Staring Contest (Short Story)

(2)

Staring Contest (2)

Every time I look at him, I'm reminded of that night.

The details were as vivid as the way his lips felt, and the way he looked at me, and the way he was wrapped up in the blanket.

It wasn't just that night I missed. I longed for my best friend. I missed sitting beside him in class and listening to his music. The absence of his texts and phone calls was almost destructive.

The smallest details of him were the strongest ones. The blink of his eyes and the way his lips turned only at one corner when he was amused. And the way he cried during the movies we had seen together, even if it was only a comedy with a happy ending.

I missed him and I wished he wasn't gone and I wondered what I did wrong, what threw him off, why did he stop talking to me -

I still stare at him -- even if I force myself not to, my eyes always flicker towards him in class or in the hallways. My mind would often float to the bitter memories of that night or to the thought of holding his hand and complimenting him and making him laugh and watching as he blushed.

I've tried to talk to him, but every time I would approach, my throat would become dry and it would tighten and he'd look at me sadly. Like I was a pathetic mess.

I liked to think that his expression signified that he too was upset that our connection had been severed. It was probably just my imagination conjuring up the desperate thought that he missed me and he missed my touch and he missed my voice just like I missed his.

And one day, when I could no longer ignore the itch under my skin, I decided that enough was enough. I wanted to make this nothing into something.

So that's why I stuffed the both of us in a janitor's closet.

---

"What -- hey. Stop that!"

I ignored his perplexed complaints and continued to push him in. It was dark, but I've been in here once, so I knew where the light switch was. He turned and I closed the door before he could get, protectively guarding the exit from him.

He looked at me quizzically, obviously wanting to speak but not sure what to say. I kept myself from smiling, amused by the whole silly situation.

"What are we doing in here?" he finally asked, glancing at the heavy shelves behind him suspiciously.

I didn't feel the urge to smile anymore; my stomach was in knots now. I watched him with a piercing gaze. "I want to talk. About that night. About us."

He gave me a questioning look, his voice bordered with something close to anger as he retorted. "Yeah? What is there to talk about?"

I gave a small shrug. "I want things to work. I want to be able to see you and talk to you --"

The frown and creases that had taken over his face softened. "I want that stuff, too. But, I-I don't think I can have a secret relationship."

"I know it's hard, but we can make it work..." I argued. "At least until I'm ready."

He sniffled lightly.

"I was in one a while ago," he confessed. "Before things happened with you and I, and it wasn't... good. I wasn't happy. The other guy wasn't either." He swallowed, and I hung onto his words. "You and I are... we have something special. And I don't want to ruin it in a stupid... secret relationship."

Urgently, I nearly shouted, "We can tell people, if that's what it takes! I --"

"No, no. I couldn't do that to you. You need to come out when you want. Hell, I'm not even out. We're both in the closet." He looked around and smiled gently. "Literally."

When I didn't laugh, he continued sadly, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can go through another relationship that is so hidden. It doesn't work." He gave me a soft look, rubbing my arm reassuringly. I grabbed his wrist.

"How do you know it doesn't work?" I asked. "If you've only been in one hidden relationship, how do you know it won't work out now?"

He looked unconvinced.

"I know your other relationship didn't work out..." I started desperately. "But it doesn't mean ours won't. You even said it yourself -- we have something special. And if you become sad because it's too much, because you don't want it to be a secret anymore, I'll shout it to the whole world."

We stared at each other and he was shaking his head, but I was relieved to see the hint of a smile.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about your ever since that night," I admitted.

"Same," he whispered.

The two of us seemed to fall in a staring contest, something we've done millions of times before. But not as a game -- as something a lot more deeper. Something captivatingly special.

My thumb stroked the side of his face, "Let's never end this moment."

He gave a nod. It was small, but not at all reluctant.  

(Edited)

And that is the end of the story!

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