Your mother had been friends with his mother, and so that carried on into your life - you were his best friend, his right-hand person, the person he would go to for advice. Of course, that also meant that he would confide in you about his crushes and girlfriends/boyfriends, and that broke you. It made you sad to think that he would never like you, that he would never think of you as anything more than his best friend.

But you supposed that was good enough for now.

"Are you alright?" You snapped out of your daze, your eyes flickering over to his. Lafayette gave you a simple smile, leaning over the table to study you closely. You felt a blush make it's way to your face. "You seem ... distracted," he observed, his accent clearer than a sunny day. "Is it by my charming looks," he chuckled, joking. You smiled meekly.

"I'm just a little tired, Laf," you lied, using the nickname you knew he hated. He rolled his eyes and sat back - you two sat at a bar, somewhere in America, with two cups of beer in front of each of you. "Ugh, do I really have to drink this?" you asked, peering into the cups. The smell made you feel nauseous.

"Hey, you're the one who bet you could drink more beer than me," he reminded.

"I was tired!" you protested. Your words brought a smile to his face, and you're heart speed up. "Really ... really tired. Come on, Lafayette!" you whined. He grinned and picked up one of the cups, bringing it up as if about to toast. You sighed and did the same, clinking your cup with his and giving him a smile.

"To freedom," he stated.

"Well, since your forcing me to do this, I don't think I really have that," you joked. Before he could answer, you chugged the cup of beer in three swallows and reached for your next one. "Well? Come on, Laf - don't be slow, now."

"Bon, maintenant. Dieu, tu es belle quand tu es compétitive." You tilted your head, confused. While he had been teaching you French, you weren't that good and you certainly couldn't understand him now. He always seemed to slip back into French whenever he was talking with you, making comments that you couldn't understand. "Si je pouvais vous embrasser en ce moment, je le ferais. Je ne me soucierais même pas si nous étions tués par des snobs homophobes qui ne pouvaient pas leur dire de leur tête. Cependant, je suppose que ce serait la même chose, non?"

You cleared your throat. "Laf ... English, please?" He chuckled.

"I said ... that this beer is amazing, right?" he lied, taking a swig. You motioned for the bartender to bring you two five more, each, and he nodded. "The French have so many words for such a small sentence."

"Is that why you like them?"

"That, and many other things."

Time passed by - soon, three hours later, you two were stumbling out of the bar and across the street to your apartment. "Y-you need to stay over t-tonight!" you insisted, trying to navigate through your blurry vision. "It's n-not safe!" You hiccuped, finding your door and unlocking it. You two stumbled inside, him nodding along with what you were saying.

Somehow, in your drunken state, you two managed to reach your bedroom. Through a hazy mind, you began getting dressed, stripping down in front of him as if he weren't there. Lafayette watched you curiously, sitting on your bed as you dressed. In some part of his mind, he knew that this was wrong - it wasn't something you two would ever think of doing. Still, he admitted that there was something very attractive with you right now.

Paying no mind to the man on your bed, you climbed onto it, falling asleep the moment your head hit the pillow. He smiled, brushing back your hair - and than his own exhaustion caught up with him, and he fell asleep next to you.

Let's just stay that you were very surprised in the morning. Waking up to your best friend - and long time crush - wasn't something that happened to you ... ever, actually. You turned bright red, feeling your heart start pounding - or maybe that was your head. Your groaned, vaguely remembering last night. You two hadn't ... you two didn't, right? Did he remember? Did either of you take advantage of the other?

Panic seized you, and suddenly you were on your feet and running to the bathroom. Once there, you preceded to empty everything from the last twenty-four hours into the toilet. You felt miserable and scared, terrified that you had made some very wrong decisions last night.

"Est-ce que tu vas bien? Oh non, qu'est-ce qui s'est passé?" You looked up to see Lafayette standing at the doorway, looking a lot less worse-for-wear, but seemingly worried. You noticed that he was wearing his clothes from last night, though you had pajamas. "J'ai à peine-"

"Laf," you reminded.

He sighed. "I barely had time to ask you what was wrong before you were in here. Are you alright?" he asked, walked over to you. He lent down and placed a hand on your forehead. "You're not sick - perhaps it's the hangover." You chuckled, nodding in agreement. Feeling a little better about the situation, you slowly got to your feet. He reached out to help you.

"Come on - I need Advil," you sighed, wobbling a bit. He nodded and began walking away, presumably to the kitchen. You followed him closely, trying to piece together what had happened last night. "Are you ... aware if we did anything bad?" you wondered, hoping he would get the hint.

"Not that I know of." He turned around a bit to throw you a wink, which you took with a blush and a sigh. "Hey - when was the last time you were embrassé?" Ah, one of the few words you did know in French - kissed. "Because there's this guy that I think you would be great with, and I want to know how desperate you are."

"I've never ... well, I never thought-" you stuttered, feeling your face flame up. He raised an eyebrow, his look of curiosity turning to one of disbelief. "Oh, shut up, Laf!" you hissed, which emitted laughter from him. "It's not funny!"

"You've never - you've never kissed anyone!" he sputtered. For some reason, you felt tears well up in your eyes. Was he making fun of you? Did this new information downgrade you in his eyes? He seemed to realize your worries, because he made an effort to stop his giggles. "What have you been waiting for, beau?"

"I've just never had anyone to kiss," you admitted. Standing on the stairs of your apartment brought you two too close for comfort, you thought. He was standing at least five inches above you, arms crossed and a smirk plastered on his face. Beautiful face ... wait, doesn't beau translate to beautiful? Is he calling me beautiful?

"Oh, come on. Not anyone?"

"Not anyone I want."

"And what do you want?"

You bit your lip - a wave a bravery had suddenly overtaken you, making you take a step forwards so you were almost touching him. "I want someone tall ... with a nice personality. Someone who isn't afraid to stand for what they believe in - someone who will help their friends in times of need." Slowly, ever so slowly, a look of realization came across his face. You continued. "I want someone who's not afraid to kiss me, right now. Without any fear of what happens next."

Suddenly, he captured your lips into a fierce kiss, pushing you until your back hit the wall. His hands were all over you, seemingly not knowing where to go. You reached up to tangle your hands in his hair, feeling every single thought and emotion you'd ever had for him forcing itself out into the kiss.

It felt like hours until he pulled away, both of you panting for breath. You're heart was pounding against your ribs, but it wasn't because of terror. "I want you, Laf."

"So I've gathered," he chuckled, leaning in closer to you. "How was that for a first kiss?"

"Perfect." You smiled up at him. "So, I heard French kissing is different to regular kissing - and that felt like regular kissing. Care to show me how their different?"

Again, he bent down to kiss you - this time, the kiss was slow and passionate, allowing you to slow down and think. What am I doing? This is my best friend! If we break up - if something happens ... I don't think I could handle it.

But as his hands began unbuttoning your shirt, and he started leading you back to your bedroom, all your worries were shot down the drain. Who cared what happened next? It's like your friend, Alexander, always said - you needed to live in the moment.

You liked living in the moment.