Work Text:
“I don't know what is wrong with you. I always defended you, I thought you were just... I don’t even know. But maybe people are right about you. You are all wrong, Gregory. You are not human.”
To be honest, I asked for this one. James is all agitated and leaves, closing the door behind him. I set fire to his room, by accident, but he’s more mad about me crossing boundaries.
Well, it had to end sooner or later, at least nothing has happened. I grab my guitar because the room is too quiet. I have to change the strings. I didn’t hear him walking away, maybe he’s sitting outside of the door. I made a mistake, irrational. Stupid of me, what was I thinking?
I am not human, is that so. What am I. Smarter than most I’d say. A good thing. And usually the reason why people can’t stand me. They can’t stand being stupid.
But still, that fucking letter it’s just a piece of paper. Why is he so attached to it. He should… I mean it’s better this way.
I know he is coming back, all of his stuff is here and it’s the middle of the night. Also, he’s definitely just outside the door. Was it this chord for this song? Maybe this one. Yes, better. He’ll come back inside on his own.
You ruined it.
I didn’t. There is nothing to ruin. He has a little crush, I said nothing.
I can’t remember this song. I change. Ain’t no sunshine. My fingers are clumsy. Not human but I enjoy music, how about that.
Maybe he won’t come back. No, but he will, his stuff is here. He cares too much about tomorrow's exam. But what if he leaves. My foot is falling asleep. I have to move it. What if he comes back only to sleep and tomorrow it’s over.
You are pathetic. I am pathetic.
The strings dig into my fingers. My calluses protect them, but I push harder. It’s a good pain.
How long since he left the room? I can’t stop playing to check. But it’s too long. Was the exam at 8 or 9? James knows.
He hates you.
Maybe, as he should. Not exactly the most robust foundation for a friendship. Who wants an overly smart monster?
Music is not helping, maybe I need to move. G-major chord progression. Clean, calm.
Again.
Suddenly James opens the door and he is in the room again. I stop playing.
He is angry at me. Idiot. He goes to the desk, he sits, wears my headphones and plays something from my walkman. Like I don’t exist. Then he opens the book. I don’t know what to think of this. He is reading. Is it broken? Is it over? Is he actually studying? Maybe I should do something. What is he doing? A fly is buzzing near the window. It’s hitting the glass over and over. Stupid insect, the exit is right there, just two inches to the left.
The music in that stupid walkman is so loud I can hear it from here. Is he actually studying? The way he’s turning the pages is too fast. He’s not reading, he’s just moving paper. It’s a performance. A bad one.
Well, maybe everything is fine. But he doesn’t look fine. How much damage has been done? I need to know. I should say something. As soon as I decide to move, he’s getting up, walking towards the door. I am staring at him, impossible for him not to notice, but he is still avoiding looking at me. Where is he going? He possibly is going to leave now. Forever. Yes, he is going to get his bag, he’s going to leave. I have to say something.
“Are you finished?” I say testing. He is red in the face. Angry? Embarrassed? Clenching his jaw, I see that. Masseter and temporalis contraction. Trigeminal nerve, third branch. I wonder if he’s memorized the exit foramina of the skull yet. Foramen ovale. He’s going to need that tomorrow. “Leave me alone.” James says. Definitely angry. You wish. No, no. Look at me, look at me, loot at me, look at me. He opens his bag. To fill it and leave, maybe?
“Not until you talk to me.” I say. Give me something, please.
He’s still not looking at me. Come on. I get up, I have to move.
“Tomorrow, after the exam, I’m packing my things and going to my parents'.”
I narrow my eyes. I don’t understand, this is not what we agreed on. He had said “maybe” but I know he didn’t mean it. He’s coming with me. But now, is he?
There’s a sort of satisfaction on his face now, I can see that even from here. I know this game. He said that to hurt me. I would be a little proud but I feel. Scared? No. It’s just weird and maybe he means it. Leaving me alone. Cruel and real.
