A/N, and the companion. There may be a bit where they actually sort things out, but I'm a bit iffy on writing it.
It was always the worst part of the day, waking up at an impossibly early hour, and sneaking out. As though what we were doing was something that shouldn't be done. And to be quite honest, I'm not sure if it is something that should be done. Because as right as it feels, it also feels wrong. As though this is something bad, but I know that's only because of the emotions involved.
So I get up, and leave him there. Plant a gentle kiss to his lips, and go home, shower, change, and act as though nothing was wrong. As though nothing had changed. Because he said he didn't want things to change, and I know that if I stay, if one morning I happen to get too comfortable, overextend my welcome, that they would. And the thought of that scares me more than anything.
There's a guilty feeling when I start the car every morning when I'm weak enough to allow this to happen, as though I should just man up and tell him what I want. Instead, I play along with what he says-he says he doesn't want a relationship, and I lie and say I don't either. Everybody lies. It's a painful, hated part of my life, but an accepted one nonetheless.
And I act as though nothing between us has changed. The next day-never the morning of-it's back to stealing his lunches, it's back to inviting him over for takeout and beer and cheesy movies. It's back to the way things always were. And then, eventually, I cave and show up at his hotel, unable to hold back any longer. Always his hotel-if it were at my apartment, I don't think I could stand waking up next to him, and not saying something.
He says he doesn't want a relationship, doesn't want flowers or dates, doesn't want anything that goes along with that. And I respect his wishes. I say that I don't either, that flowers and dates are for saps-but I don't say that flowers are one of the few things left in this world with a real, tangible meaning. I don't say that what we do for movie nights is practically a date anyway. But I leave the things that are a part of our friendship alone-the last thing I want is for us to start necking on my couch, only for him to decide that this isn't what he wants at all.
And I ignore whatever it we have in favor of twenty-some-odd years of friendship. I ignore this jumbled messed up thing we call us, only to be weak and cave in. And that's when I drive across town, and show up at his hotel, letting myself in, unable to think of anything but him. And it's always the worst-I act as though it's just about the sex, as though it doesn't matter to us, it's just something that's mutually convenient. It's needy, it's hard, but it hides the emotions well.
And every morning in the shower, I tell myself that this will be the day. This will be the day that I just walk in there and tell him that I can't stand it anymore. That I hate leaving every morning, and wouldn't he just consider it-that maybe we wouldn't fuck up a relationship, as he so kindly had put it. That maybe I could compromise-just a bit, because as much as I don't like the word, sometimes it's necessary.
This morning is no different. I'm in after a shower, because I can't stand to be alone in the house. The team has commented on it, and I play it off, as though it's just a personality quirk, and they accept it, because that's just who I am. Unpredictable. And I see him walk in, walk past my office, but he makes no move to stop in.
He plays it off as though he has no clue why I'm here early either. And he'll stand on his balcony, staring out into the courtyard, and I want nothing more than to get up and tell him in those moments. Tell him that what we're doing is just running around an inevitability, and that we'd eventually have to face this, and that we should do it now.
And today I tell myself that I'm no longer going to be House-the-arrogant-jerk, but to let him know that somehow, as implausible as it was, he'd managed to get underneath my skin. And that if he told anyone else, that I'd personally hang him with one of his ties, but that I hated what we were and that I wanted something more.
But the hours drag by, and I don't make a move, and he doesn't stop by. I want so badly to tell him how I feel-but I can't. Because that would risk losing everything we've built up around us. Because I can't push him away entirely, no matter how hard I've tried. Because I know that this time, he might actually have been bent so far he'd break. That every other time was just another straw, and that this one would break the camel's back.
So I convince myself that I don't actually want anything more, but I do. Because I'd rather have what we have no, as frustrating and as painful as it is than have nothing. And I'm not going to lose the only good thing in my life because of something stupid like a relationship.
I need him too much. I hate leaving him, but I'd rather leave and act as though nothing happened. It sickens me to play it all off as nothing, but it's an accepted part of the relationship. A painful, horrible part, but an accepted part nonetheless.