Falls So Hard

By: Kyuketsuki / The Sister

Disclaimer: Boy Meets Boy is the property of Sandra Delete.

Author's Notes: Not much if anything is known about Fox's past, so I took the liberty of creating one. This will most likely clash with what Sandra knows but hasn't shared yet. Sorry.

Warning: Language.

PART I:

It's Friday. I usually love Fridays. They have just the right combination of work and play. But idiot me, when I signed up for classes in the fall, I was drunk and not thinking, which meant that I signed up for what I needed and a few courses that at the time "sounded like fun." I dropped the fun classes as soon as I was sober, but it wasn't soon enough. My schedule is so lop-sided if it were a boat it would be sitting at the bottom of the ocean. In other words, Fridays are now hell.

I get out of my last class of the week at five o'clock. This is like having a full-time job, only worse, because I also have a part-time job at the Book Barn. They all hate me there except for the manager, who I'm pretty sure just wants to jump me. Normally, this is not a bad thing, but I think she held the title of Ugliest Woman Alive at one point, so it's not exactly one of the things that makes my job worthwhile.

I have the glamorous job of stocking shelves tonight. Another reminder that I should have called in sick and just gotten fired. Too bad for me I'm the only person on the planet who doesn't own a damn cell phone and therefore didn't get the chance. Also too bad that I need the money. Having a drug problem is all good and well until you realize that it costs money to feed that drug habit. It takes a lot to make me work, but the promise of alcohol is on the top of that list.

Jennifer, the perky blonde who says nasty things about me behind my back, tells me to get right to work and hands me a basket of books. As tedious as this job is, the only skill you need is a working knowledge of the alphabet, so at least I can sit back and enjoy the tedium with minimum stress.

I start shelving Stephen King books and immediately have to rearrange the entire section. If there were any customers nearby I would tell them that it's really a lot less trouble if they place the books on one of the many tables provided than try to put them back in order, because they never seem to be able to do it right. Bully for the customers, they're steering clear of me. I'll save the rant for another night.

As soon as Horror is in order I move on, more proud than I probably should be. Maybe I'll head over to the Self-Help section later and pick up a book about having realistic goals and an ego that doesn't threaten to eat your neighbors alive. Or maybe not. As far as I'm concerned, if you have the sense to realize something is wrong with you, you can't really need all that much help, can you? I mean, at least you're not in denial. So all those people who hover nervously in Travel and steal glances at the Self-Help titles must either be wondering if they're deficient or considering buying a really bad birthday gift.

The basket is half-empty when I'm interrupted.

"Excuse me sir, could you point me toward the Egotistical Best Friend section?"

I'd know that inadvertently sexy voice anywhere.

"Yeah, it's right between Denial and the Ever-Dwindling List of Reasons Why I Won't Fuck My Devastatingly Sexy Roommate."

"What an odd place for it."

I pull a stupid face and hope he can't see it from wherever the hell it is he's standing. No such luck.

He chuckles. "Reason number 374."

Okay, so he may be mean, but he's also damn funny when you ignore the fact that he's insulting you. I grin, assuming he'll see that as well, and stop my work as soon as my hands are empty. Instead of getting up, I do a completely ungraceful turn without raising my ass off the carpet and face him. He doesn't care how stupid I look.

"I assume you're getting the Egotistical Best Friend book for someone you met in class, since it couldn't possibly be for you."

He shrugs and sips his coffee. "Just seems like a helpful thing to have lying around."

It's too good to resist. "Coincidentally, so is an egotistical best friend."

"They certainly won't do anything else." You have to hand it to the guy, he doesn't miss a beat. And that's reason number twelve why he should fuck his devastatingly sexy roommate.

"Enough of this gay banter. What the hell do you want?"

He shrugs again. "I came for the coffee. You being here is a complete fluke."

"I'm hurt, Collin."

Another shrug, though he pushes away from the shelf he's leaning on for this one, which means that I inadvertently hit a nerve. I'm getting better and better at that.

"When do you get off," he asks as soon as he's regained whatever composure he thinks he's lost.

"As soon as you finally let me."

He scowls. My my, he's touchy this evening. "Sorry, Fox, I'm not going to let you hump my leg."

Okay, that one hurt. I protest/hide by going back to shelving, and only have to wait a moment before he sighs. Music to my ears.

"So do you close tonight or not?"

"I'd stay open until the end of the world for you, baby." There's just enough lilt in my voice for him not to lean over and hit me. I'm grateful. Though sometimes with Collin you take what physical contact you can get and run with it.

"I'll assume that means you don't want to go to the club with me tonight."

Stop. Back up. Did he say club?

"Whoa. When did I say that? I didn't even imply that."

He smirks. "Then I'll ask again: When do you get off?"