You're aware you shouldn't look at him. He's your best friend's first love after all, but you liked him first. Sure, you didn't know the real him then. And you don't like the real him now…so shallow and stupid. You just want the shiny paper and the pretty blue ribbon tying the package together. So when you see him now, you know you should look away, but you can't. There's something different, and not just the inches on his hair. Or the fact that it's not 'Look at me, I'm gay' platinum blond. It's deeper. Nicer. Maybe even a little prettier in some ways, but you call her and keep walking because that's what a good best friend does.

- - -

She emails him. She asks him what he was doing at the mall. She pretends she doesn't care though, but then she asks you if he was with anyone else. You shrug, and she says she doesn't care. So you tell her he was with a hot girl in a leather miniskirt and a halter top who was slobbering all over him because she doesn't care. She starts crying, and you try to hide a smile. She's such a horrible actress, yet she gets paid to star in movies and you get fired from every minimum wage job you earn because of her shenanigans. Suddenly you don't feel so bad for making her cry. Except then you do again, because it's what a good best friend should do.

- - -

And then you think she wants someone else. She gets an audition, ironically for another movie, and then the part. The deserving doughnut, who has slowly been growing hotter before your eyes, doesn't get a gig at the school dance. Suddenly she starts to care so much about stealing the spotlight from everyone else (not really, just him, you're still as invisible as ever), only because he points it out. He doesn't care though, until you all but force him to. And you watch them hug and are supportive through the lump rising in your chest, because this is what a good best friend should do.

- - -

She goes off to film the movie about five seconds after he gives her an okay. And something strange happens, suddenly you don't have to be good anymore. You can tell her brother he's a pig, and you don't have to dance with Nose Whistle Wally because it's the polite thing to do. So you dance with the doughnut instead, and it's funny, you seem to realize you're in love in the span of a single song. And amazingly, he does too. Except he wants to hide it from her when she gets back, because your good best friends. And that's what good best friends do.

So you try to sway him. And he says, no, no, no, no. Then you push him onto her bed while you're decorating for her homecoming. And he says yes, yes, OH YES. You lie sweaty in the bed for a minute, and then you realize what you just did. You had sex in her bed with a boy she doesn't even know you're dating, even if you have known him since preschool. And you start sobbing, because you're a bad best friend.

Except he does something funny, something your father assured you a boy would never do. He still cares about you after you've fucked him. He puts his arm around your shoulder and thumbs away the tears. He tells you that it's okay not to be perfect, he wouldn't love you any other way. She's kept so many secrets, this can be a dirty little one between you two. And he kisses your forehead, and you grab him and lead his mouth to yours. And make the count two. It's only even starting to even the playing field. Besides, being bad is more fun anyways.

AN: So apparently at midnight I get crazy productive. Go figure.