Alright... I should be updating HeartWare, but this is something I've been working on for a couple months here and there, and I think I realllly like it. It's a oneshot because I don't know how I'd continue it from where I leave off at, so it'd take a looot of prodding and begging for me to continue. And I mean, a lot. I barely have time to write for HeartWare anymore.

The title of this sucks. I couldn't think of anything better. DON'T JUDGE A FIC BY ITS TITLE. :)

Anyways, I hope you enjoy... Realize this includes my first M-rated scene... So, um, I would adore some feedback on if I wrote it well or anything. It's the one thing that worries me about posting this, haha.

Disclaimer: There is no way I own HM with the nonsense going on in the show right now.. (growl)

Connection
by Broken Oken

I hate suitcases. I always have. Probably always will. I mean, to be quite honest, they're just too big, and sometimes even setting my heavy butt on them doesn't weigh enough to make them close all the way.

But right now I hate suitcases for a different reason. I hate them because dragging about five of them, probably each weighing fifty pounds each, up a flight of stairs is about the direct opposite of fun. Seriously—what kind of three-story hotel doesn't have an elevator? Ugh. Why Miley chose to stay here, I'll never understand. We should be getting some elite suite thing at the fancy pants hotel down the block—not some old run down place called "Margie's". Seriously. What?

Oh, great. One of the suitcases is stuck on the railing of the staircase.

I try pulling it about sixteen times, and then I just give up when it just sits there tauntingly, and start leaving without it. Whatever.

"Oliver, you dropped one of my suitcases."

I look up with a glare. Miley is standing there at the top of the stairs, smiling at me sympathetically, because it's easy to smile when all you have is a measly little book bag slung around your shoulders.

"Can't you get it?" I snarl, and her smile fades.

"Uh, yeah, but you're the one who won't let me carry anything."

I sigh because the lady speaks the truth. You see, I don't want her to strain herself after performing two whole concerts right in a row today. Damn my caring side. And damn my manly pride that made me reply to her, "Right, don't move, I'll get it. Sorry. Stay there."

"Oliver, I'll get it, it's no big deal—"

"No, I got it, Miley, just trust me."

I start tugging at the suitcase's straps, but it somehow remains stuck on the railing.

"Oliver—"

"I got it, Miley—"

"OLIVER—"

"NO, MILEY! I GOT IT!" I pull with even more strength, but it still doesn't budge. Damn thing. I'm pulling with everything I have within me, and it's just sitting there like a bump on a log, and I'm going to kill it if it doesn't move within the next five seconds—

Bam.

I don't know what happened first—the suitcase pummeling my face, or the part of the railing that came flying with it into my shin.

What I do know for sure is that I was like, "SON OF A [INSERT CURSE WORD]!!!!"

And fell over on the stairs.

God. This hurts. And here comes Miley to laugh at me.

"Oliver," oh, there's that, 'told you so' voice so here it comes, "You should've let me carry it."

And what did I tell you?

My bangs are in such a mess; I can't really even see Miley. But I know she's there because I feel some of her hair nipping at the tip of my nose. It kind of tickles.

I blow out a puff of air, and my bangs separate. Above me is Miley's face gazing directly down at mine with an amused curve of the lips.

I fold my arms as a response and look away.

"And now we're gonna have to pay for that piece of railing you just broke," she goes on, and I can somehow hear the smirk in her voice, "Who knew you had the muscles in ya?"

And she pokes at one of my arms.

"Yeah, yeah, just help me up."

So that's exactly what she does. She even tries to take one of the suitcases from me, but I shove it away from her reach successfully and begin my climb to the third floor once again while the bags follow with their heavy and loud clunks as they ascend each individual stair. I know Miley is not going to let this go—she's probably on the verge of asking if I need help one more ti—

"Oli—"

"No."

And she falls silent at last.

It's going to be weird sharing a hotel room with Miley. Her dad's not going to be in the room next to us or anything; he was actually currently performing at his own show somewhere in another state away. Somehow he'd allowed Miley to bring me along as her guy replacement instead of her brother (but let's be honest, Miley would have chosen almost any male over Jackson). Lilly's also not present, much to my disappointment. She's back in Malibu sicker than a dog. I can only frown at the empty space next to me that she usually occupies. I miss having a girlfriend to swing my arm around.

But for the first time in a very, very long time, it's just going to be Miley and me.

