Work Text:
"Fiddleford, can I talk to you?"
Fiddleford turned in his swivel chair so he could look at the source of the worried-sounding voice. His roommate stared back at him from where he sat in his respective chair on the opposite side of the tiny dorm room, a small frown on his face.
"Sure," Fiddleford replied. "Been anxious to hear abut whatever's got 'ya so worked up."
"It's that obvious?" Ford asked quietly.
"You've been scribbling 'n sweatin' and starting over on whatever you been workin' on all day." Fiddleford gestured to the wastebasket, which was almost overflowing with balls of crumpled paper. "Don't need to be a genius to see something's stressin' you out."
Ford gave him a tight smile. "You know me too well." He then stood up and began pacing slowly back and forth in front of Fidds, his hands held behind his back. "Well, as you've deduced, I have a problem."
Fiddleford couldn't help but snicker. When Stanford had a "problem", it was usually something that wasn't much of a problem to begin with, like a funny glance he'd received from a boy in his Quantum Phase Theory class or a score below 98% on a test. Fiddleford always listened anyway, though.
As if Stanford could read his mind, he lashed out defensively. "This is different. It's not one of those problems." Ford laced his fingers together, gaze fixed on the green carpeting.
"Then what is it?" Fiddleford inquired, one eyebrow raised curiously. Stanford produced a piece of paper from his back pocket and stared at it, muttering something under his breath that Fiddleford couldn't quite decipher. Fidds gave an uneasy laugh. "You're startin' to worry me now, buddy. Are you gonna spill the beans, or what?" His leg bounced as he studied the other man.
Ford stared at the page for a few more seconds before crumpling it up and flinging it angrily into the garbage can with the others. "Screw the fucking script! It's going to sound to sound bad however I phrase it." Ford said in a strained, high-pitched tone that was filled with almost comical voice cracks. His fists and teeth were clenched as his pacing grew faster until it was more akin to stomping about. Stanford stopped, took a deep breath, and rubbed his brow with two fingers before turning to face his friend. He locked eyes with Fiddleford. "I can't stop thinking about you." he deadpanned, his voice now calm.
Fiddleford didn't fully process his words at first. It just didn't seem accurate or even real. The thought that Stanford, of all people, would be distracted by thoughts of anyone, let alone him, was foreign and entirely unexpected. He stared blankly at Ford, unsure how to react. "You're being serious right now?" he managed with an awkward half-chuckle.
"I'm not joking, Fiddleford!" Ford cried, throwing his arms out to the side in a gesture of exasperation before resuming his furious pacing. "I can't pay attention in class. I can't focus when I study. It's ridiculous." He steadied his shaking hands by slowly inhaling and exhaling. "I can't avoid it any longer. There's something wrong with me." He paused with his back to Fiddleford. "I've looked at all the facts and managed to come to a conclusion." He swallowed nervously and stared at the floor before throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder at Fiddleford. He let out a breath. "I think I love you."
"'Ya sure got a scientific way of confessing your feelings." Fiddleford couldn't help but smirk in amusement.
"I'm not... Look, I'm not telling you this because I want to. I'm telling you this because I have to." Ford's hands were out in front of him, gesturing wildly as he spoke. "I'm at the end of my rope. I've exhausted all other avenues. These emotions are beginning to interfere with my schoolwork. They're impairing my ability to function. They're impeding my academic progress. Do you know how frustrating that is!?" He stopped for a second to collect himself yet again. "I apologize for putting you in such an awkward position, but... I have a favor to ask of you." Ford swallowed. "Could you... would you tell me no? That the feeling isn't reciprocated? I just need to hear it from you. Then I can finally get over this silly, childish... crush-" He spat the word like it had personally offended him. "-and we can go back to being friends. I'm just as uncomfortable and upset about this whole situation as I'm sure you are. Let's put this behind us."
Fiddleford stood and laid a hand on Ford's shoulder and Ford looked away. "Hang on. Do I look upset?" Fidds asked softly.
Ford glanced up at him. "No...?" It sounded more like a question than a solid reply.
"What if I told you I feel the same way about you?" Fidds said quietly.
"Then I'd tell you it's simply not feasible." Ford was pacing again, his movements accentuated and erratic. "You're... and I'm... people..."
