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Your name is Gamzee Makara, and it’s currently about three twenty-five in the morning on a Monday.
You’re lying beside a true motherfuckin’ beauty, your best friend named Tavros. He’s giggling and laughing and snortin’ like a cute bull into his hand because it’s three thirty in the morning and you just said something like “ass butter” and he can’t stop.
You stare up at his ceiling where pieces of tape have ripped the paint off, and you know there used to be a poster of Peter Pan right there, but he’s torn it down over the years.
Tavros stopped laughing with a sigh and buries his face against your shoulder, and you look over and motherfuckin’ melt, but he pulls away after a second and stares up at the ceiling with you.
You don’t know why he does this. This is the first time you’ve ever spent the night at his house, and Tavros has a twin bed. There’s an air mattress in the floor, but you just ended up right here beside him underneath his comforter.
You don’t know why he teases you. Well, he probably isn’t doing it purposely. He pushes his face into your chest, or rolls over to link your hands together, only to pull away a second later and you fucking hate it.
Tavros knows how you feel, he knows. You told him earlier this year, how much you motherfuckin’ loved your best bro. He said he knew. You felt like a fuckin’ idiot because that’s how far it went.
A week ago you asked him to be your boyfriend and it was about five in the morning and he said he would think about it.
The next morning he turned you down but you had been prepared. Vile piece a’ clown ass didn’t really deserve his soft, loving features and personality. Didn’t deserve his love. But hey, you weren’t the typical stoned eighteen year old. Maybe you could try.
Tavros looks at you and smiles, turning on his side and so do you just so you can look at him and have an excuse. Merciful messiahs, you love him. He has a pleasant heart shaped face and large brown eyes and dark skin and beauty marks on his chin and his cheeks and they’re little kisses from god, motherfuck. You shouldn’t even be here.
You glance at his lips and hope to god he catches you but then again, it wouldn’t lead anywhere.
“I really don’t wanna work tomorrow.” he admits, and you nod in agreement with a low hum.
“Mmhm. Which not too many little motherfuckers may be there tom- today.” you say, and grin as you both realise how fucking late it is.
Tavros shifts close and you prepare to be touched and then pulled away from, and stops a few centimeters away from your bare face.
You take this time to reach up and tickle his neck, which causes him to squeal and giggle and tilt his head tightly to hide the sensitive spot, and you beam because oh, god he’s motherfuckin’ sensational.
When he wriggles away from your fingers, he shifts his face to hide in your neck and you feel him smile against your skin and your heart is beating too fast, you think you’re about to fuckin’ die right here in a cute boy’s bed.
For a moment he doesn’t move away, and you’re both quiet and it’s so late, it’s so fuckin’ late and the only light is from his Doctor Who lamp. You’re not a big fan but you act like it cause he is. Number Twelve (Eleven?) is glaring at you and he’s a little intimidating.
Tavros shifts and looks up at your face, and you smile gently because that’s just habit. You glance at his light brown lips again and flicker back to his eyes, and they’re dark and tired and you wanna see this every day of your motherfucking life. You reach up and push his mohawk off his forehead, and he crinkles his nose.
You lean down half away and glance at him, and he’s just looking at you so you lean the rest of the way and gently fit his top lip between yours, kissing Tavros and your chest is exploding, like there’s some kinda fuckin’ rabbit or somethin’ stuck in there, wanting to get out.
The kiss lasts about three seconds before you pull away and you feel like crying because he didn’t kiss back, holy fuck. You’re convinced you fucked up, but then he turns his back to you and grabs your arm and pulls it over his waist, and shifts back against your chest.
Tavros glances back up at you with a blush, and you think it’s just because he’s exhausted, but he doesn’t get scared.
“W-we should go to sleep, Gamzee.” he murmurs, and you nod.
“Yeah. . . Hey, was that. . . motherfuckin’. . . ”
“Yeah. Goodnight, Gamz.”
Your name is Gamzee Makara, and you hope to god you have a new boyfriend.