How much damage has been done? I get closer. He flinches, he doesn’t want me there. There must be something I can do.
Just let go.
No. This is not how it was supposed to go tonight. Doesn’t he see that he’s doing better than when we have met?
“You hate going to your parents.” It’s obvious but I say it anyway in case it’s not. I know he doesn’t want to see them. Why is James avoiding my face? Is this completely ruined? Maybe it is. Idiot.
You don’t deserve him anyway.
Shut up.
He doesn’t want you.
His jugular is pulsing so hard.
He doesn’t see it. He’s better here, why can’t he see it. He’s slow, but eventually…
It’s your fault you hurt him.
Yes. Yes I did, apparently. But why isn’t he looking at me. He’s giving me nothing. Give me something I can work with.
He’s too good for you.
He’s not giving any reaction, I have nothing to observe. I want to shake him. And what the fuck I need to get a grip of myself. But that hate in his eyes. I am all over the place.
“House, stay away from me,” he says, staring at the floor. I have to be closer. Let me see your face.
If I’m not human, James, then I don’t have to follow the rules of a "friendship" that is currently evaporating. I don't have to be anything.
If I’m not human why does it hurt so much.
I reach out and grab his arm, pull him close to me and slam my mouth against his to give his nervous system something he will not ignore. How. About. That.
And ooooh my, he’s kissing back.
But only for a moment. Two seconds after I am on the floor because he has pushed me away and I tripped because I was not expecting that. Idiot. I should have known. Well, now he can leave. No hard feelings, just me here alone.
It was just about time.
I don’t know how to function. I’ll stay here until he leaves.
From here he looks taller. I can finally see his eyes for a second.
He’s offended, clearly. Say something?
He says: “Don’t”.
Do not what? Whatever he is thinking, that’s how I am, that’s what I do. I can’t change. He’s better off.
I watch him pacing the room, looking all confused. Wait, is he going to the desk again? He wants to study now? I really messed him up.
I feel pain, something pressing in my throat wanting to come out. I don’t let it, it goes behind my eyes.I let myself be too open and now look at this. My eyes burn.
James, stop pacing, look at me. Please, please, either leave or look at me.
I like my T-shirt on him.
You are pathetic.
I already did too much. Why am I scared? I know how to be alone. I like to be alone.
Our uneaten late dinner lays on the bag on the floor. The smell of food reminds me of how the night before the exam should have gone.
I let myself believe too much in something. Now look at me. This is it. Now or never.
“I just wanted to have you here.” I blurt out because at least he knows.
Oh I shouldn’t have said that.
He’s leaving anyway. You don’t deserve anything.
Now it’s my turn to look down. I think I am in shock or something. I can’t feel anything but terror. The floor has some dirt gathered in the corner. Must be dust. I feel tears building up, but no way.
I don’t look up but I see James feet closer to me and then a hand in front of my face.
He helps me up. Alright, he wants to say goodbye.
I look at our hands, he doesn’t leave mine. I study his face. What are you doing? Is he waiting for something? His face has this new found resolution. What are you doing, James? If you have to leave, just leave. Maybe I’ll leave.
We’re so close I feel the need to distance myself from him. His hand is warm, mine is sweaty.
His gaze softens.
“I’m not leaving, okay?” He says. He’s still holding my hand.
Why? Why aren’t you? Don’t be stupid. I don’t deserve you.
His eyes are impossibly sweet. And there’s something else. He’s waiting.
God he’s so beautiful.
He’s still flushed from all the commotion. For a split second I wonder how I look. He has a thread of fabric in his hair.
He’s waiting for me to do something, but there’s only one thing I’d like to do, but I can’t. He pushed me away already.
His grip tightens around my hand as he steps a little closer to me. I squeeze his hand back almost as a reflex.
Now he’s so close I can smell the detergent of his clothes.
He can’t ask me this. It’s too much. But maybe this is it. This is the condition.
He’s very smart, after all.
Oh what the hell, maybe this is a second chance. And maybe this is worth risking everything.
