(Author's note: Hello there, everyone. This is my fanfiction debut. I haven't written in a very long time, so please forgive me if this is a little rusty. This fanfiction was partially inspired by the song Obsession by Marina and the Diamonds, hence the title. One thing I might want to mention to preface this fanfiction is that this isn't really a happy ending—not in the widely accepted sense. Despite this, I hope you can enjoy it, and possibly give me some feedback? It would be very much appreciated. Thanks in advance.
-The Esoteric)
Your name is Dirk Strider, and you've just woken up in bed next to your best friend.
You won't even try to feign ignorance and pretend that you don't know what events transpired to make this happen. That's not what cool guys do, and if you can say anything about yourself with certainty, it's that you are most certainly one cool guy.
Another thing you can say with certainty is that you are irreversibly, painfully in love with Jake English. Not the good kind of love, the reciprocated kind. No, your love was the one-sided, knife-twist-to-your-heart kind of love where you know that the other person doesn't feel that way about you. You know this.
You know this, and yet...
And yet, here you are. You're in bed, and he's in bed, and you're both completely naked, and if the condition of the sheets is anything to go by, you'd say that you weren't just engaging in some bro-cuddling like you usually do.
No, last night, something went wrong.
Last night, everything went to hell and you can't ever take it back from there.
Because you were sober enough to realize the implications of what you were about to do, but you didn't care.
Because when he came on to you in that sort of state, you couldn't control yourself.
Because somewhere in the back of your delusion-riddled mind, you had hoped that, perhaps, this would make him realize he loved you.
And the worst part of it is that even though you will remember it always as the moment when that thin, fragile line between friendship and obsession was toed, and Jake English was probably too heavily inebriated to even remember what happened.
Your name is Jake English, and you have not forgotten.
The night prefacing your irresponsible antics was one heavily laced with alcohol and, more dangerously, your own reckless feelings. Liquor had always been the sort of substance that loosened your lips (which, at the time it was discovered, proved to be quite the entertainment for a certain Lalonde), but the notion that you would be so heavily intoxicated that you would allow yourself to be presented in such an unsavory manner was ludicrous at best.
Loose lips may sink ships, but they couldn't capsize an entire fleet.
Metaphorically speaking, that is.
What you're trying to say is that you weren't really as drunk as you made yourself out to be. In fact, you had only had one that night, and were feeling quite fit, despite the inhibition-lowering buzz it produced within you. This buzz, however, was the subtle nudge that sent you lips-first onto Dirk Strider, an action that a more sensible side of yourself would be shocked to see.
It was supposed to be your own little secret, never to be heard, and there you were, whispering it into his mouth, leaving it resonating in his mind.
You like to think that, at least. That his sloppy confession still struck a chord, no matter how small, within your best friend.
Wishful thinking, you suppose. You take a chance and open your eyes, vision blurred due to your lack of spectacles and head lightly pounding. Even through the haze, however, you can make out Dirk Strider, sans those ironic, pointy anime shades, laying beside you and staring right at you. You lock eyes for a moment and then look away, pulling yourself into an upright position to make a quick escape, should things get unexpectedly ugly.
You are back to being Dirk Strider, and you swear to god you can hear your heart beating in your ears. Your face burns an uncharacteristically red hue, you're sure, and you prepare yourself for shocked stammering, indignant yelling, anything...
Anything but that uncharacteristically quiet apology he sends you, in a low whisper.
"I'm sorry."
You have never been more confused in your life.
"What?"
"For yesterday... last night, I mean. That was out of line, I shouldn't have been acting like that..."
"What?" You repeat, as if they are the only words you've ever known.
Was Jake trying to make this his own fault? You couldn't believe it, and yet at the same time, it seemed like exactly the sort of thing your best friend would do.
"You were drunk." You supply for him, as if he forgot about that particular fact.
"Was I?"
You share a look. It isn't the normal kind of look, where you could stare at each other for a split second and know exactly what the other one wanted. No, this is unfamiliar territory, and Jake's green eyes hold a mystery in them that you are unable to unravel.
It both frustrates and terrifies you.
He just keeps looking at you, either oblivious to what you are feeling or too wrapped up in this matter to regard it as a problem. "Dirk... did last night... mean anything?"
Your heart drops down to the soles of your feet, and you can no longer hear its hastened beating. It has more or less gone stone cold, actually, and you know exactly what kind of question your bro is asking, and you know exactly how to answer him. It won't be the truth, but it will placate him, and that is all you want to do right now.
"No... it didn't mean anything. Look, you were drunk, and things got a little out of control. It's not your fault it happened. It was just a mistake."
A mistake.
The word repeats over and over in your head, like an old skipping record. You try to make yourself believe the words you are saying, try to make them your feelings. Life isn't that easy, and it isn't that forgiving, and sometimes it just fucking broke your heart. The last one happens the moment you see his face, all twisted in some unfathomable offshoot of misery.
Were those not the right words to say?
Your name is Jake English, and those aren't the words you want to hear.
But they are the ones you expected, and you have braced yourself for them. Your face only shows your true feelings for a second, before you resume your strained, cheerful demeanor and clap your blonde friend on the back.
"Right then, my friend. That's a load off of my mind. I'm awfully sorry about all this. Like you said, I was drunk. It was a mistake." You get up and pull your clothes back on. "A drunken... mistake." Your fingers tremble over the button of your pants, but you steady them as you turn around to give him your signature double pistols and a wink.
"Still friends?"
He smiles at you, but it's not the right sort of smile. It's not the smile of the Dirk Strider you know.
It's not the smile of the Dirk Strider you love.
You are Dirk Strider, and the sight of the man in front of you is heartbreaking and infuriating and fucking beautiful all at the same time, but his smile isn't the smile of the Jake English you know.
It's not the smile of the Jake English you Love.
You nod, and seal the deal. "Still friends."
When he leaves, you bury your face in your hands and spend a lot of time just sitting there, and you think you might never wash the sheets again, because you can still smell him on them, and you would give anything to have something rather than nothing.
Because sometimes there isn't a cohesive or happy ending.
Sometimes, we only have our obsessions, and they are wonders and secrets that are not meant to be shared.