BIFF DOESN'T EVEN KNOW THIS IS COMING.

That night was so tense that I could barely breathe. I drove Miley back home, wishing I hadn't been so thoughtless and given into an urge I didn't even know I had. Yes, Miley was attractive, funny, adorable, kind... Okay, so she was a lot of great things, but that didn't mean it was acceptable to just launch myself at her! She's straight and I thought I was. I kissed a girl. I liked it. Did that make me gay? Did it matter that I didn't want to kiss any girl other than Miley? Hello? Answers?

Miley slept on the couch and I felt lonely. My bed was cold and there was just no satisfaction in sleeping when Miley's warm body wasn't flush against my back. She would never sleep by me again. She would never even touch me again. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up to find her gone! I didn't know how to make things right. I had apologised many times. I had even tried to pretend it was an accident, that I slipped and it was completely unintentional. But Miley knew better. She could see through the lie and I accepted her cold shoulder after my attempts to fix things.

I wouldn't give up, though. I was up bright and early the next day, attempting to cook pancakes for my lovely Miley. Yes, I was hopeless in the kitchen, but mother's chef had taught me the basics and I did have instructions printed off from an online cooking site I unabashedly went on before starting to cook.

I rarely used my laptop. I enjoyed going out and buying what I needed, since I hardly got the chance to get out of the house. I preferred drawing, or watching TV than wasting time on the laptop. I only really used it to check emails Sarah sent me from her mission to save the world. She decided to extend her trip away from Denver so she could travel further out of state with her crew. I did miss her, but I had more important issues to deal with. I needed Miley's forgiveness.

I had the pancake batter prepared and had attempted to pour some into the frying pan in a nice circle shape, but it turned into an oval, then a giant slab that took over half the frying pan and I groaned.

"How the fuck was I supposed to know how much to pour in!" I muttered, glaring at the step on the sheet of paper that read 'only use a small amount of batter for each pancake'. I waited for the impossible offender to cook so I could take it out and try again.

Many trials ended up in failure. When there was only half of the pancake batter left, I was startled to find Miley sitting at the kitchen counter, watching. I hadn't even heard her pull out a chair.

"Oh, shit, Miley. I think you just gave me a stroke," I breathed and a flicker of a smile touched her lips.

"What are you trying to do?" she asked, her voice still coated with sleep.

"Uh, well... I was trying to make you breakfast... I don't want you to be upset with me for something I did unintentionally." Yes, I lied. I did it because, in that moment, I wanted to. I wanted to lower myself onto her, I wanted to kiss her until the stars faded into dawn. But she didn't need to know that.

"Really? This is your strategy for forgiveness?" Her tone was cold and it hit me right in the place only Miley could reach.

"What more can I do, Miley? I've already given you everything I have," I snapped. Her mouth fell open and she lowered her eyes to the table.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because you've been nothing but kind to me and you made only one mistake and I'm acting like you raped me."

"Jesus, did I really make you feel that violated? I...I don't want you feeling like this house isn't a safe place to be." I met her eyes, noticing the glassy reflection of them. I turned the frying pan off and walked over to her. She tensed and flinched as I sat down on the opposite side of the counter and placed a hand on her arm.

She examined me with a shielded regard. I hated that I betrayed her trust. I squeezed her limb desperately and whispered, "Please don't leave me." Her hardened gaze lost its intensity as she looked at my pathetic need for her company and she hesitantly placed her hand over mine, stroking my fingers.

"I'm not leaving, Lilly. I still care about you. I'm just not... gay." She treated the word like it was her first time saying it and my insides crumbled. Rejection was more difficult to hear than consider. She didn't need me to say kissing her was no slip up. She was Hannah Montana! She was the master of disguise and could see past mine without any effort. There was no use denying it, because my constant denial would only annoy her further. There was only one thing left for me now. Honesty.

"That's the thing, I thought I wasn't either. I haven't been in a relationship before, but I was positive I wasn't... into girls."

"Am I the first girl you've liked?"

"Yes." And probably the last, I added in my head. Miley was silent after I told her this and I didn't want to sit there awkwardly discussing something I didn't really understand, so I stood back up and proceeded with making pancakes.

All my feet walked on were eggshells. Ever since I kissed Miley, she spent her nights on the couch, her weekdays at work, her evenings silently watching TV or hiding in the gym room. We hardly spoke and I didn't know how to tell her that I wasn't suddenly a disease she had to avoid, that I would respect her entirely and not a lay a finger on her if she were to join me in bed again. I had no control of myself as I slept, but I recall Miley being the one who curled into me every night since she first moved in with me.

Yes, I had feelings for her, but that didn't mean I would act on them again. That night, I didn't fully know what I was dealing with, so I didn't know what I was meant to control. I knew now, and I wished that she wouldn't hold that against me. She talked to me, but she seemed more reserved and one night, I saw an old report on Hannah Montana where she had an interview and I suddenly realised that she wasn't treating me like a friend, but a stranger. Like I was someone just imposing on her life. Her smiles were stage smiles, her laugh feigned, her words limited. It was like she saw me as a completely different person.

Infuriated, I started to draw. There were dark shadows, pale eyes, scribbled phrases of mistrust. I was like some monster now. I was someone who just happened to live with Miley, not someone she wanted to be around. I had the looming idea that Miley was searching for her father behind my back. She wanted to move out, to leave me, even when she said she wouldn't.

It was a Saturday, around two weeks after enduring a growing distance wedging between Miley and I. She was in the kitchen, making dinner, her clothes unchanged and smelling mildly of sugar. I moved beside her, waiting to be acknowledged. She continued stirring some vegetables in a pot, her expression empty.

"Miley?" I ventured, unsurprised when she only spared me a glance. She couldn't look me in the eye anymore.

"Yeah?" Even her tone had changed. There was no more exuberance, no more inflections that betrayed her mood. There was just a constant monotonous drone of wariness.

"I'm tired of this."

"Of what?"

"You. I hate how you're treating me just because of how I feel. It will go away, Miley. Something so small won't linger if it's not explored. You need to trust me," I said sombrely and Miley stopped stirring the vegetables, finally meeting my gaze for longer than a second.

"I do trust you," she argued.

"No. If you trusted me, you wouldn't be so on edge around me. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice."

Her eyes stared right through me as she processed everything I said. Would things ever be the same again? Would we ever playfully flirt with each other and laugh until our stomachs stitched?

"I'm sorry, Lilly." That was all. Another apology. But this one, this one seemed like it would actually matter, because before I could say anything more, Miley's arms were around me and I swore I caught a hint of her old smile as she buried her face into my hair.

I don't even care.