Not like that
Summary: I have a girlfriend – but we're talking about my best friend, right? Our relationship? No, no, just close friends since childhood. She's going on a date? No, I have a girlfriend. That's not the question? I know what the question was; I'm not avoiding the topic, I'm just saying that I have a girlfriend.
The 'You' does not refer to the reader, it'll make sense in the next chapter.
Originally, this was in third person, then I switched to first person and it ended up in second person.
*unbeta'd*
It's Friday night and you decided to head to your best friend's house because she asked you a favor. Since you have a hard time refusing her requests (and the fact that she could kill you in your sleep) you head to her place after a chilly walk. Luckily, your girlfriend bought you a scarf and your best friend knitted you a pair of mittens you wouldn't be caught dead in, but because no one else was going to see you, you slip them on and tuck your hands in your coat pockets. After the chilly walk, you see her whip the door open with her hair tangled in a towel and she's only clad in her bathrobe.
It doesn't bother you, because you're friends – best friends. Practically bros, but, y'know, she has breasts and you don't.
She starts blabbering about some nonsense and slams the door shut right after you step inside and start slipping off your brand named shoes. They're expensive and could easily be trashed by some stranger who doesn't realize how much you cherish them. …You really don't. Anyhow, you remove your shoes, shove them with your foot to the side and start pulling off the scarf, jacket and hat. The gloves remain in your hand because it's still freezing and she has yet to offer you anything else but incoherent strings of sentences and eye candy.
However, she's your best friend, so it's not at all appealing. It's not making your face hot, or your heart race, not even makes you imagine what kind of body type she's been hiding beneath her baggy clothes. It doesn't matter because when you two are alone, she's not afraid to slip on a pair of really short shorts and a white tank top whose straps sometimes slip off her shoulders because she gets careless. After you let her finish her much heated prattling, you finally slip off the gloves and slip them in your coat pocket, and ask her what the problem is.
She suddenly gets quiet and embarrassed and acts like a little kid afraid to say that she stole from the cookie jar before dinner. Her lips start spluttering even more incoherent words and she presses her hands against her face to cover its reddening appearance. It's at this moment that you realize what she called you over for and you slowly go, 'ah…' as quietly as possible. At first you start thinking that, 'this was good for her', that 'she needs to go out on a nice date once in a while', that 'this isn't going to end good for the guy if he screws up'; and it somehow ends with, 'I gotta stop her from making a mistake!'
You realize how ridiculous that sounds; because both of you are well over seventeen and it's about time she went on a date. Then you clear your throat and discover that she stops her flustered stuttering and she checks the clock. She claps her hands together and bows slightly with the towel threatening to fall from her abnormally long hair. Her eyes are shut with focus and her lips shifts into a straight line, her teeth are probably (no not probably, are) grinding.
She's asking for advice and you have no idea on what to do. However, you're her best friend, the go to guy, her brother from another mother, and strictly nothing more. You decide to help, brushing off that nagging last thought, and start pushing her to her room so she could dress.
"Thanks, Len, I'm hopeless with dating," she tells you as she dives into her underwear drawers and doesn't mind that you see what she wears beneath her clothes. "I have no idea what guys like on a girl, like, at all." She finds a matching set and motions for you to turn around so you can't catch anything good. With a huff, you do as she says and hear the fall of the towel and robe and silence ensues because your disgusting thoughts are on the rise.
'She's making a mistake.'
'That guy isn't going to be good enough for her!'
'Why is she even going on a date?'
'Aren't I good enough?'
The last thought stops you from breathing and when you realize you're holding your breath, you start coughing and she rushes to you. You start feeling hot and brush her off. She's only in her undergarments and you avert your eyes, because you're still confused and you don't want to die in your sleep. Although, it doesn't matter, because she doesn't look at you like another guy – you're just a brother from another mother, that's it. She takes a step back and then digs in her closet and grabs sets of clothes that have a feminine touch.
None of them are entirely feminine – much unlike the clothes your girlfriend wears. For every pair of ripped pants your friend had, your girlfriend had a fancy skirt or dress that countered the collection of ratty jeans. Then she finally plucked out one that made you take a double take because when the heck did she put that in her closet?
"My mom bought it for me, that jerk, she thought it'd be funny," she huffed and then turns to the mirror and hangs the dress in front of her. It reaches to her knees, a huge ribbon placed at the front, and it hung by twin thin straps. You sigh and look at the discard clothes tossed on the floor and find a nice white jacket that fits the creamy dress nicely. She gasps in excitement and slips on the clothes, then twirls in front of you to show your work.
