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"I'm going to run out for a little while for errands. I'll be back later tonight, I think. You going to be okay alone?" He's a flurry through the apartment as he continues to talk, getting his things together. He's normally a huge mess like this anyway, so it isn't a huge surprise to me.

I try to convince myself that I'm not watching him for his feathery tail as it follows him, but it only works whenever I'm not staring at him. "I don't know if you can trust someone like me alone with the house." I've got a toothy grin, and despite his distraction, I'm sure he can hear it.

He groans. "Damn it, man. Well, I guess we have the advantage of not actually having a house yet." We share a brief laugh, but mine's slightly more brief.

I hope I'm not obvious when I ask, "So...do you think you'll be home for dinner?" That's pretty obvious. "I mean, should I have something ready for you?" Better. Also avoids that fight we had about how he spends his nights in other people's houses occasionally.

He grabs his keys and stuffs them into a back pocket. Finally, he's settled. "Yeah. I'll be back home soon, you big romantic." He sticks his tongue out at me, and leaves before I get to retort.

It's for the better, to be honest. After he's gone, I'm left blushing. He really has no idea, and I'm not sure if it breaks my heart or makes me feel better for feeling for him. I'm almost certain he isn't doing any sort of errand, and I know for a fact, as I walk back to my room of the apartment and make sure to check, that he doesn't even have his wallet on him.

I sigh softly. Tonight, we're fixing this. I set myself into motion even as my head is filled with thoughts of him, mostly of all the reactions that he could have when he opens that door again, and my reactions to his.

I start up, slowly, cooking dinner for the two of us, seeing as how I've got around three or four hours until he comes back from his "errands" if he's interested in eating here still.

Our apartment is small, with three rooms to ourselves. There's his bedroom, mine, and then a big entrance room that includes a little kitchenette. For how much I like to cook for us, it's not nearly extravagant enough to make me happy. The wonders I've pulled off with the old stove and pathetic stovetop have always impressed, so I guess I've adapted enough. I leave the baking to the sergal, though it isn't like he can pull off any five-star restaurant desserts in a small place like this.

He certainly tries.

We've known each other for a while, a while being four semesters. At the beginning of it all, we probably had each other painted in five minutes. He's someone who is okay with spending a night at a club and waking up in someone else's bed. Or their floor or their kitchen or their couch...

But he's changed from that.

He immediately saw me as a killjoy, at least in that regard. Very nerdy, and actually into school and all the wonderful things I could learn. Even have a job that, while I hate not being paid for, still find merit as it gives me my education for next to nothing. Still, besides the gaming tournaments I participate in, and all of the friends I seem to have, I look boring.

Or at least I did.

In the time we've known each other, we've quickly evolved into one another's favorite people; the best of friends. We know one another to sometimes extreme extents, but it's most from him to me. I know a lot about his past relationships and even more about what they sounded like.

Have you ever been in the next room as a couple gets affectionate? Okay.

How about being in the next room over just as they start to fight? Thought so.

Irregardless of how much intent listening I may or may not have been doing, hearing that by the end of the night was enough for me to walk over (after what's-his-douche had already left) and talk it out with the sergal. That was the first semester still, but that was our turning point. That night, I surprised us both when I admitted that I like guys as well, and back then I told myself that liking dick wasn't going to stop me from liking chicks as well.

That was a good joke.

But anyways, it was after that that we had a lot more respect for one another, and it also stopped the lies about his "late-night study sessions" and his coffee dates that were being cast off as even more errands.

As I start up some of the meal, I continue to think on our history. At one point, we'd talked about what would happen if we were a couple.

_ "What if I said I like you, though? Would that make things any easier? Harder, maybe?"_

_ He chuckles. "'Harder,' I'm sure." He continues to laugh at his own joke._

_ "I'm serious!"_

_ He rolls his eyes. "I'm sure."_

_ I huff and cross my arms. "Fine. Answer the question though. What would happen?"_

_ His eyes gleamed, like someone had just promised him a fortune. "I'm not sure. Guess you'd be able to do whatever you want with me." Of course, he's got a devious grin, too. Rarely see him without one._

_ I don't want to assume what he means, but, did he really just say that?! "What? What do you mean?"_

_ He sticks his tongue out at me. "Well you're big and burly..." He's speaking in a low purr, sending shivers up my spine. "And I'm not sure there's anything I could do to stop you at the end of the day..."_

I shake my head. That was weird, to be honest. I mean, sure, after we found common ground we ceaselessly started flirting. That day though, he seemed...

I'm not sure. Maybe he seemed more committed, is what I want to say. It was certainly odd, and I remember his breathing hitched as though he was going to say more, but he stopped himself before he continued. I remember he was already circled up like a big cat, and between the looks he shot me and the steady patting of his tail on the sofa, it was hard not to dive on him right there.

Maybe it was a test.

I wrap up the rest of my cooking just before the finishing stages with enough time left for me to return and finish later, as long as I come back somewhere around a half hour before that sergal returns. My thoughts make me grimace in some sick mixture of guilt and regret, mostly because I feel guilty thinking that he likes me just as much back, and regret not doing anything to ask or find out.