I don't know why she picked me instead of, like, Jake or something. When I asked her about this, she got this strange expression (the one she gets when she thinks she's being sneaky, but isn't) and was like, "Oh, uh, he'll be out of town that weekend."

Which, of course, didn't turn out to be the case since I saw him just yesterday night at this bonfire thing at the beach. But whatever. He'd probably force Miley into doing something she wouldn't want to do. And then I'd have to kill him.

However, I think Miley and I have bigger problems. We've seemed to lost some kind of connection. We don't talk too much anymore… Ever since I started dating Lilly, it's been hard to spend time with the two of them together. Lilly always ends up crucifying me later, saying that Miley and I are all "flirting with each other," something I'm positive isn't happening. I'm only acting like I always ever have, and it's not like Miley would ever look past my doughnutty ways and actually flirt with me.

But let's just say it took a lot of friendship charms and shoes from the Hannah closet for Lilly to allow me to accompany Miley on this overnight trip.

Anyway, since Miley and I don't talk as much anymore, I'm not too sure of what tonight will be like. We haven't had the chance yet for the awkwardness to envelop us since she's been so ridiculously busy being Hannah today that we haven't really had the time for uncomfortable silences. Instead I kept texting Lilly, keeping both her and myself occupied.

But now we are approaching our hotel room. Yeah, just one room. I don't know why she didn't ask for two, it's not like she's poor.

"This is it," she says like I don't know, pulling the cardkey from her wallet and into its proper slot on the door. It opens, and we step inside and are met with the usual hotel room standards—two beds, a bathroom, a view from the window, a TV, a desk, a chair, and a telephone.

I set her suitcases down on one of the beds and mine on the other when she quickly objects: "No, no, I don't want the one by the window." Sighing in frustration, I throw hers onto the other one as well, receiving a grateful smile in return.

I stand and look at my suitcase, and then over to Miley. It's around ten' o'clock at night, and I am all about going to sleep, but I don't know if there's anything else that needs to be done.

She peers back at me briefly before announcing, "I'm going to the bathroom," and flees to the place specified.

I sigh and fall backwards on my bed. I could already tell a night with Miley would not be much fun without Lilly.

A few minutes later Miley reappears on my bedside in a fluffy pink—um, short robe. I'm startled by her new appearance and look her up and down automatically before blushing at what I had just done. Both horrified and confused at my actions, I tell myself I'm a guy and this is normal. I've seen Miley in skirts before—and yeah, they were short, but this… this is something else. It's to the point where she'd be stupid not to think my eyes would be traveling up her—

She laughs a little, interrupting the abrupt and quick beating of my heart. "Aren't you getting in your pajamas?"

I shake my head, moving my eyes to her face, where I should be looking in the first place. "Um, I kinda already am."

She stares in confusion. "You're wearing a sweatshirt to bed?"

"No, I just usually, uh, wear—…boxers."

She blinks a few times, and I realize how much more awkward I'm making this. It's been a long time since I've stayed over anywhere with Miley, and back in the day, I had wore actual pants and a t-shirt, but that wasn't the case anymore. My twenty-year-old self could only sleep comfortably with little amounts of clothing. I hadn't even thought about how seriously different now it'd be for Miley to see me half-naked.

"Oh," she says with a weird look on her face and proceeds to sit on her own bed.

Taking that she wasn't at ease with the idea either, I clear my throat and declare, "On second thought, I'll wear a t-shirt and some sweats."

"No, no," she says awkwardly. "Make yourself at home. Be comfortable."

Yeah, the truth is, I'm not feeling at all comfortable anymore being in only my boxers around Miley. The perturbed expression on her face is freaking me out.

"Nah, that's okay."

"I won't look," she prods.

"Oh yeah you would," I kid to relieve us from this weirdly unfamiliar tension going on between us, and it appears to work as she faintly smiles.

But then she replies with something I'm not expecting: "Lilly would kill me."

As if it is the only thing stopping her from looking.

I raise an eyebrow, and she straightens her posture. "A-And it's not like you'd have much to look at anyways." My eyebrows heighten even further, and she waves her hands madly, "Not like that! I mean, not about your—I mean, I'm sure it's—"

"Miley."

"What?"

"Calm down." I offer her a mild grin. "I know you weren't talking about my package."