So I stop thinking and I kiss him again.
Time dilates. Wet kisses, tongues, slow urgency. He’s touching my arms, I can’t move. My heart is pumping so hard it scares me.
It’s a good kiss for a first kiss. I’m scared. How much power am I giving him? What have I done?
No, no, no.
Then he stops, so this is it. I let him get too close. I have opened too much, he knows what I am, he has seen too much, I’ve gone too far.
But he puts his forehead against mine, taking a deep breath. I feel it on my wet lips. I try to do the same and he touches my face, then looks at his fingers, they’re wet.
I am crying, apparently.
I will never recover from this. Idiot.
“I’m here,” James says. Why is he so sweet with me? There’s no reasooooohmygod. He grabs my chin and leans in for another kiss.
This is good. He tastes good. My hand is in his hair. I can’t breathe properly. He’s kissing my neck, I miss his mouth on mine but this is amazing. Now he’s pushing me towards the bed. We fall on it, I feel fire in my veins.
I want this, I want him.
You’ll regret this.
No, I won’t. I’ve spent months picturing this. He wants me. I’m on top of him now. The things I want to do to him. I can’t believe our thighs are touching. The things I want him to do to me. I feel his erection against mine. Why does he want me?
He’ll regret this.
What if he will. Maybe there’s still a way out. There’s too much history, this is the cleanest cut there can be, given the circumstances. He thinks he wants me now, but when the romantic vision of the “broken genius” will blow up, he will regret every second of this. And I can’t sit and wait for that to happen. I look at him, and I say no.
I sit on the bed. I get away from his body.
“Why not?” he asks. His face is red again, but is not anger anymore. Well, because no.
“Because I already know how it ends. At some point, you realize I’m not the right person. And you leave.” I can just say this one last thing and that’s it. One last honest moment. “I’m never enough.”
There you go. If I’m not human, James, who is so much painfully human instead, will have to thank me for this. My t-shirt has a little hole close to the hem. I’m fine.
Tomorrow after the exam we’ll go our separate ways. He gets up, stays there in front of me, clearly in some deep thoughts because he can’t see the reason. I lie down. The bed is still warm where James was a few seconds ago.
“I’ve liked you for a long time. I didn’t say anything because I only realized recently. And I wanted to be sure.” he says. We shouldn’t be doing this. Talking about feelings. But It’s my fault.
“I knew,” I say. Of course I knew. It was obvious. Surprising, really, it took him so long to see it.
James’ hair is all messy, his cheeks are pink. Still looking damn good in my t-shirt. All of this is happening because I didn’t let that damn letter and pictures burn. I wonder what time it is. I feel tired. Must be my epinephrine levels bottoming out. James is going towards his bed. I tore the fabric of my t-shirt.
Now, this is what is right. All back to normal.
My heart rate is slowing down. I’m fine. I’m empty. I’m miserable, but it’ll pass.
For some reason James starts to pull his bed close to mine. This wakes me up.
“What are you doing?”
“I want us to be close.”
I watch him closing the space between the two beds. He runs a hand in his hair when it goes down to cover his eyes. A thunder happens somewhere far away. I watch him change into shorts and lie next to me. Why is he doing this?
“Now we sleep.” he says, turning off the light.
This is again not how I thought tonight was going to be. I rejected him, what is happening? We’re so close lying down. James still has a thread in his hair. I try to say something.
“Shut up, Gregory, and give me your hand.”
I do shut up because I don’t understand. I squeeze his hand like he just asked. The comfort I get from it I don’t deserve. He has closed his eyes, I look at him for a moment then I do the same.
Silence is everywhere. He’s not moving at all, I try to relax. I don’t know what’s happening and I don’t like that. I wonder if the grease from the sandwiches has soaked through the bag and started dripping onto the floor. Was it fructose-1-phosphate or fructose-6-phosphate that accumulates in essential fructosuria? In the dark I can pretend not to be scared. I stay perfectly still because I don’t want to ruin this moment, whatever this is.