As I pace about the apartment, ordering my thoughts back into the right priority, I remember that he doesn't have his wallet, so that he can't be doing errands. He's too young-looking and it's too early in the evening for him to get into a club without ID. Honestly, there can't be many other things he'd be up to right now.

My stomach drops. What if he is actually out to a date? I'm not nailed down to him and he isn't to me! I get a text and almost drop my phone trying to check it. "Coming back a little sooner. Forgot my wallet! XD"

I breathe in deeply, but it hardly helps. I'm not sure what that means. What did he try to do all this time without it? It's hard to pick myself up and get back to cooking the rest of our dinner, especially with so many swimming thoughts that some sneak into the corners of my vision, giving me theoretical situations and issues I'd never wish on anyone, much less myself.

There's a swirling feeling everywhere in my abdomen, making me dance on my toes one moment and afraid I'll float to the ceiling the next. I sigh, eventually, the feeling then dissipating.

There's a knock at the door that literally spells out who's on the other side, and though I'd never tell him, I roll my eyes almost every time I hear it. I open the door with a grin though, ready to clown him about his wallet. "How do you forget something like that for doing 'errands?'"

He sticks his tongue out at me, crossing his arms. "Oh, please. Can I just get that and be on my way? I might need your help with something later, too." Suspicious. But whatever.

I hand it to the sergal, having already grabbed it. "Here. Have fun, sergal."

He just glares at me, grabs his wallet, and turns. "Oh, yeah, okay. I'll text you later!"

And with that, he just walks. I'm not sure how I feel until I eventually close the door, ceasing my staring at his lingering tail plume, the thing probably having more time invested from my eyes than even our TV does.

When I go back into the kitchen, feelings I couldn't even feel, at least not on the surface, reappear. I keep myself composed until I roll my shoulders and hesitantly look at the fact that I'd set out two plates. Two tears fall before I can stop them, and when I sniffle, my head feels more congested than cleared up. "Ah...damn. Need to stop doing this to myself."

I plate my food and sit down in front of my aforementioned TV, wiping my eyes once and trying to convince myself that I'll be okay. This doesn't mean anything, and honestly, I can just try again some other night. Right?

Or is that what I told myself last week? Two weeks earlier? And yet, those earlier times were much more my fault. I can't even begin to fairly say that he is the reason I'm in this position.

_ "Do you ever wonder about movies like this? Where one little timing thing ends up screwing over her life or making her life super happy?"_

_ He crosses his arms in thought, and at first I thought it was to be sarcastic. "Honestly, I wouldn't ever have us watch these French films if I didn't believe in deep stories like that. Cause you also have to wonder something else."_

_ "What's that?"_

_ He pauses for a while. "Well, I mean, was she any better off? Missing the train meant her life was hard, but she still meets the same guy her on-time self did. They both lead a different life because of that timing, but they converge."_

_ "So you think they're the same anyway? I mean, the two only pass at the end."_

_ He nods after a hesitation, shrugging. "True." Then, when his eyes meet mine, I prepare myself for something mischievous. "The main point is that her younger self probably had more sex with that guy."_

_ I slap a paw over my face. "You would think about that."_

_ He grins wide, knowing that while he can just be overt like that, I don't judge him. At least, not any more than I already have. It's not like I didn't see it coming._

Maybe this wouldn't be so hard if he didn't try so hard to tease me or spend time with me or do stuff for me so often as he does. It's not my fault for being confused about all the messages he sends my way, is it? I don't want to be the freak here, but there has to be some sort of intent behind all of these times.

Maybe I'm confusing all the times he's done things for me as times that he meant something with it. In all reality, he could just be reciprocating what I do for him. But do I do him favors out of courtesy or becau--

"Can you come outside?" The question is simple enough, and only after being interrupted by that text do I realize my hackles were raising emotionally. I take a deep breath and try to calm down. I rub a paw over my head, glazing over my ears and throwing my head back. I sigh again. Good god. Can I resolve this? Can I just get this done now?

I fire back a text telling him I'll be outside. I glance, while I'm at the door, at the cooling meal of his still on the stovetop, unplated. I resolve to pack it up later, trying not to frown or let that feeling of disappointment overwhelm me.

The trip down the hallway, and even the stairs, is plagued with more thoughts. Provided he isn't dragging me down here to say something himself, what can I say to him? How can I admit that I've always felt a little for him, but that recently things have been getting towards the obsessive realm. Like seriously. I can't stop thinking about everything about him.

_ Step._

I picture his muzzle, always so perfect when he smiles. When he's happy, there seems to be some sort lightning in the room, the static clinging to us both and filling me with only the most electric of sensations. It's so elusive, that one smile, as though every time he does grin, he aspires to return to those emotion-inspiring actions, dismissing me softly anytime he doesn't.