She blushes intensely—a curious reaction in my opinion. I can't remember the last time I've seen Miley Stewart blush, not from something I've said at least. I feel as if something should be clicking in my brain right now…

"Right," she almost stutters and averts her gaze. "So, uh, wanna watch some TV or something?"

I nod with a, "Sure," as she twists herself around in search of the remote. I'm fully puzzled by this point. I'm used to a confident, bossy Miley, and ever since we've gotten in the room, she's not been acting like herself at all.

Suddenly her body extends over to her bedside table, and I freak myself out further when I find myself glued to her exposed, toned legs. Her pink robe hikes up a tad further, and I suddenly can't blink, and the temperature in the room feels like it's grown a lot hotter. I can practically see her—well—is she even wearing underwear?!

Before I can have an internal meltdown, she's turned back to her normal position, eyes set on the TV screen, and I hurriedly place my sights on it as well, starting to sweat. No, wait, not just starting…

Damn hoody… that's, that's what it is…

I know I'm just trying to convince myself. I've had that same bothered and hot feeling whenever Lilly wore shorter skirts than normal.

But I remove the hoody anyways. You know, just to be safe.

"So what do you wanna watch?" Miley asks me, almost sounding cautious, like she was still thinking about the boxers things. From this I know I need to lighten the atmosphere. Possibly for the both of us.

"Got any porn?"

I know it's probably the least helpful thing in my case, because some very inappropriate thoughts about a certain curly-haired brunette de-robing have made themselves welcome in my brain.

But I'm hoping that the humor will allow her to revert back to regular, un-shy Miley. 'Cause when she's being regular Miley, I've never had such thoughts.

Miley gasps in disgust and chucks the remote at my head, but I catch it easily, smirking, excited that maybe I did the right thing after all.

"Okay, okay, geez, I'll find it myself…"

Not needing to see her face to know she's going to be angry with that little remark, I pretend to push a button on the remote when she comes hurling forward with her arms outstretched in "gimme" mode. I smile and push her away, which as I also know, leaves her coming back with even more aggression, something I'm suddenly realizing that I've always liked about the girl.

Accidentally as this happens, though, disaster strikes. Her robe is loosened, and I catch a very, very small glimpse of her cleavage, and realize she is, for some reason, not wearing a bra either. I am instantly weakened, and she snatches the remote in oblivious triumph. My face colors, and then pales when I see her robe starting to undo more, and I immediately cover my face, shouting, "Ahh!"

I don't know what she does because I can't see it, but when I do peek, the robe problem is fixed. She, however, looks a little sad, something I don't understand. She should be either mortified or hitting me by now.

"Sorry," she apologizes (?????).

I look at her like she's crazy. Cause, well, she is. For two reasons. One, I'm the one who should be saying sorry. I was the perv looking down her robe. And two, she's not wearing a bra, and possibly not any underwear. WHY?! Do most girls wear robes without anything underneath them?!

"Eh, it's alright." I put forward a timid smile, and she halfheartedly returns it. "I-I didn't see anything anyways."

I'm a liar. I definitely saw something. And that something will not be leaving my brain for awhile. Especially when all she has on is a freaking robe…

Miley seems to mumble something like, "Not like you'd want to," but it doesn't make sense to me so I cock my head.

"What?"

She straightens again. "Huh?"

"What'd you just say?"

"Um… 'huh'?"

"No… before that."

"Nothing."

"No, you said something."

"No, I didn't."

"Um, yes, you did."

"No I didn't. I'm going to the bathroom."

"Didn't you just g—"

But I am interrupted as she speeds to the bathroom anyways.

I am now convinced I am not dealing with Miley anymore, but an alien that just looks like her. I've never seen her act like this before, and it's driving me crazy.

A total of five something minutes later (not that I'm counting), she comes back out, this time in shorts and a tank top. I look at her attire change questionably and a bit in relief, and she seems to understand as she answers peculiarly enough with the word choice of, "Safer."

I don't know if she meant that I won't be able to see anything this way, or that I should be able to stop myself from looking…

But I soon realize it couldn't be the latter because as she walks by me towards her bed, I catch a glimpse of how short her shorts really are, and know I am completely doomed.

"So," she has the remote again and begins to channel surf. "Have a good time today?"

"Yeah," I say, forcing my eyes to travel back up to her face again (what the hell?). "I, uh, still don't know how you do it, though."

"Lots and lots of water," she says, and I smile. At least I think I do.

"I bet."

She doesn't respond for a few seconds, and I grow nervous, knowing this could be our first real lull of the evening. But then she surprises me.

