I Love My Bipolar B*tch of a Boyfriend - Part 1 [BoyxBoy]

I know most of my stories have BoyxBoy relationships in them, but I’ve never actually made a full on BoyxBoy romance. So here it is!

I’m also bringing back the dreaded 1st person writing that always fails me in the end. Maybe this time it will be different. You’ll be the judge. :D

COMMENT & VOTE PLEASE!

BRIAN’S P.O.V.

(It may start a little slow, but please keep reading!)

The sun shone through my bedroom window, casting its warm and loving glow across my blue flannel bed sheets. It was rising steadily in the horizon, occasionally silhouetting oaks and maples in the distance. The sunbeams slowly crawled up the bedroom wall opposite my window. Birds chirped at each other, playing their usual morning songs. It filled the air with a sense of life that I gladly accepted. The world was waking up, and now, so was I.

I stretched and yawned loudly. The fan in my window buzzed in its usual rhythmic pattern, attempting to pull me back to sleep. I forced my eyes open, trying to focus on something through the dreary haze, anything to keep myself from falling asleep again. I sat up with a groan, my back cracking in the process. My Bear’s jersey stuck to my back from another hot night. In the middle of August, it was pretty common. I rubbed my eyes with my hands, moving back and forth to remove the fog. I gave another yawn and tried to rub my bed head into place, which was impossible without water or heavy haircare products. Laughing at my failure, I threw off my sheets and slid out of bed. Somehow, I knew today was going to be a good day.

I gripped my hands together and raised them over my head as far as I could, making a few more cracks rattle my spine. My hands did the same, each knuckle popping to the pulling and pressure. I checked my clock. Seven thirty. I would have to rush if I was going to make it to school on time. It being Thursday, I was all hyped up for the weekend, giving me a few more energy reserves than needed. Even with this uprising sugar high, getting over today would be difficult, but doable. Mainly because I was going to see Logan today.

Ah, Logan. He’s one of those people that make you want to strangle and hug him at the same time. Most of the time, I want to hug him, but if the mood strikes me right, I’ll kick him in the shin for being such a bipolar bitch all the time. Don’t get me wrong, the guy’s great. I mean, who wouldn’t think he’s great? Maybe that’s just the boy-crush talking, but can you really blame me? Well, I guess you could. These kinds of crushes are straight out of clichéd, teenage girl fan fictions. Which makes me feel kind of unoriginal when I say that I might love him.

We’ve never actually been an item, but the way we act around each other makes me think otherwise. The basic school girl poking and teasing takes up most of our time. My stabbing him with a pencil every once in a while is a given, as well. He likes it, that masochist. Actually, that’s how we originally got so close. After school, I’d chase him down and kindly beat the crap out of him, which is weird since he’s five inches taller than me and has way more muscle. But don’t worry. He likes it. I probably only managed to do it because he let me.  

How could we not be madly in love with each other? It seems as if we were the perfect couple. My love for pencil stabbing and his pain fetish mesh perfectly! And I was so falling for those hazel eyes of his. I find that attractive in a man, boy… whatever. With his long brown hair that comes over his ears and curls at the end, he’s a total stud. His personality may need a little work though. Throwing people into dumpsters is, of course, not a very good habit. We’ll work on that.

A gave one more yawn and sprinted out of my room. If I was going to be on time, I would have to outrun my annoying little sister, Chelsea. I swung my door open and looked around. To my relief, no one was in the hallway. I smiled and stepped out, only to see Chelsea open her door directly across from me. She smirked and gave me a look that said, “Bring it on!”

I accepted her challenged and jumped ahead of her. She whined in protest, but was hot on my trail. Turning the corner, I saw the sun shining through the bathroom window, beckoning to me.

My sister yelled something I couldn’t understand, but I ignored her. Only to late do I find out she had yelled “dad.” Sadly, my parent’s bedroom was right next to the bathroom. I saw my dad step out of his bedroom, wearing a dark green robe. His face was shaded gray with morning stubble and he stared dully at me, not quite there.