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“You know, sometimes I hate you,” Alex sighs thoughtfully, interrupting the relative silence in the living room.
There isn’t a response, but he seems to expect that.
“And sometimes I love you,” Alex shifts a little in his position, laying stomach down on the sofa. He pauses, before continuing, “I just wanna kiss you sometimes, it’s a little hard to resist. It’s like my brain has Kiss the Girl from The Little Mermaid on repeat whenever you’re around.”
“Your freckles are so freaking cute, I swear, it’s so unfair. It’s like someone scattered golden glitter across your face just to spite and silence me when I bumped into you that one day in the school hallway.” He laughs a little, “Yeah, that’s right John Laurens, you actually rendered me - Alexander Hamilton, talker extraordinaire - speechless with the infinite amount of beautiful stars across your face. It was a definitely a first.”
He goes on, “Your curls are adorable, and your smile can light up a room, pardon the cliché, but it’s true. Also, your eyes are beautiful, did I ever mention that? I could go full-on love sonnet about them. About you.”
Alex forces his face into the sofa’s armrest, with a muffled groan, “Why are you so perfect? Like, the amount of your sheer perfection isn’t even possible, yet here you are!” He, almost frustratedly, splays his arms as wide as he can with his face still in the armrest.
He turns his head to the side so he could breathe, “Still. I love you. I love you so much sometimes, even more than how many turtle plushies you have. And you can’t deny, that’s a lot.” He chuckles a little.
“Speaking of your turtles,” He says as an afterthought, “The look on your face when your drawing them. You’re so passionate about them. Whatever you love, whatever you believe in, you’re so passionate. At rallies for the LGBT+ movement, or Black Lives Matter, or Save the Sea Turtles, you’re so determined and happy and proud to be there.”
He waves a hand absent-mindedly in the empty space next to the couch, “Got off topic. Back to your turtle plushies. I can’t even begin to describe how happy you are when I manage to find you a new one. Like, your face just lights up and your smile is impossibly wide and it’s so cute, and the only reason I’d ever want to make that brilliant smile disappear is by kissing you. I want to kiss you.”
Still, the person the confession was meant for doesn’t react.
“But I don’t.” A pause for a sigh, “You know why? Cause you’re my friend. And you’ll only ever be my friend, because that’s how it is, isn’t it?”
His question seems to want to be answered, but it’s left rhetorical.
“That’s probably why I hate you. You’re so perfect, but you’ll always be my friend, and nothing more no matter how hard I wish. Of course, I don’t blame you for not liking me back, but…” Alex blows a puff of breath from his lips, fluttering his hair, “I dunno. It’s a love/hate kind of thing. What do you think, John?”
There’s no response. Alex attempts to flip onto his back, but he can’t. He glances over his shoulder, seeing a scatter of freckles and unruly curls resting on his back that still take his breath away.
“Another reason why I hate you and love you at the same time, how the heck can someone look this cute when they sleep? You’re impossible, John Laurens, a wonder of the world, really.” He shakes his head a little in half-hearted disbelief, “I can’t believe someone as perfect as you can exist, and even more so, be sleeping on top of me right this second.”
He attempts to move from his trapped position on the couch, but is still unsuccessful, due to John lying heavily on top of his back. “Well. I guess I can confess to you while you’re asleep. Laurens… I like you a lot. You’ll never like me back though, and… and I’ll be okay. We’ll be friends.”
Alex gets comfortable on the sofa, closing his eyes. He thinks to himself that since he wasn’t getting free anytime soon, now would be a good time as any to take a nap. Before he drifts off, he murmurs, “I hate you sometimes, but I love you.”
There’s no response, of course. John has slept throughout all of Alex’s ramble, rendering the words rhetorical. John keeps sleeping, and Alex, with a sigh, joins him in sleep.