A/N: This is my first attempt at an AU fic… ever, I think. Well, second if you include "In What Sense Thou Wilt." But this is WAY more AU. I like AU; it's awesome. So, enjoy this randomness.
The familiar room is open and inviting; he's always said something about the natural sunlight and modern feel makes a person more willing to talk. Considering that I've been going here five years, I'd say he's probably right.
The furniture is, in his terms, assorted. I say it's random. Brightly colored armchairs are located in various places across the room, with most against a wall or window. There are also a few couches. My personal favorite is the overly stuffed red one in the center of the room. Its location tells me that it's everyone's favorite, but I don't mind. It's on this couch that I sit, while he takes a brown, leather armchair nearby.
"I love this couch," I say, relaxed.
"So I've heard," he says. "But you don't pay me to analyze your couch preferences."
"And yet, you still do," I laugh.
"Says who?" he asks.
"You analyze everything, and I have no doubt that my couch preferences are included," I say, raising my eyebrows at him.
He shrugs. "You like comfort, routine; you're afraid of changes, even small ones."
"But we already knew that," I say, a little sarcastically.
"But we already knew that," he agrees.
For a moment we stare at each other in silence. Then he cracks a smile.
"So," he says, breaking the silence. "What's new?"
"Didn't we just finish discussing how I hate change?" I ask, laying down. "Nothing is new."
"I'm going to remind you that sarcasm is used as a defense mechanism, and that I'm asking the questions. What are you hiding?"
I sigh. "I need a new psychiatrist."
"Changing the subject, but I'm curious about that one," he says. "Why do you say that?"
"You know too much," I answer.
"Traditionally, the more a psychiatrist knows about his client, the better the psychiatrist," he says, the hint of a smile creeping into his features.
"Sometimes, you know too much," I say.
"Sometimes I reveal too much, you mean," he laughs. "Focus, now. What's on your mind?"
I bite my lip. "I don't know," I finally admit. "I've just been doing a lot of thinking lately."
"About what?" he asks, leaning toward me.
"Relationships and stuff," I say with a shrug.
"Is there anything—or anyone—specific that's on your mind?"
He knows everything, I decide with a mental eye roll. "Yeah."
He sighs. "Am I going to waste an hour forcing this out of you?"
"Fine!" I give in. "I have a…friend."
"Good to know," he says sarcastically. "What about him?"
"He's a really good friend of mine, and I can tell him anything. He's pretty much the most trustworthy person I know. Actually, he's my best friend, but I don't think he knows that."
"How long have you known him?"
"Is that important?"
"Avoiding the subject again."
"Five years or so."
"And this friend?"
"Well." I stop here to bite my lip. "It's sort of complicated. But…ugh, I don't know. I think I might…"
"Be in love with him?" he finishes.
"I probably wouldn't have put it quite that way, but more or less," I mutter, embarrassed.
"Does this person know you love him?" he asks.
"I've never said so, if that's what you're asking," I respond. "Like I said, it's complicated."
"Well for one, he's older than me."
"How much older?"
"I don't actually know. Ten years for certain, but maybe more."
"What else makes it complicated?"
"We sort of work together."
"He doesn't work in my office, but we work in the same building."
He nods. "So age and work. Anything else?"
"Um." I have to think about it. "That's about it."
"Well, let's deal with age first. Why are you letting it be a factor?"
"Um." I hate these questions; I always feel like I'm going to give the wrong answer. "I honestly don't know. It's just that it would be weird, you know?"
"In fifty years, he'll be eighty-five and you'll be seventy-five, so does it really matter?"
I hadn't thought about it that way. "I guess not."
"And as long as you don't work in the same office, that shouldn't be a big deal either."
I blink. I hate that he's always right. I mutter something incoherently, and he raises his eyebrows. "I don't like rejection," I say, exasperated.
"I know," he states. "But you'll never know if you're going to be rejected if you don't ask in the first place."
I purse my lips. "It doesn't come that easily to me."
He shrugged. "Practice, then."
"Right now?" I asked.
"Sure. You can use me, if you want."
"This is ridiculous."
"Probably," he agrees. "But it might work."
I sigh and sit up. I look him straight in the eyes, and he doesn't flinch. "I have something to confess."
"Go on," he says.
I sigh. "I…think I love you."
"More confidently," he advises.
"Alright. I love you."
"Like I'm not telling you to say it more confidently."
"Fine." I stand without thinking and let my feet carry me to where he's sitting. As he's still sitting, I look down and meet his eyes. "I love you."
"Better," he says. Although I can feel the tension between us, I can't make my feet move.
"You know… that's true."
"I know," he says with a nod.
"I should have guessed as much," I say, smiling a bit. "You know everything."
For a moment, it's really awkward, because I'm just standing there grinning, and he's still got that pensive look in his eyes. My smile fades.
"I should have guessed that much, too," I said. I close my eyes tight and pretend not to be disappointed. "And now I really need a new psychiatrist."
I begin to move, but before I know what's happening, he's got me by the shoulders and he's kissing me. He's kissing me.
"Yes," he says, pulling his lips away for a moment. "You really need a new psychiatrist."
And he kisses me again.
A/N: Ha. See? Randomness. …review, please?