A/N: Ooo, I love writing from Cooper's POV! *unabashed Cooper addiction*
Muse: You need help, my child. Anie: :::bows::: Yes, Muse-sama. Anyways, this is set when they're a tad older. . . just a tad. Muse: Shut up. On with the fic. Anie: Yes, Muse-sama. :::points downward::: Read, please.
I open my eyes, slowly. The sunlight burns - everything I see is red and yellow and orange. I yawn and stretch, and bump into him.
He's so peaceful, lying there. His hair is tousled, and every once in a while he snores. Just a bit. Very quietly, almost sedately. It's so like him to do that. He never was the partyer. That was my job. After hours, though. . . after hours, he's fun.
And I think you know what I mean when I say that.
I'm trying to figure out - how many years have I known him now? Twelve, I think. Yes, it's twelve. Wow. That's hard to believe; such a long time. At least for me. And I've been in love with him for eleven and a half of those.
I remember freshman year. Aw man, was that wild. The whole suicidal- roommate-scheme. . . I shudder when I think of that. That was a trip and a half. It was great, though. Especially our gloomy rock-boy. . . the one who turned out gayer, and definitely more peppy, than us. Hehehe.I mean, we're gay. But that guy ended up Flamingly Gay.
Still, to each his own. At least he's not pretending anymore, right? It's never good to lie to yourself, especially when it's about yourself.
I know that from experience: trying to deny that I felt anything more for Josh than platonic friendship. I drowned myself in alcohol and surrounded myself with smoke, and it was nice. I could forget while I was fucked up. Forget that I wanted to feel his arms around me and that I wanted to see if his lips were as soft as they looked. I never thought of myself as gay. I was just horny, and an outlet is an outlet. . . right? Right?
God, when he was up on that bridge, I thought he was really going to do it. I felt. . . oh. It was all my fault. I was the one who got the parties going, set the shitty grades in motion, and basically sent him up there. Oh, the guilt, the pain, of thinking that I could cause my best friend and would-be lover's death. Unless you've been in a situation like that, I don't think you could ever understand it.
I was ecstatic when he came down - and wanted to hurt him when he told me the reason behind it. Stupid bugger with his stupid schemes. . . but he was alive, and that was what mattered. I told him that night how I felt about him. He'd scared me into it, you know. I think I realized that we could all die tomorrow. And I didn't want either of us to leave without him knowing that I loved him.
Josh, of course, dear Josh, just stared at me. I was ready to run out of the room. In the space of about two seconds, the following ran through my head: 'GreatjobCooperyoufuckeditallupagain Iamgoingtofuckingkillmyself OhwhatthehellamIdoing IthinkI'mgoingtothrowup ohshitohshitohshitohshit whythehelldidyoutellhim he'sgoingtohateyouknow you'llneverbeabletospeaktohimagain you'resuchafuckupyoulittlefuckupyou ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit.'
Then he said, "I'm so glad," and he threw his arms around me.
And this is what I then thought: '. . .'
I'm easily surprised.
I look down at him again. The light hits his face and makes him look like an angel. I know, I know, that's terribly clichéd and overused. Everyone says that about their love. But he does. He's beautiful. Absolutely heart- stopping beautiful. Doesn't matter if working in the ER night and day has given him a few premature grey hairs. He's still the Josh that I fell in love with freshman year.
I lean over and kiss his chest. He mumbles something, and then his face twitches. I laugh. He wakes up at the noise, and glares at me.
I grin at him. He never was a morning person.
He smacks me lightly on the cheek. Then he pulls my face close to him. I start to tease him. "Good morning, sleepy-he - oompf!"
He always a good kisser, though. I think that makes up for his habitual crankiness at dawn, don't you?
Stroke the ego. You know you want to.
Muse: You need help, my child. Anie: :::bows::: Yes, Muse-sama. Anyways, this is set when they're a tad older. . . just a tad. Muse: Shut up. On with the fic. Anie: Yes, Muse-sama. :::points downward::: Read, please.
I open my eyes, slowly. The sunlight burns - everything I see is red and yellow and orange. I yawn and stretch, and bump into him.
He's so peaceful, lying there. His hair is tousled, and every once in a while he snores. Just a bit. Very quietly, almost sedately. It's so like him to do that. He never was the partyer. That was my job. After hours, though. . . after hours, he's fun.
And I think you know what I mean when I say that.
I'm trying to figure out - how many years have I known him now? Twelve, I think. Yes, it's twelve. Wow. That's hard to believe; such a long time. At least for me. And I've been in love with him for eleven and a half of those.
I remember freshman year. Aw man, was that wild. The whole suicidal- roommate-scheme. . . I shudder when I think of that. That was a trip and a half. It was great, though. Especially our gloomy rock-boy. . . the one who turned out gayer, and definitely more peppy, than us. Hehehe.I mean, we're gay. But that guy ended up Flamingly Gay.
Still, to each his own. At least he's not pretending anymore, right? It's never good to lie to yourself, especially when it's about yourself.
I know that from experience: trying to deny that I felt anything more for Josh than platonic friendship. I drowned myself in alcohol and surrounded myself with smoke, and it was nice. I could forget while I was fucked up. Forget that I wanted to feel his arms around me and that I wanted to see if his lips were as soft as they looked. I never thought of myself as gay. I was just horny, and an outlet is an outlet. . . right? Right?
God, when he was up on that bridge, I thought he was really going to do it. I felt. . . oh. It was all my fault. I was the one who got the parties going, set the shitty grades in motion, and basically sent him up there. Oh, the guilt, the pain, of thinking that I could cause my best friend and would-be lover's death. Unless you've been in a situation like that, I don't think you could ever understand it.
I was ecstatic when he came down - and wanted to hurt him when he told me the reason behind it. Stupid bugger with his stupid schemes. . . but he was alive, and that was what mattered. I told him that night how I felt about him. He'd scared me into it, you know. I think I realized that we could all die tomorrow. And I didn't want either of us to leave without him knowing that I loved him.
Josh, of course, dear Josh, just stared at me. I was ready to run out of the room. In the space of about two seconds, the following ran through my head: 'GreatjobCooperyoufuckeditallupagain Iamgoingtofuckingkillmyself OhwhatthehellamIdoing IthinkI'mgoingtothrowup ohshitohshitohshitohshit whythehelldidyoutellhim he'sgoingtohateyouknow you'llneverbeabletospeaktohimagain you'resuchafuckupyoulittlefuckupyou ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit.'
Then he said, "I'm so glad," and he threw his arms around me.
And this is what I then thought: '. . .'
I'm easily surprised.
I look down at him again. The light hits his face and makes him look like an angel. I know, I know, that's terribly clichéd and overused. Everyone says that about their love. But he does. He's beautiful. Absolutely heart- stopping beautiful. Doesn't matter if working in the ER night and day has given him a few premature grey hairs. He's still the Josh that I fell in love with freshman year.
I lean over and kiss his chest. He mumbles something, and then his face twitches. I laugh. He wakes up at the noise, and glares at me.
I grin at him. He never was a morning person.
He smacks me lightly on the cheek. Then he pulls my face close to him. I start to tease him. "Good morning, sleepy-he - oompf!"
He always a good kisser, though. I think that makes up for his habitual crankiness at dawn, don't you?
Stroke the ego. You know you want to.