One-Shot fiction. I just don't have the time to write stories with multiple chapters these days. But I need to unleash some creativity ;-) I listened to 'Give you what you like' by Avril Lavigne and 'Siempre' by La Ley while writing this. For a true experience, I suggest listening to those songs while reading. Enjoy.

February

It was cold outside.

But you didn't care. Your hearty and contagious laugh filled the air as you carry her around on your back, an arguably immature thing to do at sixteen years of age.

But teenagers seem to be able to get away with such things.

And everyone watches and wistfully stares and remembers what it was like to be that age. And hopelessly infatuated with someone. The kind of infatuation that felt like love, and perhaps, in some rare cases was love.

But mostly was infatuation cloaked in a shiny paint that hid all flaws of another human being.

Your curly hair picks up the brightness of the winter sun, making your whole head glow the color of setting summer sun. You're both laughing. And it makes my heart ache.

Your eyes are closed tight as you laugh uncontrollably. You have crow's feet decorating the edges of your green eyes.

Evidence that you laugh often and with so much heart.

You have just the faintest smattering of freckles across your nose, leftover from our childhood summers spent in the sun. They barely show in the winter but each time the months turn from spring to summer, they remind me of our innocence spent together.

"Stop it! Don't you dare!" She suddenly shrieks as you threaten to dump her into a pile of snow on the side of the field. You give in to her feminine pleading, placing her down with great ease and care.

You suddenly catch my eye and one of yours closes in a secretive and heart-wrenchingly meaningful wink. A wink that others would see as meaningless and insignificant. A small gesture between two long-time friends.

I feel heat rise to my cheeks and I turn away because I am afraid you will see how much I want what you have with someone else.

You don't notice and you instead turn back to her, enveloping your arms around her waist, resting your chin on her left shoulder. She leans back and you kiss.

Something inside me stirs and I pretend to not care. I pretend that this isn't hurting me. I force a smile and turn to our other small group of friends. I nod along in conversation, keeping a careful eye on you.

You are now nose to nose with her, whispering. Your eyelashes brush her forehead as she talks to you. Your cheeks are between her hands.

But this isn't how I should feel about you. I shouldn't care that you are touching her… that she is touching you. I shouldn't be instead picturing myself in her place.

But I do.

And I have for a lot longer than I'd like to admit to myself.

I think back to that drunken night we had at a party of some unnamed classmate. We stumbled throughout the house, looking for the bathroom that night.

You were drunker than I was and you held onto my shirt, your head bumping clumsily into my shoulder as we searched.

We found it and you pulled me inside.

"I'm too drunk … you need to help me," you slurred.

I blushed as you unbuttoned your pants in front of me. As if you didn't even care I could see. I turned away out of respect.

You didn't notice and simply went about your business.

When you were finished, I prompted you to wash your hands and you obliged.

I turned to leave and you pulled my arm back. Confused, I turned back.

And you pressed your mouth to mine.

Lights exploded in front of my eyes. My heart felt like it was crashing around in my rib cage.

You gently pulled back and looked me in the eyes.

A warm and fulfilling energy had started in the pit of my stomach and was spreading upwards.

My cheeks felt warm from a combination of that kiss and more than likely, the copious amounts of alcohol we had that evening.

"You have always been the most important person in my life. And sometimes I feel like you and I are supposed to be together. But we can't be."

It was a firm statement. Stated like you needed me to know this right now, at this reckless teenage party, our minds and actions impaired by alcohol.

Your eyes are reddened, glazed over. You promptly lean over me and throw up into the toilet.

We walked back into the deafening party when you're finished, continuing to hang onto one another. We passed out together on the couch a short while later, legs tangled together.

The next day, we made no mention of the intimate moment that passed between us the previous night. We did not speak about it again.

It made my heart hurt to think about it now.

Now I watch you, this mask covering what I know are your true feelings.

You look at me again, and I catch just a fleeting sweep of regret over your face. An apology for not removing this mask.

And the look is gone before I can fully take it in.

Nobody notices.

Kenny calls over me to me.

"Come on, Stan! We are going to get pizza!"

I stand up, brush the snow from the back of my jeans and try to remember to keep my heart in my chest.

But sometimes I wonder how long I can keep it there.

-End-