Love.
What kind of idiot said that it was a pleasant feeling?
It made you want to throw up. To go and dive into your bed, under your covers, never to be seen again.
He has this strict thing against love. He tries not to feel it with his mom. Not his dad. Not any of the (several) girlfriends he's had. Love is terrible, lethal.
And the worst part?
He thinks he's falling for it's tricks.
He has come to terms with it, of course. He has a while ago. Since, at least, when the damn red-head landed them both in detention.
It's shit like that. The stuff that makes him want to hang himself and push her up a corner to make out with her, all at the same time (but, unfortunately, he resists). And he's sure she feels it, too. Even if she doesn't admit it, being the stubborn person she is (he never thought anyone could be more stubborn that he is before meeting her). He's sure she feels, not the butterflies, but the fucking eagles flying around her stomach, like he does. He's sure she feels, not the fireworks, but the explosions when they even brush each other, like he does. He's sure she feels the same urge to slam him up against the wall and make out with him as he does with her.
But then there's that annoying "she doesn't" in the back of his mind. That drives him crazy. Because it's right. What if she doesn't feel it? What if it's one-sided? He's tried over and over and over again, to make a move, to finally push her up against a wall and make out with her, but to no avail.
But if you ever fail, try, try again.
But then she kisses him— kisses him! It's not one-sided! She for sure likes him— loves him— back!
Love.
Maybe it isn't so bad after all.
A/N: Another Peddie ficlet. I really hope you guys like this, despite how short it is.