"Oliver… can I ask you something?" she's still flipping through channels, but I can tell she's not paying attention because her eyes briefly flick in my direction.

I suddenly feel like I'm about to be interrogated. That she knows I saw her boobs. Oh, shit.

"Um, sure," I say uncertainly.

"Do you really love Lilly?"

I'm fully taken aback. We rarely talk about my feelings for Lilly unless she's trying to put us back together after a fight or our monthly break-up. Regardless I answer, "Yes," without much hesitation. I feel sort of guilty for some reason as I say it, however. Maybe it's because I was looking at Miley's legs… do guys in love look at their girlfriend's best friend's legs?

No, Oliver. They do not… shit.

"Oh." Miley bats her eyes a few times, still not facing me. "Well, how did you know?"

There isn't an instant reply to that question, so I think about it for a moment before speaking. "She makes me happy. I always want to be with her."

"Like, right now even?" she's sort of finally looking at me right now through her peripherals.

"Yeah," I say, my heart feeling like it was sinking because at the very moment I'd nodded my head, I'd been thinking no. I pin this to that Lilly would probably catch my eyes wandering over Miley's legs and then yell at me for it later. That's why I don't want Lilly here. So I don't get in trouble. Yeah?

"Cool," she says, and it's said so out-of-character that I feel like this conversation isn't really over. I'm correct as she fully turns to me, setting the remote down completely and she blurts, "Are you gonna marry her?"

If I was standing, I would have tripped right there. "Wh-what? Um, uh, I don't know."

"Would you?" she pushes, "Like, right now?"

"Um, she's three hundred miles away," I try evading the question as my heart pumps out of whack.

"Doesn't matter. Would you marry her right now?"

"Er, I, uh, sure."

"Sure? Or, you would?"

"I-I don't know! Why are you asking?!"

She starts a bit at my frustration. "I don't know. You guys have been together, like, three years now. And… I was just… you know, curious."

"Did Lilly put you up to this?"

"No." she shakes her head. "Swear."

I eye her suspiciously. "And you aren't gonna tell her what I said, right?"

"Nooo way, like I'd really want you guys to get in another fight," she says it exasperatedly, and I sort of glower.

"Hey now, we don't fight all the time."

"I-I know, I just—never mind."

Silence falls between us, and I'm halfway positive it was going to stay that way, or at least hoping it would, before I hear a tentative call of my name.

"Oliver?"

"Yes, Miley?"

"…nothing."

And although the TV is stopped on the History channel, neither of us make a move to change it.

I find myself being shaken awake, and frightened, I look about wildly in the darkness, not remembering falling asleep or anything that's happened since Miley and I's conversation. "What? What's wrong?!" I shout anxiously.

"I can't sleep," is the reason I am awoken at two a.m. after getting only two hours of sleep the night before.

"Okay…" I look at Miley standing there innocently by my bedside, and I'm trying not to glare. "…and what am I supposed to do?"

"I wanna talk."

I can't stop the harsh words before they're said: "Already tried that."

"Stop being grumpy," she criticizes. "I never get to spend any time with you, and we've barely said a word to each other since we've gotten here. I feel like I'm rooming with a stranger. Get up."

I start to growl when the covers are tossed off of me. "Miley! It's freezing!"

"Er."

I squint open an eye and even though the darkness consumes most of her face, I still could sense a flush about her cheeks that hadn't been there until she'd removed my blankets. I don't understand what she's looking at until I look down as well. I'm—I'm in my boxers.

I snatch the comforter back to shield myself. "WARN A GUY!"

She stares at me for a few moments without expression before breaking out in a smile. "What's Lilly think of those Spiderman boxers?"

"She—she's never seen them!" I say.

"But she's seen your candy cane ones?"

"Yeah." I look back at her, and her smile stretches. "Wait a second, how did you know that?!"

"Girls tell each other everything."

My face grows warm, and I wonder how much of everything she really knew. Miley's looking rather mischievous at this point, and I'm a bit frightened at what that expression could mean.

"You never tell me anything," I try changing subjects, and she laughs, bouncing herself onto my bed next to me, leaning a dangerous amount of close. I say dangerous because I'm practically given a birds-eye view of what's there under her green tank top. I struggle to remind myself that it should be her green-ish eyes that are more important.

"So, what would you like to know?"