And I'm sure that he knows how much he impacts me with those simple grins. The way one canine pokes out of his lip after he says something clever. It's too bad I answer those remarks with a quick reply or a paw sometimes. I should stop...

_ Step._

I've never been someone who isn't sure what they think. Or feel. It's a feeling of mystery, to not be sure what I think. I've always been so logical, and based so far in the idea that I can be certain in every decision I make. There's no way for me to describe the confusion, or the longing in me that it subsequently causes.

_ Step._

So what is the sergal thinking? What is going on in that mind behind every single smile, every single grimace, every single laugh and joke and question? I am going to be the first person to try and claim I understand the people in my life and what inspires them and why they stay.

But what keeps the sergal around me? The simple explanations include things like rent for living or my amazing culinary ability, but they don't cover the scope.

We've fought and we've agreed, we've laughed and we've cried, and more than anything else, we've stuck together for one another. I'm his support system and he is mine. Especially after that night...

_ Step._

The confusion is not worth much more thought, to be honest. I'm going to be stumped until I confront him with it, and the more I think about that prospect itself, the more appealing that sounds. I'm not halfway to the next step before I've got a stupid grin and a warm inspiration inside my chest.

_ Step._

My head is swimming in thoughts, and while none of them are negative and almost all of them have to do with simply seeing the sergal again, I almost find myself too overwhelmed to continue down the staircase.

I comb a paw back through my hair again, and while I don't sigh, I find myself instead breathing deeply, stepping twice on the large cement slab that constitutes a corner of the flight.

I round the staircase, halfway down but not even hardly halfway done thinking about him.

_ Step._

I look up and see him waiting for me, patiently, softly smiling. His tail swishes close to the ground behind him, steadily and much more reminiscent of a cat than just an off-the-wall sergal. He seems calm. Resolved. Ready. For something.

And in that moment, I finally find it. God, I mean, I never wanted to be one of those people who talks about someone they love and how they can't get enough of them and they just are always there and it's always just lovely between them...

...But now, I am about to be that person. I...I love him. And the pride in my chest as I finally admit that to myself is amazing, and I know I'll only feel better if...when I tell him.

I don't even register the final steps down to his level, instead most likely flying down to stop right in front of him, smiling just as big as he is at this point. We don't say anything, despite how much we're thinking. We know we could poke fun at one another. We know we could say something mean and that he could say I looked too eager and that I could say he doesn't look eager enough to see me. But we don't.

He stares into my eyes and I stare into his. I don't blink for a while, as though we're competing. I don't think he does either. I'm too fixated and he can't get enough. "Hey," one of us says.

"Hi," says the other. I'm so close to him, and it's not like I haven't been before. I just can't remember being this close. It feels wonderful.

When I finally break eye contact, I realize that we must've been there with each other for a long time, and it makes me blush. When I glance at him, he is too. Both of us work our jaws and act as though we're about to say something, but don't.

I blurt, "I love you," at the same time as he does, and it's all sudden, but it makes sense. Honestly, I can't even begin to stop the swelling in my heart. It isn't surprise, that's not the right description. I knew he'd say it too.

There's nothing but a dumb grin to describe how we're looking at each other, and it makes even less sense to me as a participant than I'm sure it looks like to someone from the outside. "Uhm..." I blush hard, surprised by how hard it really is to talk, and hesitating my way through, "So...what were you...what did you need?"

He's still smiling up at me, right into my eyes, and he doesn't even have to say anything. "There's a lot of answers to that question, actually," he begins. He runs a paw down my chest, sending sparks up and down parts of me that had nothing to do with the contact of him to me. "But, what's important is that I messed up dinner." Complete with miserable ear fold. My heart rings out.

I start, "Oh, no, it's actually fine! I kept your--"

He presses a digit to my muzzle. "No, no. I know you made something. That's part of my mess-up." He takes away the digit and starts to blush while he admits, looking away, "Well, I had these dinner reservations, and I ran out to set up all kinds of other stuff too, but I forgot my wallet." He looks back into my eyes, looking so embarrassed, but also passionate. "It's hard to pay for things without money or an ID, so it's all basically ruined."

He looks a sort of sad/disappointed blend that is heartbreaking, the kind when you first tell a pup that his pet fish is dead and isn't coming back. I rub over his ears, the fluffy things always prone to sticking out comically. "It's fine. I made you something, so we could go back to the room..." the look in his eyes wishes for more, "...Or, y'know, how about we head out? We don't need a reservation kind of place though. There's plenty to see without all of that."

Finally, he begins to smile again, his posture easing. "I think you balance me."

I grin back, gingerly grasping one of his paws. "Shall we?" As we begin walking, he rests his head against my shoulder like some goofy romantic teenager. I can't blame him. He's sentimental like that. "So what was that about all of this extra stuff you were setting up?"

---

So, before someone asks, yes! I did purposely give neither of them a name! It's shorter piece, and all the names I could come up with would be things I would want to use more than once. I think I like these two enough to return, but that will be some time in the future.

As always, I appreciate your read! Please leave a comment, vote, fave, whichever pleases you! I love you all!