Love Is Not
What does Reid know about love? That he loves me? That I love him?
Reid, who gets all muddled up when faced with a beautiful girl that all he can say is something dumb like "Sarah is my grandmother's name you know." But he will go to the ends of the earth to pursue a girl – fix her car (by Using), spy on her while she bathes (by Using), and check out her underwear (if any) by Using, of course. If not for his Power, Reid would be a love-less loser.
The bonnet of my Hummer is heating up in this sun, and I feel the heat on my back through layers of clothing, but still I stare at the sky and think about Reid.
Is this grey jacket I wear Reid's? Or is it mine? We have both worn it countless times I forget which.
But love is not wearing one another's clothing.
Reid is on a date now. They're probably at Nicky's. He'll probably screw it up, or if he doesn't, then they'll end up bonking. Is that love, then – sex with a pretty girl on the first date?
Love is not kissing me on my lips when you want to borrow my Hummer, Reid. That's not love, but damn me if it doesn't work. 'Cause I melt when you do that, not that you ever notice. Your eyes are on the steering wheel.
Love is not teaching me the finer points of pool. Sure, you make sure my positioning is right, you keep reminding me of my mistakes, my weaknesses. You want me to be really good at pool. And your hands are on mine, and you stand behind me, press against me, guide my hands. My heart beats fast, but you don't hear it beating. You do this, teach me pool, so we can beat Aaron and his chums, and you can get that high when you win. Aaron with poison in his eyes gives you the money you won. To win at gambling, to win at pool, you need a strong partner, a player as skilled as you. And that is who I am. Do you love me because of that?
Love is not the fiery, unashamed look in your eyes as you kiss me again and again, it is not the feel of the sweat on your skin against mine, it is not the sensation of your lips and teeth on my neck, it is not the perfection of your body, nor the perfection of mine. But who thinks about love during sex, really. There's only lust.
But after the exhausting sex I think, and think, and think . . .
Love is not the way Reid daringly mouths "I love you" to the pretty tall girl sitting across the lecture hall. And when she smiles shyly back, that is not love too. Because I sit beside Reid, painfully close to him, and watch all this.
Love is not being unable to decide if Reid looks better in his speedo, his preppy Spenser uniform, or in nothing at all. Love is not admiring Reid's form, nor is it Reid admiring my form, nor is it smirking when Reid playfully shows off his bicep to me.
What does Reid know about love anyway? Sheesh.
Love is . . .
Love is holding a drunken Reid by the waist as he kneels down and throws up into the toilet bowl. And washing the puke and blood off his face with my bare hands. And putting him to bed, like the many times he has put me to bed when I got drunk myself.
Love is the strength which drives me through the swimming pool, legs moving powerfully, propelling me to the finish, and I come in first, and when I get out of the pool triumphantly, I look through the mass of clapping people to the familiar faces of my three proud (and slightly envious) friends, and I look only at Reid's, and my heart says silently I did it for you.
Love is lying on Reid's bare chest, feeling his arms encircle me, and waking up to the sound of the alarm clock in the exact position. Love . . . is the unspoken agreement whereby Reid and I sleep in the same bed. My bed on the other side of the dorm room has not been slept in for months and months. Whereas Reid's bed is now creaking at the hinges.
Love is knowing that one day Reid and I will grow up into men and each marry the girl of our hearts, and yet, and yet – having the courage to love Reid now.
Love is not knowing whether to commit suicide or carry on living should Reid die any moment from over-Using.
Love is punching Reid, making his nose bleed profusely, and punching his stomach again and again, because he holds in his hand three pink pills – ecstasy. And I dump the pills into the bin, and I wash my hands, and my mind is dizzy, and Reid later calls me up to say sorry.
Love is doing whatever it takes to make sure Reid gets his homework done – reminding him, punching him, threatening him, kissing him, biting his neck, rubbing against his groin, nuzzling against him, and sometimes just letting him copy my homework.
Love is Reid watching me dance with a pretty girl with a proud look in his eyes.
Love is whenever I find Reid actually studying, and he looks at me ironically and tells me it's about time I hit the books too. And Reid's phone vibrates – Aaron is calling about a game of pool – and Reid cuts it off, because he is engrossed in Newton's Second Law of Motion.
Stupid, beautiful, shallow Reid will never know just how much I love him.
Wrote this while I was bored. Hope you liked this one-shot.