A/N: I want to start out by admitting that I'm a bit nervous about this oneshot. I haven't seen the film all the way through yet, but I've seen the majority of it and love it, so much that I actually went looking for a FanFic section for it. :) So please be kind and if you are reading this, please review and let me know how faithful you found it. Thanks!

Dating someone in a different school didn't seem to leave much time for spending together. Between high-pressure classes, sport practices, drama rehearsals, and everything in between, there almost isn't time for casual downtime. At least, this is what Timothy and Jonathon quickly found out once they became official. Sure, there was the occasional party or two they could meet up for, but Timothy didn't like drinking and Jonathon was trying to cut down for Timothy's sake.

They both noticed at the same time. They weren't seeing each other now that they went to different schools. And it was affecting their relationship.

It was Timothy who suggested the Saturday date day. He was pretty confident he could finish any homework before then (and if he didn't he would pretend that he did) and Jonathon tentatively believed that the coach would let him out of most of the rare Saturday rugby practices (he wasn't on the main team in his first year of college, after all).

Usually, they would try to meet somewhere in between (there was only an hour or so distance between them, less with Jonathon's driving techniques) until that stopped working out. A week without seeing each other, sometimes longer if things hadn't worked out the week before, and the last thing the two wanted to do was stay in the public eye. So, they began driving the full distance to the other's dorm, arriving early and leaving late.

This Saturday was no different. Jonathon left at 8 in the morning, ignoring the jests of his roommate that he was off to go see that boy again and also ignoring the questions of when Timothy might be coming around again. Timothy's dorm had become the much more frequent choice for their dates because his dorm room was empty (his roommate was often off visiting with his druggie friends and would be absent for the rest of the weekend).

Jonathon drove for an hour (speeding the whole way), slipped into a relatively small dorm behind some residents and then burst into the room furthest down the second floor without bothering to knock. Timothy leapt to his feet, giving Jonathon an enthusiastic hug and affectionate kiss, murmuring about how much he missed him.

The next step was eminent. Fifteen minutes after Jonathon's arrival, they were sitting on Timothy's couch in front of the television and having, what their friends called, a Timothy and Jonathon Quibble.

"It's my turn," Jonathon was saying. "It was yours last week and now it's my turn."

"I wasn't aware that there were turns involved," Timothy argued, a little grumbly, but knew that it had been an unspoken Saturday Rule. He took a deep, resigned sigh and sent a regretful look towards the television. "Couldn't you at least pick something besides sports? You know I don't get it."

"You know," Jonathon began sarcastically, reaching for the remote and ignoring Timothy's dark glare, "For someone who hates sports so much you managed to show up to every school game last year."

Timothy smiled, catching Jonathon's eye. "I like watching you play sports," he corrected with about as much innocence as such a comment warranted.

Jonathon smirked, playing along and cocking one of his eyebrows. "Well, I can't blame you. I would watch me play sports, too."

Timothy snorted loudly, shooting Jonathon a disbelieving look. "Oh, that's my vain little Jonny." Timothy thought he caught a bit of a blush on Jonathon's neck at the joke, which put butterflies in the pit of his own stomach. How could he complain about sports now?

"Let's just get this over with," he sighed, scooting closer to Jonathon so he could put his head on his shoulder. He had to stretch his significantly longer legs out, slide a little further down the so he was practically on his side, and then finally tuck his legs underneath him to accomplish this. It was a downside of being significantly taller than his boyfriend, but not one that bothered either of them. Suddenly, Timothy frowned. "Your shoulder is so bony."

"I think you mean muscular," Jonathon reminded him, flipping the television on. Timothy didn't contradict and Jonathon definitely noticed.

Jonathon finally settled on a tennis match and then set the remote far from where Timothy could reach. He'd learned from experience that Timothy was much sneakier than he seemed at first glance. It didn't help that Jonathon seemed to go into a trance once the sports were on, either. He would be wrapped up in the last five minutes of a game and then Timothy would be holding the remote and searching for cartoons in no time.

Two minutes into the match, Timothy felt himself getting restless. True to form. He watched the female players smack the ball back and forth with heavy lidded eyes, wondering what the scoring system even meant (it seemed there were so many ways to lose points and no clear format). It all happened too fast, if you asked him.

It didn't take long, though, for Timothy to find a certain rhythm in the beating of the tennis ball. It made such a resonating, steady sound that it was impossible to ignore. Soon, the eager back and forth movements the players made while waiting for the ball to come to their court seemed like a dance movement, carefully choreographed and full of surprises to catch the audience's eye.

Before he knew it, Timothy was seeing high kicks, graceful leaps into the air, fluid spins, and powerful swings. He wasn't paying attention to the score but instead finding the rhythm of music and dance right in front of him on the court. He was reminded, once again, of the power that athletes possessed and was once more in awe of it, wishing that he could find that kind of rhythm. His eyes had become focused and he wasn't participating in his usual bored habits (like finger tapping, flicking Jonathon's shoulder, getting up to get water every five minutes, etc.)

"Are you actually paying attention?" Jonathon asked in surprise, peering down at Timothy's face that still rested on his shoulder. It had been fifteen minutes and he expected Timothy to be complaining again. The bemused, comical, and (in Timothy's humble opinion) adorable expression on Jonathon's face immediately yanked Timothy out of the dream.

"Sort of," Timothy replied dismissively, sending a rather toothy grin Jonathon's way.

