A/N: obviously, RW/SM. A lot different from Addiction.
It's almost too easy, pretending. The nodding, the fervent yes's, the scornful laughter. It's always too easy to agree with the more-than-friend-but-not-really about whatever—after all, what they would say if you didn't—and they smile, relieved that you say so, and proud that you do. Their eyes are blinded by what they want, and they themselves pretend to not see.
Then you try to take back your own lies as he enters the room. Make some excuses, feel some guilt, but all of it washes away at the feeling of his gaze too near you.
It's always almost too easy to pretend.
Almost too easy to pretend that you don't notice the exact shade of his eyes, or the way the left side of his mouth quirks just slightly above the other when he smiles.
Almost too easy to pretend you don't see the hurt, the anger, and the goddamned betrayal in his eyes, even as he stops in the middle of the frickin' hall to stare at you with burning accusation in his gaze. And you glare at him back, your heart screaming and your heart gaining yet another fracture as you pretend (too easily, of course) that you hate him, like the rest of everyone.
At that moment you almost turn around to say you're sorry. But because it's always too easy to pretend, you don't.
Almost.
A/N: sorry I'm re-using this, but...