Surprisingly, she looks nice.
…Then you burst out laughing over the fact that she's wearing something so girly because she never wears something like this. She huffs and starts laughing in perfect unison with you until the both of you starting leaning against each other and collapse to the floor, eyes locked on the ceiling. You both stop and realize that you're merely enjoying the moment before everything crumbles down to reality. After this she's going on her date – not going to get up and offer you ice cream like before or start piling pillows on top of you. Before you know it, you sit up abruptly and slouch, staring blankly at the wall beside her bed.
It used to be taped up with your sloppy drawings that you made for her because she thought you so talented, but now it's her and her friends – her many guy friends. Guys you were fine with at first, but now, just feel so hostile to. When did the disgusting feeling start anyway.
Then she clonks you over the head with the stuffed frog you got her because you weren't able to get her the giant teddy bear she was eyeing at last year's carnival. It's green and its legs are dangling to the floor, the plastic eyes are staring at you because it knows something you don't. She brings it back to her and starts hugging it, possibly thinking about her date. You figure she is, but don't say anything, because this was her moment to shine as a girl; not yours to ruin it for her.
She tosses the frog onto her bed and you stare at it longingly, then avert your eyes and check back to her at her mirror. She's brushing her hair thoroughly and timidly, without the help of a sister or mother and she's chewing on her lower lip – a bad habit you tried helping her get out of. With a sigh, and knowledge of how much she sucks at this, you get up and grab the brush from her hand, and start doing her job. She puffs up her cheeks, and merely allows you to take command, while you're thinking of how great she looks all of a sudden.
"Having a guy fix a girl's hair is crazy," she comments while twirling a few strands around her finger. "But your girlfriend is so girly, it's not a wonder how much of her feminine charm rubbed off on you." You know she implied something dirty beneath those words, but you wave it off. It doesn't affect you in the slightest, and you have no motivation to combat it (even though you're supposed to since she's talking smack about your girlfriend). All you do is sigh and bear it.
You're done doing her hair and tie it up in pretty twin tails with the black and purple ribbons she bought out of a whim during last month's shopping trip. She gives a skeptic look in her reflection and you laugh while tugging on a handful of her locks and she starts crying out in surrender. "Not my fault that you have such insane hair," you say, jokingly and she takes the bait by spinning around and lightly punching you at the arm.
"Hey, hey, you're the one who told me to grow it out." It's true. You want to grow out yours just to piss off your demanding father, while she wanted hers to be short and messy (like a boy's) but you told her to grow it out because you didn't like girls to have such short hair. You know she'd do it because she did everything you told her and believed in every white lie.
"You don't have to listen to everything I say, idiot." You flick her off and laugh as she growls in frustration, then the doorbell rings and that's the end of that. She squeals in excitement and starts dashing out of her room and to the door. You stand there, shocked at her sudden speed and frigidly walk to her door, out the room and to the end of the hall, peeking out from behind the corner. She's animatedly talking to the guy at the door and you feel protective, so protective, in fact, you burst into their conversation.
She's not very thrilled about butting in, but doesn't speak a word (her eyes tell the story). You exam the boy and find out that he's a college student from the way he dresses and the fact that his car is nicer than yours. He's out of your league in competition, but you backtrack and remember:
You have a girlfriend.
So you excuse yourself from your initial thoughts and kindly let the guy in. He's polite and thinks little of your interruption, ruffling your hair and apologizes for the intrusion. Your friend leads him into the living room and offers him a drink and some snacks, then drags you into the kitchen with her after shutting the door. She's storming around the cabinets, grabs a bag of chips and dumps all of it into a plastic bowl; you grab a water gallon and some cups and start dunking the liquid into them.
"Are you trying to embarrass me?" she asks and it leaves you mumbling beneath your breath.
"No, I just felt impulsive," you respond as nonchalant as possible.
"Hmph, well you might wanna leave, we'll be out most of the night."
You accidentally slip up with the water and watch it spill from the counter to the floor. The floor she usually sweeps every day for about ten minutes until every crumb disappears. You quickly grab a sheet of a paper towel and wipe the floor dry.
"Don't you think he's pretty old?" you question, hoping to dissuade her as you get up and crumple the paper towel in your hand.
She squeaks while rolling the bag up and coughs. "Age is but a number, besides, he's only two years older, it's legal," she answers with a flustered tone. You feel uncomfortable and toss the crumpled ball into the trash.
Suddenly, you don't feel like being here anymore.