I glance at the clock. "Nothing at 2:13 in the morning."

"Oh, c'mon, there must be something you're wondering." And she leans once more, smiling, and some of her curls dance lightly around my collarbone. I halfway gulp, wondering if she's aware of how close she is to me at this point. Maybe it's a good thing it's so late in the evening, because if it were daylight, I'm sure I could see a lot more of Miley I shouldn't be seeing…

"Okay…" I swallow dry air, not liking the minimal distance between us. I'm not sure if I want it closed or open, either. "What's your, uh, favorite city?"

She… giggles. Uh. Yeah. That's a giggle. But she doesn't giggle at anything I say. Ever.

"Nooo, Oliver, that's not how you play this game."

"We're playing a game?"

"Yes! Ask me something like, something you don't know."

"I don't know what your favorite city is, though."

"No!" she sighs frustratingly, and I tense when I realize I can feel the breath of air on my face. She really is sitting too close. Lilly would be killing me right now. I'm not even technically doing anything, but she'd totally kill me.

"Liiiike," Miley draws the word out, eyeing the ceiling as she does so before darting back to my face. "Ask me about boys."

I scrunch my nose. "No thank you."

"Just do it!" she scolds, sounding more like the old Miley, and I feel a little bit of my pout transforming to a grin.

"Okay… who's the lucky guy of the moment?"

"You think he's lucky?" she asks curiously, and I shrug, not understanding why she finds that so important.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't he be?"

A smile flutters over her mouth, nothing surprising, but it's of a variety I've never seen before. It's… different. A smile that somehow is also reappearing in her eyes. It strikes me that truly, whomever she has her heart set on is one of the luckiest guys on earth—Miley is a very beautiful girl. Especially in the moonlight—

NO. I am not thinking about her this way. I don't see Miley like that. I am only thinking this because she is sitting an inch away from me, and I'm tired, and I can't think clearly.

She takes a moment to bask in that unique smile of hers before answering. "I don't know… but I can't tell you who."

"Wait, wait, wait." I sit more upright in my seat, causing our shoulders to bump, and she shrinks backwards immediately in alarm. I raise my eyebrows, but choose to ignore her odd behavior, and go on, "You're making me ask questions that you're not even gonna answer?"

"I did answer," she says, smirking, of course.

"Well, that's unfair."

"No, it's safe."

"Safe?"

If there's a way for your expression to stumble, Miley makes it happen. "Y-Yeah. It's better off you not knowing."

"I already know it's Jake, Miles."

She perks slightly, and instead of commenting on my assumption, she decides on something else, "You haven't called me that in forever."

"What?"

"Miles." she grins. "I miss it."

"Miles," I repeat. "That doesn't mean I won't stop calling you it. Miles go on forever." I wink at my cheesy joke, and she playfully hits me, but not in the way she would do if we were at her house back in Malibu. It's almost… almost like I've seen this before. With other guys. Who aren't her best friend. Who she finds… attractive… Oh no, don't tell me this means—

"Do you think my feet are ugly?" she asks abruptly as if reading my own mind, and places them up on the bed for me to examine. I gag in disgust, and she smacks me in the old Miley way.

"Hey, I didn't say anything!"

"But you coughed!"

"Your feet are very pretty, Miles." I pat them awkwardly. "How's that?"

She smiles, and without warning again, springs them at my face, and I yelp, grabbing them so that they can't touch my lips.

"You looooove them," she claims, and I shake my head, battling a grin of my own.

"Why are you doing this?" I chuckle out.

"Dunno, I'm bored and can't sleep and hyper and usually Lilly deals with this stuff, but you're gonna have to do. So what about my hands?" she spins her feet away from me at last and presents me with a replacement of her fingers. I look at how small and delicate they are.

"Hmm, your hands, yeah, I guess I wouldn't mind those on me."

I didn't realize how weird the statement sounded until it was already out in the open. But she doesn't take it offensively. She—she smirks at it instead.

"Ohhh really?"

And she does something she's never done before, which was slide a finger very flirtatiously down my shoulder. I don't know how to react, so I watch the action with horror until she's all the way down to my hand. "Miley?" My voice doesn't even sound like me; it comes out higher-pitched than normal.

She retracts the finger instantly. "Uh, sorry."

I stare at her, and she immediately begins to move farther away, and on a strange impulse, I pull her back towards me, maybe even closer to where she had started. She now looks horrified, too.

