Falls So Hard

By: Kyuketsuki / The Sister

Disclaimer: Boy Meets Boy is the property of Sandra Delete.

Author's Notes: Not much if anything is known about Fox's past, so I took the liberty of creating one. This will most likely clash with what Sandra knows but hasn't shared yet. Sorry.

Warning: Language.

PROLOGUE:

Collin gets hit with the usual wave of cute girls just dying to get into his pants. His asexual pants. Of course, they don't appreciate a gorgeous sexual being when they see one. This is made worse only by the fact that Collin thinks my disappointment is fucking hilarious. He smirks. Okay, so you have to really know him before you can read him, but if anyone on the planet can read him, it's me. That's why the smirking is more annoying than it strictly should be.

The ladies disperse (without so much as a glance in my direction) and the day progresses as normal.

Sadistic Collin has decided that he can go without a blessed cigarette before breakfast, which leaves me torn. Do I stay with my best friend and eat or go outside and take a few delicious lungfuls of smoke? Lucky me, when I pose the question to said best friend, he sees the light and abandons the cafeteria in favor of our old friend Mr. Nicotine.

Call me codependent, but I like taking my morning smoke with someone. It's become a tradition. When I was at home it was mom. Now it's Collin. There hasn't been a huge gaping maw between the two. Shit, maybe I am codependent. Either way, it's nice to have someone to stand out in the cold with while you're getting the first few puffs of the day. And Collin's not a talker like most of the idiots who scramble out to the quad. He's also a damn fine shield to keep those annoying fucks away. It's amazing, really, but people seem to talk to me. Maybe they've seen me chattering away across campus, and think I'm an open ear, but I'm not a very happy person in the morning, which is why my best friend in the whole wide world is a fine companion in the early hours.

I like to look as cool as possible when smoking 'cause...well, who am I kidding? I started smoking to look cool. So I go for the casual yet devastatingly sexy "yeah, I know I'm hot but I don't care" wall lean. It's a classic smoking pose, but I like to think that I add some personal style to it. Collin doesn't care what he looks like. It's early. I'm not saying he's not a morning person, he's just... he's not an anytime person. All those adorable little beauty things he does? Well, they're not for anyone but himself, much to most of the world's chagrin. He's extra bitchy in the morning, though, and I'm not in a good enough mood to point out how naturally cute he is standing there, arms wrapped around himself, fingers just barely shaking as he takes the cigarette from his lips. I'm also not stupid enough to tell him that when he looks like that I get the urge to protect him from the world.

Time always slips by out here. Maybe it's the fact that I'm actually silent and therefore get a chance to just observe without getting asked if I'm about to be violently ill, or maybe all the tar coating my lungs causes oxygen deprivation which makes me black out for long periods of time. Either way, it feels like hours have sped away by the time my cigarette has burned down. I'd ask Collin if he has noticed it, but he's looking a bit impatient and I'm not in the mood to have to explain myself, so I'll make do with following him into the cafeteria to get some breakfast.

Like most college students, I'd give up breakfast in a moment to scrounge a few more minutes of sleep, but if I do that I tend to start feeling queasy about halfway through my morning lecture, so breakfast has become a staple. Lucky for me Collin likes to start his mornings with a few cups of coffee, which basically means he wakes me up and drags me to food in order to keep me from blacking out.

This has become our morning routine. I can't remember when it started to seem normal, and I'm not sure when I got comfortable with that, but sometimes I'm glad it did and I have. Very few things in my life get a routine. I guess it comes from being a military brat. Whatever the reason, if I stop and think about how my life starts to get normal, I start to have fits.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm one messed up little fuck. Sure, my ego can take a beating, but the rest of me can't. Just don't tell anyone else that. If rumors start that I'm fragile I'll have to prove that I'm not, and I don't know if I can handle the strain. I was a sickly kid and am still a bit sickly. You can't tell because I can hold my liquor better than most bottles, but I am prone to passing out when I'm not careful about all that shit the doctor keeps warning me to be careful about. Like the smoking. But asking me to stop smoking is like asking me to knee Collin. I'd rather shoot a puppy than do either. Coincidentally, I've also been told to stay away from firearms, but I don't know if the doctor was telling me that I'd end up shooting myself or just trying to save the world population of puppies. Either way, I'm taking the advice. If I've learned anything over the years, it's that the doctor usually doesn't tell you to do something unless it's pretty damn important that you do it.

I really don't feel like eating. I'd rather just crawl back in bed. Unfortunately Collin is doing his scary little mother-hen look, which means I had better get something. Point to the asexual one. Chances are this is one of those days where I would be better off laying in bed, but that look is frightening on way too many levels for me not to at least attempt food. So I slip into the rather non-existent breakfast line and grab a muffin. A chocolate muffin. The kind of food that you just know is dessert, but since it's parading around as breakfast, you might as well take it at face value and enjoy your morning a bit more than if you hadn't.

Collin doesn't disapprove of my choice. He knows how to take his victories.