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Pretending not to see him was a difficult thing to do.

He knew his bodyguard would tell him to go away before he had even got a chance to tell him it was okay. He had instructed him not to let any of the nerds get near him, after all. But when he saw him in that corner of his, with those friends of his, and all of a sudden he was looking at him, and they were all looking at him, Chris was torn between looking up from the comic he was browsing through and tell his bodyguard it was alright, and remaining perfectly still, ignoring the boy with the big glasses. But before he could decide, he noticed Dave was attempting to get closer to him, shyly, but bravely.

Don't look at him, he thought, as he tried to make out what was written on the page he was looking at right now. POW, it said, and K-THUNK. Chris stared at the letters as long as he thought was necessary, and only looked up after the group of geeks had left the building.

It was only the 47th time he had done this. At school, in the hallways, at the parking lot, in the cafetaria, Chris walked or sat around, pretending to be reading the same comics he knew those guys were reading. He had liked superhero comics ever since he was a small boy, but he had to admit he was buying them now solely to know what they were reading. And maybe to provoke one of them into talking to him. This was the first time that had actually happened, and where Chris should have been friendly and interested, he had sent them away, indirectly. What kind of a message would that have been to the comic geeks? And to Dave?

After paying for a bunch of new comics, getting a drive home and locking the door to his bedroom behind him, Chris fell face-forward on his bed, closing his eyes. It had been a long day at school, and judging by the large clock on his wall, it was already half past five. His homework was scattered all over the floor, but his comics were all on bookshelves, neatly organized. Dave now was the only thing on his mind. The look in his big blue eyes as he had awaited judgement from the great Chris D'Amico. How he wished he had answered that look, so he could remember it more clearly now. Why did he have to be such a stupid moron? He could've talked to Dave Lizewski today. Who knows what could've happened, but none of it had, because he was an idiot. No wonder his dad was reluctant to invite him to one of his business meetings. No wonder he was never allowed to go somewhere on his own.

Chris sighed deeply. 'You're a moron,' he whispered to himself and turned to his side.

See, you don't know what Dave Lizewski looks like when he's wearing his gym shorts, or how he tries to do push-ups. You have never seen him in maths class, staring all dreamily out of the window. You have no idea how many times Chris has caught himself openly staring at him, or how many times he has cried alone in his room because he didn't know what to do or feel. He had been confused out of his mind ever since he took a good look at Dave and the comic he was reading. He had never noticed the soft, friendly eyes behind his glasses, or the big mess of curls his hair was in, but the moment he did, he had been unable to think of anything else. In the darkness of his room at night, the same images had flashed before his eyes over and over again, in a dream he knew would never be reality. Trying to forget about him, or trying to focus on his school work or being a good son, never had worked. He had gone through his dream every evening, from start to finish, leaving him shuddering and alone. As a result, he couldn't sleep as well as he used to, and everything he had ever viewed as normal and right didn't seem so good anymore. He drank four cups of coffee everyday, but his Dave-fantasies returned to him, bigger and more inescapable every time they did.

He would imagine talking to Dave, and hearing his voice as he answered him. Mentally, he would go over the clothes he had seen him wear and would pick an outfit for him. Chris liked clothes. Sometimes he would stop before the window of a shop when he saw something he thought would look good on Dave.

In the beginning, the three comic nerds were usually together, and Chris seemed to be one of them. They would be in the school cafetaria, reading comics over each other's shoulders, and talk about stuff. Dave would cast small looks at him while they were talking, and when Chris made him blush a little, his favourite warm and fuzzy feeling would spread everywhere in his body. After school, they would go somewhere together. The exact place was unimportant.

Somewhere nobody would even think of disturbing them (mostly the anonymous place changed into the room he was in right now), Chris would put his lips to Dave's unexpectedly, while they were sitting side by side on the bed, exchanging comic books. His imagination was so strong in this part that he could practically feel Dave's warm lips against his, and see his eyelashes in HD detail. Or feel his breath to his skin. Unconsciously, Chris would slightly open his mouth as Dave's tongue entered his mouth in his dream; and when he heard Dave moan softly, he would do the same. Chris would stop their kiss for a moment to see how Dave was sitting on his bed, a bit of red on his cheeks, gorgeous and drop-dead beautiful as always. Then, he would let Dave jump on him, feeling his hands on his back, and slowly, Dave would loosen his buttons while kissing his neck. They would be pressed together so tightly he could feel every muscle underneath his clothes. It was usually that moment that Chris started touching himself, hidden between his covers, almost dying of shame. How could he believe this would ever really happen? How could an unattractive loser like him... ever...

'Chris,' he would make Dave whisper, the moment they were both shirtless and Chris was underneath him and was trying to unbutton Dave's pants (because yeah, he would definitely do that if he would ever find himself in that position). 'I can't believe this is happening.'

'Am I going too fast?'

'No, no.'

Time and time again, Chris would gasp as the Dave in his mind looked up to him with a small smile, and whispered 'Let's do it.'

'Yes,' Chris would answer, out of breath, his heart beating like a madman.

'I've always wanted to do it with you. I'll be nice. I don't want to hurt you...'

'Yes, fuck me, please,' Chris whispered out loud, feeling like the biggest loser on the planet, but unable to stop now. He knew things would be quick now, and vague. Dave would turn him around after pulling down his pants and push him to his own bed. After a bit of lubrication (he had to keep this at least a little realistic) he would groan as Dave entered him and repeat that everytime he felt him slam into him again. Trying as hard as he could to block out the thought of what he really was and how this was the most terrible thing a guy could ever do, trying to forget the burden that was forever on his shoulders; he would hear Dave moan in his mind, and himself along with him, his pitch a bit higher. He bit his pillow as he came, both in real life as in his dream, and he would slowly calm down. But his fantasy still continued a little bit, and that was the part that had made him cry so often.

'I love you,' Dave would say softly, while still regaining his breath. Turning around on Chris's bed, they would hold each other tightly, this thought sending butterflies all over his stomach. Dave's lips were slightly swollen, and sweat was shining on his forehead. He would smile. Chris would smile back, and alone, he would sob quietly in his pillow. He could never have him, and it would never happen. And on top of that, Chris had realized he was attracted to boys, and he would never be taken seriously if anyone were to find out. In every afterglow, his heart sank to the deepest low he had ever known, and he tried to sleep, curled up in his bed.