottom lip, hesitating.
"Just spit it out, Milhouse," he says, turning toward you and putting the game on pause. "There, now I'm all yours. So, let's hear it."
You hope he doesn't notice the blush. "Okay, okay," you mutter and take a breath. This moment always seemed so much easier in your daydreams.
"It's just that, well, I have a crush – "
"Oh, man, you're still hung up on my sister?"
"Yeah, right," he laughs.
"Bart," you say in all seriousness, "it isn't Lisa." You got over her years ago.
"Then who is it? That new chick in biology?"
"Is it a teacher? Oh my god, don't tell me: Miss Ducet?"
"No!" It comes out louder, harsher than you intended. Before he butts in again, you explain "it isn't a girl."
The silence is sudden and weighted and his stare is intense, freezing you to the couch despite the urge to run away.
"Not a girl, you say?" he inquires carefully.
"I'm not gay," you blurt out. His eyebrows raise. "I'm bi."
To your surprise, he shrugs. "Different stokes for different folks, right?" he jests, making a jerking motion with his hand.
"Yeah," you chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck.
"So, who's the crush?" He asks, and you had almost hoped he would have forgotten that part.
"It's, uh..." you stammer, looking away and he laughs that laugh that sends shivers down your spine. Except this time it makes your blood run cold and you pale. He knows.
"You gotta be shitting me!"
You say nothing. He quiets down and pushes you onto your back, head cocked to the side as he straddles your hips. "I thought you had better taste than this, dude."
"I'm sorry," you apologize. "If this makes things weird, I'll – "
"Shut up," he demands and before you can close your mouth completely, his lips are on yours and his tongue is in your mouth. When he pulls away, he winks.
"Hey," he grins, "I'll try anything once. Twice if I like it."