"I'm sorry," she says at once. "That was crossing the line."

I side smile as my heart speeds a little. It was as if she'd just admitted to flirting with me. Like, intentionally flirting. With me. Crazy ideas are exploding in my head at the moment at what this could all mean.

So I decide to test this subject a little more. "Nah, you were just playing around. No big deal."

"Mmkay." she squeezes one of my hands softly, which makes me realize I had somehow been holding it for the last five seconds. I drop it straight away, unfortunately noticing the obvious disappointment that ran through her face as I did it.

Oh no. Ohhhh no.

"Are you okay?" I ask because it's generally the only other option that would logically make sense if she said "no," other than, er, that. My heart resumes its pounding, except louder.

"Oh yeah." she nods, but I barely believe her. "How about we play another game?"

I don't like Miley games. Miley games are trouble. But—well, maybe, maybe this one would allow her to get off this bed with me, where her thigh is about a foot away from my hand…

"Alright…" I agree slowly.

"The word game."

"What's that?"

"It's easy." She folds her legs Indian style, and I'm grateful to have them farther out of range. "I say a word, and you say the first thing that comes to your mind."

"Is this what all you girls do at sleepovers?"

"No. But you're a boy. I don't wanna strip down to my underwear and bra and hit you with fluffy pillows." My eyes bulge, and she laughs wildly. "Juust kidding. That doesn't happen."

"My dreams have been crushed."

She rolls her eyes. "Anyyyyways, cereal."

"Cereal what?"

"No, that's the word, ya doughnut!"

"What word?"

"FOR THE GAME!"

"Ohhh." I nod my head and think about it. "Um. Cocoa puffs, I guess."

She smiles. "Favorite cereal?"

"I already said cocoa puffs."

"No! I meant like—oh, never mind. Mailbox."

"Are you calling me a mailbox?"

"Oliver!" she giggles, and I am now dreadful of the way my pulse was throbbing at the sound of it. I know that giggle. I know that giggle all too well. And she's only given it to me twice now in my entire life. "Mailbox is the next word."

I am aware now I can't think properly, but I manage to say something logical at least, which was, "Letters."

"Pencils."

"Paper."

"Music."

"iPod."

"Hannah Montana."

I look at her sarcastically. "You."

She smiles innocently. "Lamp."

"Anchorman."

She laughs. "Lotion."

"Erm…"

I blush scarlet at what had at first come to my mind, which was for some reason, Miley's hands in lotion… about to… uh…

"…Hands," I finish, dying on the inside.

"Feet."

"You."

She gives me a weird look before probably remembering what had happened earlier. "Umm… bed."

"Sleep."

"Sex."

"Miley!"

"You think about me when you think about sex?" she's smirking again, and I don't know how my face isn't burning off when she asks it.

"No! I think about—about—I don't know, give me another word!"

"Nope. Cause unless you don't, I'm telling Lilly you think about me when it comes to sex." There's this glint in her eyes while she says this, almost like she'd be, like, proud to spread this information.

"She'd murder me!" I shout helplessly.

"So give me an answer unless you want to live!"

I glare at her. "Fine… um… golf balls."

There's a beat of silence before she busts up laughing hysterically. I feel awkward, but then her laughter becomes contagious so I start dying myself. It takes us awhile for us to eventually calm ourselves down, and when we do, she puts a hand on my shoulder, looking out of breath.

"G-Golf balls?"

"Yep." I somewhat grin. "Welcome to my very complex mind."

She giggles a little more, and I know it's that same giggle again—and instead of fearing it, I now want to hear more of it. Like, I want her to giggle some more at me. Which is a very bad sign, I know, but I'm tired and sleepy, and I'll say it one more time: I'm not thinking clearly.

"You are hilarious, Oken."

It's the first time she's ever complimented me about that, and for some reason, I feel like I should stick my chest out and be arrogant about it. Not even Lilly deems me as funny. She's constantly telling me to end the joke two seconds after it's started.

"So you finally admit I'm funny?" I elbow her, and she grins shamelessly.

"Maaaaybe."

"Oh, you know I am." I wiggle my eyebrows, and I'm growing aware that I'm verging on flirtatious, but that's the thing: I'm only verging on it. So I'm still okay.

"I'm not going to say anything."

"That's okay. I'm a mind reader."

She smiles from the side of her face. "Oh yeah? What am I thinking about right now?"