Jonathon narrowed his eyes knowingly and then smiled back. He knew this expression on Timothy's face well. "Well, as long as you're enjoying it I don't feel so bad."

"Who's winning?" Timothy asked, suddenly determined to become more involved in this viewing process.

"The blonde," Jonathon didn't bother with saying her name, it would probably only confuse Timothy more. "But only by a little bit. She seems to be getting tired, too."

Timothy paused, watching the screen without such a dreamy expression. "I like her best," he decided. "I want her to win."

Jonathon chuckled, wrapping an arm around Timothy's waist casually. He noticed Timothy's smile at the gesture and promised himself to do things like this more often. He'd never been the type of guy that liked a lot of physical contact in a relationship, but for Timothy he didn't mind. Not at all.

"You know that I don't mind watching sports as much as I pretend to, right?" Timothy questioned. "I mean, you like it and everything so I don't want you to think that I hate what you like because that's ridiculous—"

"Timothy," Jonathon interjected, still trying to keep track of the game. "You can like whatever you want." He was getting used to Timothy's insecurities, his fears that he might be too clingy or too demanding. He found it useful to just be blatant about how he felt and save Timothy some misery.

"Okay. I'm just making sure you know. Sorry." He looked a little embarrassed, so Jonathon tried not to tease him about it. It never went that well to tease, Timothy was kind of sensitive.

Timothy was quiet after that, his bout of nervous energy spent and it seemed he was focusing on the players again.

The game cut to a commercial, and something in a jingle for a product seemed to catch Timothy's attention. Then, he was smirking, and Jonathon knew that it probably didn't mean anything good.

"Do you know what's gonna be on HBO next weekend?" Timothy asked, looking just a little too excited. Jonathon internally groaned, knowing where this was going now.

"What?" Jonathon asked, trying to keep the tone of his voice even and uninterested.

"Repo! The Genetic Opera." Timothy gave Jonathon a moment to let that sink in before going on. "And as long as we're using this turns system…"

Jonathon tried not to groan dramatically, that was Timothy's thing and not his. "Is there singing?" he asked, and there was no way to hide that hint of reluctance in his voice.

"Well of course," Timothy rolled his eyes, obviously referring to the fact that the word 'opera' was in the title. "But it's nice and bloody, which I thought might keep your attention."

Jonathon paused. "… It's bloody?"

Timothy chuckled, moving his head so that his chin was now on Jonathon's shoulder. "The first time I watched it I had nightmares," he promised. "And that was only last year."

Jonathon was quiet, watching a commercial. "See, there you go making me feel guilty about this tennis game, you cheater," he said, sounding quite upset and causing Timothy to break into incredible, shaking laughter.

"It's my nature," Timothy teased, "And you love me anyway."

"You got that right."

Again, that hint of blush was on Jonathon's neck and Timothy could feel his own redness traveling further up his face. He wouldn't say it was from embarrassment, but merely from happiness.

"So, singing, huh?" Jonathon said once the game came back on, smiling a little. "I guess it's only fair."

"You know," Timothy started, an easy grin slipping on his face, "For a guy who hates singing so much you sure stuck through that musical last year."

"Well," and Timothy could tell that he was going to say something cheesy from the way Jonathon broke into a rare, goofy smile, "I like listening to you sing."

Timothy couldn't bring himself to play along as Jonathon had before about the sports, finding that he was just a little too shy for that. Instead, he just picked up his hand and gently brushed it over Jonathon's, which was still occupying Timothy's waist, in a gesture of appreciation. Jonathon, however, caught Timothy's fingers and intertwined them, rubbing their palms together affectionately.

"I love you," Jonathon said sincerely. "I don't think I tell you that often enough, but I really do."

Timothy looked down at their hands, still stuck together, and nodded. "I know. And I love you, too."

Jonathon smirked. "For the record, being in love with me and being in love with my ridiculously hot body are two different things."

"Oh, shut up," Timothy snapped, liking the banter. He turned to make some kind of retort before suddenly stopping short.

Looking at Jonathon, he experienced a feeling that had not been so intense since the two of them had been in high school. It wasn't that he had forgotten, but was merely being reminded of just how gorgeous Jonathon really was. And he remembered the new things he had learned to love, like the way Jonathon tilted his head a little to the side when watching something very interesting or how his jaw periodically clenched and unclenched. He didn't think that he'd been so blissfully happy but then realized that Jonathon almost always had this effect on him.

Overcome with affection, Timothy leaned his head only slightly forward, intending to kiss his boyfriend senseless and pry his eyes away from that damn television. However, he was met halfway as apparently Jonathon had the same thing in mind. The initial surprise didn't last long for Timothy. Not wanting to be outdone, he took charge by reaching out to cup Jonathon's jaw, sufficiently pulling him closer. He had grown to enjoy being brave in the relationship.

"If we keep this up," Jonathon warned as Timothy pulled away for a moment, "Then I get extra sports next weekend to make up for it."

"That's okay," Timothy replied, starting to kiss the side of Jonathon's mouth. Then, smiling into Jonathon's lips, he added, "Aren't there better sports on Sundays, anyway?"

"Are you asking me to stay over, Mr. Schoolwork?" Jonathon teased, now turning entirely away from the television to pay better attention to Timothy.

Timothy laughed, quieter than before. "Would you refuse?" Then, "It could be like an extended Saturday."

"Sounds perfect. I love Saturdays."