A/N: I wasn't going to upload this, but then I realised I haven't written anything half as good as this in a while (I know, this is the best I've come up with in months? Laaame), so here it is! Enjoy!
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I like the cold orange sunlight that streams through my window when my curtains are still open in the evening. It lasts for about ten minutes around here, because honestly it's always winter or July, and July passed two months ago. The sun goes down so quickly.

I don't get to watch this that often because you're usually here and I don't like having the curtains open then, in case someone is sitting in my back garden watching us and laughing at me for being such a stupid boy. Today, though, I kept the thick purple sheets open and I'm lazily watching the orange darken to indigo through the netting.

"You okay?" You nudge me with your elbow. I make a "hmm" sound against your chest without looking up at your stupid face.

"Sure? You are quiet. Eet eez strange." You press on, and I know you'll be all bitchy with me unless I say something with more than one syllable that isn't "I'm fine."

"Would you rather…" You sigh before I finish the question and I grin, drawing small circles on your stomach with my finger tips. You've gone quiet again and I think I've won. For now.

Something is on my mind.

I'm losing myself. The curtains are open. And what worries me is that I'm not worried about it. I can hear your heart or whatever mechanism that pumps your blood round but certainly doesn't do anything like feel beating rhythmically beneath your wooden skin and I feel… comfortable. I shouldn't. There's nothing good about you and there's nothing good that can come from you but for some reason I'm comfortable.

You don't like me. I've never really asked you about it but I know you don't and I'm sure I'm not the first person you've been to this week and it's only Tuesday. I've stopped caring about things like that though. Slowly, I've started not caring who you fuck and who you love and who I come second to. Right now you're in my bed, in my house and it's my bite mark on your shoulder.

I'm losing myself because I no longer hope for anything other than this.

"Kyle?" You nudge me again and I sit up, facing you and nodding for you to continue.

"… Do you want to watch a movie or somezing?" You cross your arms and look out at the night sky awkwardly. You very rarely suggest we do something other than fuck, so it's probably still difficult for you.

"Yeah, sure dude. Get dressed and I'll go see what we've got." I climb out of bed and pull my boxers on. Walking downstairs I laugh bitterly at myself. I can't hope for anything other than a fuck and a few hours of your sympathy, and I'm happy.

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A/N: If you could leave me a review it would be very much appreciated. I like knowing where I've gone wrong and what you like about my writing. Thanks in advance!