sosilly: (😊)
Christopher ([personal profile] sosilly) wrote 2015-10-24 02:48 am (UTC)

[ chris should know that by now. when josh runs out of party tricks, other people's sex lives are his go-to - sometimes even before the tricks run dry, if he's in the mood.

he smiles slightly, looking down pensively into his half-empty glass. ash is all those things, and-- so much more. she's a rare breed of everything chris likes in a girl, and he recognizes that; he knew that pretty much from the beginning, since the time when they only saw each other in libraries to flip through books and mostly just pretend to study. josh knows it, too.

Nothing. There's nothing not to like.

[ that's clear. so maybe he's the problem. there's that constant fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, of pushing what they have to a dangerous limit and watching it break. he doesn't want her to reject him and he doesn't want her to hate him for asking a stupid question like are you in love with me, too? it's possible he's a coward and always will be.

being friends is safer on all accounts. it means familiarity. he's thought about what could go wrong as a result of confessing and he's been as pessimistic to imagine what could go wrong if they actually got together. one of them being seeing a lot less of josh, which he figures must have crossed josh's mind at least once before, and that always makes chris wonder why his best friend is so adamant about setting him up. of course, josh has always been the type to put chris' needs first; maybe josh just decided it would be worth it.

and chris appreciates it - always has, always will - but it doesn't mean he doesn't wish josh would think about his own interests as priority once in a while. he watches josh avert his gaze and focus his attention on his glass for a minute, wondering what he's thinking - for once, chris doesn't feel like he has a good idea of what's flitting around in josh's head.

he's half-reassured when josh grins, and then a little more when josh's foot presses against his leg. it's not perfect and they're leaving so much unsaid, but maybe tonight's not the night. he lets himself laugh and some of the prickly tension in him lets go, slips away.

Shitheads in arms. Me and you.

[ he's still slumped in his seat, head resting against the back of the couch, but he raises up his glass in this silly little toast. ]

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