Title: The Question
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Tom/Doug
Disclaimer: I don't own 21 JS or the characters. I make no profit, etc.
Warnings: m/m, brief language, angst
Summary: Doug reflects on his relationship with Tom and the mistake he made to ruin it.
A/N: Wrote while waiting in between classes. Little drabble thing. Told in Doug's POV. The idea came from the general question: "Are you happy?" I am! by ruining their relationship. :)

He'd always ask me if I was happy with him. To make sure this was what I wanted. There was never any doubt. I loved him. I'd die for him – do all the clichéd things when people are in love. The question would usually come after I had made love to him. We'd lie there under the covers, him curled up beside me with his head on my chest. He always seemed so shy after we'd do it. It was cute. When I'd tell him so, he'd hit me gently and pretend to be mad even though he was smiling.

He'd ask, "Doug, are you happy? With me?"

Always, always I replied, "Of course I am. I love you, Tommy. I can't think of anything on this earth that makes me as happy as you do."

And that was that. The subject wouldn't come up again until the next time we would have sex or after we'd have a fight. Everything was so good, so perfect. No surprise that I went and fucked everything up. I always do. Whenever I have the best thing going for me, I mess it up. It's like a bad habit.

I don't know why I did it. Tom and I didn't have a fight, and he didn't do anything that would make me want to act so thoughtlessly. I wasn't drunk. I just went ahead and made a horrible decision for no good reason.

I cheated on him. That's the lowest thing I could possibly ever do, and I did.

He guessed right when I told him I couldn't kiss him or take him to bed. I guess the guilt was written all over my face. God, I'll never forget the way he looked at me. Hurt, anger, shame, misery, confusion, disbelief – all of that in one look. And tears. Jesus, those tears in his eyes. That was the worst. Tom Hanson never cries; it made me feel all the more like scum when he did.

It's been a month since that night. He still won't talk to me, look at me, or acknowledge me in any way. Can't say that I blame him. I messed up. Bad. I lost my lover, but more importantly, my best friend. That's something I can't get over.

He thinks that all those times I told him I was happy, I was lying. I stopped trying to convincing him otherwise. I wasn't; I didn't lie. I loved him more than anything. I still do.

How do you right a wrong as severe as this? He may possibly be the love of my life, and I can't even get him to say a word to me. That was, until a few days ago.

"Hey," he said quietly to me when I passed him as I came into the chapel.

One word. One word! I almost fell to the floor right there. I would've said, "Hi" back if I hadn't have been so dumbstruck. Guess there is hope to salvage something of our past friendship, maybe even romance.

It's a start, at least.