"How sexy my Spiderman boxers are."

She pinks, but laughs anyway. I can't remember the last time I've heard Miley laugh this much, and I don't want it to end. She's less intimidating when she's laughing. So I'm going to keep doing it.

"See? I knew it," I say. "You cannot resist Spiderman."

"Oh, but I can. Now if they were Batman—"

I gasp. "Don't tell me you like Batman more than Spiderman."

"Noooo." She tilts her head downwards, but still looking up at me, and I note the playfulness in her eyes. "I definitely… like Spiderman better."

I am almost positive that was suggestive, and some of my nerves come flooding back. Maybe it is a bad idea making Miley laugh… Yeah, I need to end this. Too much to think about.

"I think maybe we should go to sleep," I blurt, and her head goes back a little in surprise.

"Why?"

I eye her, realizing she looks a little disappointed that I want to stop the conversation. But what she doesn't know is that finishing it would probably be too much of a danger. I mean, I was starting to wonder what other sounds besides laughter I could make her do…

"Tired," I lie. I feel bad. It's the most Miley and I had spoken in about a year, and here I am being a douchebag by ending it. But perhaps there's a reason Miley and I never talk more than five minutes alone at a time… so I don't go all crazy-minded like I am now.

She nods very slowly, and I see a look on her face that appears like she's been crushed into a billion pieces. But with a single syllable of, "'night," she flees from my bed and back onto hers in a matter of seconds.

"Er, that was fast," I remark, but there comes no response. "Uh, goodnight."

But this time sleep is a little more difficult.

I laid there for quite awhile, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the last fifteen minutes, and how something had definitely changed in them, and all of a sudden, I hear a noise that sounds like sniffling coming from the left of me. I twist my head, seeing Miley's back turned to me, and a bit of shaking coming from her.

I've been around girls all my life, so I know what's going on here.

"Miles? Miles, are you crying?"

She keeps sniffling, and on instinct I get to my feet and walk over to her bed and begin to rub on one of her shoulders. I ignore the hot feeling in my cheeks as my fingers make contact with her skin. Now is not the time. "Miley? What's wrong? Miles?"

She turns all the way around, but she doesn't look grateful. "Nothing."

"You're crying, though."

"Yeah, so? I can cry about nothing. I'm a girl. We do that."

"Right." I stare at her in confusion, and she rolls back to face the opposite direction again. Her crying seems to worsen, and not knowing what else to do, I slowly sit myself down on her bed to continue rubbing her shoulders. I should probably refrain from touching her by the feeling it's giving me, but I can't help it anymore. She needs it…. Right?

"Miles… you can tell me anything. What's wrong?"

"Leave me alone."

"No. You hate being alone when you're upset. Come here." Not putting much thought into it at all, I pull her into my arms, and she stiffens as if to struggle, but then eases herself into them. The sudden weight I hadn't been expecting causes me to slump a little and practically drop her, but she catches her hands on the bed, and her head knocks hard into my chin. I yelp.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry!" she sniffles, and one of her hands extends to rub my chin gently.

Our eyes lock in place at that moment, and I don't know how else to explain it, but I now have the most overpowering urge to… kiss her.

It's terrible to say since I have a girlfriend, but I really almost did it. I'm not sure what stopped me. She just looked so helpless and, and beautiful that I literally had to force myself not to. Literally the only thing stopping me was my awareness of Lilly.

So what happens next stunned me.

Miley leans herself up and kisses me.

She had felt it, too.

What I should do is pull away. What I should do is get up and walk to the bathroom and lock myself in there and scream something about Lilly.

But what I do instead....

I push her more into me so that our mouths connect more fiercely. New knowledge breaks into me that this feels nothing like any of my kisses with Lilly. It's like I'm supposed to be doing this all along instead.

Her arms enlace around my neck, and I suddenly feel as if I need to be closer to her. I move my body forward so that she's lying back down on the bed. I make it so that our bodies are touching, and continue to kiss her roughly and tenderly all at the same time. She responds just as passionately, and it's probably at this point in specifics where I completely forget who Lilly Truscott even is.

She begins to pull at my shirt, and I easily help her discard it, knowing that I want it gone probably more than she does. As I do this, I'm trying to make each second without her lips on mine as short as possible. Her arms shift in some sort of frenzy, and I'm alarmed at what she's doing until I see she's trying to remove her own tank top. I lift myself off of her, so she can toss it to the floor besides us. I desperately want to look, but I keep my eyes shut tight, and my concentration on simply kissing her.