Suddenly, Fiddleford was in front of him, gripping his hip, preventing him from moving. Then Fiddleford's lips were on his. It was brief, but when Fidds pulled back, Ford was breathless and flushed, his mouth hanging half-open in shock.
"No one has to know." Fidds soothed, draping his arms over Ford's shoulders and wrapping them loosely around his neck. He ran his fingers through Ford's hair and smiled at him and Ford was drowning in the ocean of his blue eyes and-
"No. No, Fiddleford... don't do this. We'll have to go our separate ways when we graduate and this won't last and you-you know I'm wildly insensitive and I'm just going to hurt you and I don't know what I'm doing and you deserve so much better and this will only end in disaster and pain for the both of us and-" Ford was holding him close despite what was spilling out of his mouth and his eyes were wet and why was he crying but still smiling and-
"And I love you anyway." Fiddleford said. Then they were kissing again and Ford was melting into him and everything was wonderful and horrible at the same time.
"We're making a very rash decision." Ford grinned, placing his hands on Fidds' cheeks, his face sticky with tears.
"Well, they say love makes 'ya stupid. Guess they were right." said Fiddleford.
Ford pulled him close and kissed him again, reality a distant dream. Though he defined himself by his intelligence, if this meant he was an idiot, then so be it. If being this close was a catastrophe in the making, whatever unpleasant end this endeavor would come to had to be worth this moment alone.
"Wait," Fiddleford said after they broke away. A glimmer of mischief appeared in his eyes as something dawned on him. "Does that mean all those papers were botched love confessions?"
"FIDDLEFORD, DON'T YOU DARE-" Ford began, but it was too late. Fidds was already diving for the wastebasket. Ford tackled him as he grabbed a random sheet of paper, trying in vain to pin him down and wrench it from his grasp. The two wrestled until Fidds managed to end up sitting on top of Ford's back with Ford spread-eagled on the floor, trapped underneath him. Fidds triumphantly unfolded the paper and immediately burst into laughter.
"Fidds, I can't breathe-" Ford wheezed.
"Neither can I!" Fidds rasped between fits of giggles, waving the paper in front of Ford's face. "God, Ford, you're too good!" The paper simply read "HELP, I'M GAY" in large capital letters.
Ford frowned and wiggled below him. "I was feeling things, okay?" he responded indignantly. "I was confused. I still am, frankly."
Fiddleford pulled out another random paper ball and smoothed it out. "There has been something pressing at my conscience for the past few months." he read aloud.
Ford's eyes widened. "That's a very personal letter, don't read-" His voice was an octave higher in panicked protest, but Fiddleford was already tuning him out.
"Geez, this is a full-on love letter." Fidds murmured as he scanned silently over the writing. He was quiet as he read and Ford couldn't quite turn his head enough to see his reaction. He folded the paper neatly when he was done and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans, then slid off of Ford and sat beside him. Ford rolled over, gasping for breath now that the weight pressing down on him had been removed. He looked up to see Fidds smiling sweetly down at him. Fidds leaned down and gently connected their lips before Ford could say a word. "How many of these did you write, Stanford?" Fiddleford asked.
"A lot..." Ford choked out, blushing intensely. He'd lost track after twenty-three.
"Well, if the rest are anything like this one, then I look forward to reading 'em. If you're willin' to let me." Fiddleford placed his hand on top of Ford's as Ford sat up.
"Only if you let me read them to you." Ford said with a sigh, admitting defeat. He leaned back against his desk and reached into the wastebasket for the next crumpled paper ball.
"Alrighty, but don't you omit too much." Fiddleford spoke. He scooted up next to Ford and curled against him, snuggling in underneath Ford's arm and resting his head on his chest.
Ford leaned his head on Fidds' and pressed a kiss to the top of his head through his hair. "I hate you." he mumbled lovingly.
"Reckon these papers prove otherwise." Fiddleford replied, smiling up at him. He took one side of the page in his hand, letting Ford hold the other. Their free hands found their way together, their fingers intertwining.
"Well, we'll have to see, won't we?"
Fiddleford kissed the back of Ford's hand. "Course, but you 'n I already know."