"Well, I'll let you enjoy your date," you tell her, aggravated and storm out of the kitchen.
"Len?" she calls out, but you ignore her while stomping into your brand-named shoes and slip on your gear, forgetting about the mittens she made specifically for you that fell out of your pocket while you rushed out. As you trample through the well cut grass, angry thoughts ram themselves into your skull and you avoid thinking about how rash you are.
'You have a girlfriend' you tell yourself. You remind yourself. You drill it into your head. It was as if it was your mantra.
Then you storm back into your house, forgetting about everything else while you chant the same mantra over and over. Your phone starts vibrating in your pocket as you toss your outside gear on the floor and fall face flat on your couch. You dig into your pocket, half-wanting and half-despairing the fact that it might (seventy-percent might) be your best friend. Your eyes check the call ID and find that it's your girlfriend and everything crashes back on you.
She's the girl you're dating, not your best friend.
So you slide it open and pick it up and in a cool and collected voice you greet her.
"I'm sorry I cancelled last minute before, but I'm free now! Mom was overacting, thinking she got pregnant; it was such a panic in the house! I think my dad almost fainted!" she squeals on the other end of the line and you forget your anger for the time because this was your girlfriend. She should be the one who you care about more as a girl (well other than your mom) and what she's doing with her time. Not your friend who finally got in touch with her feminine side and saw guys as potential mates instead of non-blood brothers.
You sit there, listening to her ramble on and pitch in a few words because you know how much she loves talking about herself (when did she get so narcissistic anyway?) and you adjust yourself on the couch like a proper person. She giggles on the other line, telling you the story of how she and her cousin were at the mall and got an expensive pair of shoes for half off (which is about the eighth time she told you, but you don't say anything because it'd tick her off). Then she finally asks you about how you're spending your Friday night without her and you respond that you're just kicking back, missing her (because she adores it when you say such mushy things).
"Let's go on a date tomorrow," you suggest, not wanting the mood to end since it does after you start talking about yourself.
She giggles, "Sure, where to?"
You loll it in your head and just shrug. "Just a walk around the park, maybe rent a DVD or something?"
"Sounds good to me! Pick me up around eleven, okay?"
You attempt to make a joke, because you're bored and that's what you always do while you two are on the phone. If you weren't, you'd start kissing her like crazy because there's nothing else to do after the stories are all said and done. She would have her tongue wrapped around yours and you'd start pinning her to her bed and ignore everything else. Then she would start whispering that she 'loves you' and you just smile back and resume doing the same thing once more after taking a much needed breather. She tastes so good and lets you fool around with her even though it pisses off her dad.
Her fingers are tangled in your hair, undoing your ponytail and your hands are somehow up her shirt, fiddling with her bra straps. She pulls back to giggle at how pathetic you are at taking it off and pulls your hand out her shirt. You just laugh sheepishly, pretending to not know how to do it, but in reality, you just don't want to go that far with her; at least, not yet, because if you screw up with this relationship, your best friend would murder you for screwing a girl without being married to her. She just laughs it off and pounces back to you and you're back to the start.
She sarcastically laughs at the joke and you both hang up after working out the details, then you switch on the TV to see some old sit-com and remember how you were so into these before you started dating. You laugh at how poorly done the jokes were and drift to sleep after what's happened. However, before falling asleep, you feel your phone vibrate and see the caller ID.
It's not your girlfriend wanting to talk until you both fall asleep (she stopped doing that after the two of you started tongue brawling in her bedroom) but it was your best friend instead. Wasn't she supposed to be on her date? Your tired eyes check the clock at the corner of the screen and it states that it's only nine in the evening.
'Let her enjoy her date', you think and toss your phone at the other couch and drop dead asleep.
Would you like it to be in third person next chapter or keep it as second person?
This will only have two chapters (maybe three?) but don't count on it being a long story.
This is what happens when you try to write the next update of an ongoing fanfiction, but instead write something entirely different and would prefer to write it instead. Also...
You know those Len x Rin fics where Miku's the usual bad girl who tries to destroy their relationship or she's the girl who Len's going out with first and then he chooses Rin after cause Rin's in pain about it and Miku's an insufferable bit...er...girl? NOT THIS TIME. This might just be me being tired of those plots or just plain spiteful, but nonetheless, here's me combating about a hundred of those fics. Oh yeah, I'm such a rebel.
Also! Check out my Valentine's Day fic writing contest! Wanna know more details? Hit up my profile and check the fanfiction Just a way of saying!
That's it from me, don't expect the second chapter to be written up any time soon for this.
~Ventus