One of her legs surprises me by wrapping itself around my waist, and I get the message clearly and press myself down onto her as she lets out a quiet moan, and her other leg finds its place on the other side of my waist.

That noise is so ridiculously attractive—sexy, even—that I know I need to hear it again. I can't even believe I'm doing this, but I feel my way around on her chest, and she slightly shivers at every touch I give her.

Something curious happens when she starts grasping at my boxers, and for a moment, my logic comes back to me and I realize just what I've been doing. A large part of me tells me to end it here, but somehow I ignore it, losing all reason completely, and I help her take them off, and then get rid of anything she, too, was wearing on the bottom half of her body.

I push her further onto the bed so I can fully climb on top of her, and she's gasping for breath, and the heat is overbearing being so close to her, but I want it at the same time.

"Mi… Miley…" I know what situation we've put ourselves in, what I want to do with her naked underneath me, but I know it's wrong at the same time. I want to ask her for permission, but I can't seem to form anything more than her name.

"P…Please…" she begs, nodding her head furiously and grabbing at my back with her nails. I tense, knowing that she has me in the palm of her hands, quite literally, and that it would take a volcanic eruption to stop me now. Cautiously, and shaking, I position myself better, and look down at her face.

As if sensing my gaze, she opens her eyes. It's a moment unlike any other. She doesn't need to speak. I can just see her wanting me in those eyes, and I know that this couldn't be any more… right.

It's the defining factor in my actions, and in one slow movement, I'm in her. She makes a sound like another moan, and I want to mimic the noise. I remove myself, and then back in again, slower even. I desperately want to move faster, but I don't want this to be about me for some reason. I feel like… like I was doing this for her.

Within time she's suddenly proclaiming, "Harder," in grunts, and I oblige very quickly every time she calls for it. Eventually "harder" turned into just loud moans—from the both of us.

We're in unison and all of a sudden, there isn't a care in the world, and I feel like I'm floating, and… release.

I roll off of her, trying to catch my breath, and then just processing the gratuity of what had happened between us in a matter of minutes.

Lilly. Oh my God, Lil—

"Oliver..."

Miley.

Despite the guilt I should be feeling, I let her snuggle against me. I'm letting my arm squeeze her tightly against me. I'm letting her hair ruffle against my neck and collarbone. I'm letting myself kiss her forehead.

I have no idea how this will play out in the morning, but I don't want to ask questions. I just want to lay like this, looking down at her pre-sleeping face, seeing all that beautifulness I've been somehow ignoring all my life, and knowing that I have her.

She smiles as she drifts off to sleep, and I watch it with interest, hoping she'll be dreaming about me.

At 9:00 a.m., an alarm is going off. I stretch as I feel warmth leaving me. I immediately reach for covers before realizing it hadn't been blankets keeping me warm last night, but a person. A female person.

Named Miley.

She's on her knees, searching desperately for that phone. I watch, bug-eyed as the night before comes flooding back to me, and I wonder if it's a dream until I see her underwear resting at the end of the bed.

"Hello?" she seems to have found the shrieking thing. "Oh, uh, h-hi… Y-yeah, he's, uh, here. Hold on…" Her eyes land on me, and I shrink under her gaze. I know exactly who's on the other end of that phone, but she tells me anyways. "Lilly. Says you won't answer your cell." It's said so monotonously that it's like we never shared anything special last night at all.

I take it from her cautiously, holding the phone to my ear. "Lilly?"

"Oliver! I've been trying to reach you since last night! Why aren't you answering! You never called to say goodnight! You aren't being—"

As the insults flew, I zone and watch as Miley digs through her suitcase for clothes. She catches my eye and blushes, but I smile reassuringly, and her blush deepens, but this time a smile of her own appears before she dashes into the bathroom.

"Oliver! Hellooo? Are you even listening to me?!"

"Huh? Oh, uh, sorry, bad connection…"

She proceeds to go off on me as I stare at the bathroom door, realizing with a silly, disgusting grin that it's where my good connection actually lies.

Fin.

Oh my goodness. How bad was it? Terrible? Gross? Too descriptive? Not descriptive enough?

I need serious feedback on this one, guys. Verrrrrry self conscious about it. It'll also help me for future HeartWare scenes... (wink, wink)

Thank-youuuu. :)