The Sensible One (boyxboy) ✓

Chapter Fifty Six

He looked at me, a slight smile on his lips for a moment, a glimmer of something in his eyes. I felt a little elated, assuming he'd been in a bad mood and I was able to cheer him up. We kissed, for a while, but he was limp and mostly unreceptive, when I got near to stopping he he grew a little more active and then stopped when I reciprocated.

Confused I eventually pulled away.

He sighed and turned on his side, flipping open his phone again. 

"You're okay?"

"Man, stop asking, I said I was okay."

I stopped, he was in a bad mood but I was being pushy, I thought.

After a while it began to grow cosy, that was how it felt to me in any case, I was wondering when he would say we should head down for dinner, being that the atmosphere was so awkward before I didn't feel comfortable suggesting it myself and just waited, relaxing watching a movie.

"Max how long are you staying for? It's getting late?" He said this without looking out of the window.

I froze and said nothing for a moment, then blinked. "You invited me for a sleepover though." I asked him, confused.

"No I didn't." He looked at me like I was mental.

I felt a flush of embarrassment curl in my stomach and I disliked it. "Yeah, you said sleepover."

He gave me an annoyed look and rolled his eyes. "I didn't."

"You did..." Did he? Had I somehow misunderstood something. I was getting a little unsure.

"I didn't, but whatever, go ahead." He replied, stretching in his bed, not looking at me. "If you want to stay you can." But he said it in a surly tone, like he very much hoped I wouldn't.

For a while after that my brain was tangled in the knotted hair of humiliation, and hurt too, not a great mixture. I didn't feel like I could go home, so I stayed and eventually, later that night, we did end up having sex, he'd laughed like normal, grinned at some joke I'd told him at the end, and I'd breathed a sigh of relief after, feeling like whatever he was moping about was over.

He'd gotten a little less close to me in the weeks prior, I guessed, but I hadn't really noticed it because on and off he would be sufficiently nice as to make up for it. I was getting used it, and was beginning to appreciate when he was being nice to me a little too much for someone so inconsistent.

After it ended I'd remembered the occasion with such visceral shame, realised I must have forced him, that he was upset and exhausted by my attentions, me trying to kiss him and follow him around, that he was probably right and hadn't invited me to sleep over. It had been horrifically sobering, a crushing humiliation.

In fact, if he hadn't lied and said he wasn't gay, I might have been in a much worse position, because in retrospect I realised the rabbit hole he was pulling me down, likely unintentionally. 

Through which I slowly grew more and more passionate, loved him and saw no return. Let him drift away from me and let people see me follow after him like a pet. I would have done all of the rationalising for him, and forgiven for any misdeeds.  

That was my new post relationship evaluation.

It almost seemed as though Weston still thought I was there, in that position, secretly waiting for him to be nice enough to bestow his affections upon me.

"You came alone." He said in passing to me as he was chatting to another one of James's friends, my own close friends moving in and out of the kitchen, helping put together some sort of cocktails that sounded as though they were mostly juice and syrup.