Summary: We used to be best friends, but we don't talk much anymore. At least, not in the way you think. NateMitchie. Can an old, slightly fading friendship turned to for comfort and certain other benefits become something more?
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or Camp Rock.
Prologue:
We used to be best friends, in the 'I'll share my mudpie with you' sort of way. But we don't talk much anymore, at least, not in the way you think.
Our conversations are silent; spoken tongue to tongue, lips, hands, flesh to flesh.
It's a secret language, created solely by us, to which I am an expert at decoding.
A brush of the hand up my waist, and he hits a bruise. I flinch. He kisses me harder, tongue sinking into my mouth: He's so sorry this is happening to me, he wants to make me forget, even if only for just a moment. He wants to swallow away my pain.
Fingers tangled in my hair, hand clinging to the back of my neck: He's had a particularly bad day today. He wants to tell me I'm the only thing that's got him holding on.
Soft butterfly kisses along my jaw, down my neck: He wants to cry. For the both of us.
And afterwards, it's the same every time. We don't talk, we don't cuddle. We get dressed, and stand silently for a while, just staring at each other from separate sides of the room. Then I crawl out of his window and into mine.
He goes to make sure his mom hasn't choked on her own vomit yet, and I crawl under my covers, waiting for my uncle to come home and decorate my skin with blotches of black and blue.
AN: I know it's pretty short, but I just wanted to post up this small bit now to see what you guys think. So please review and tell me whether or not I should continue with this. Thanks :)