If I Told You I Loved You, How Far Would You Run?

“An opportunity?” Ryan asks, fiddling nervously with his fork. “What do you mean?”

Now it’s my turn to glance down at the table since he’s definitely trying avoid confrontation. “Uh, you know, to talk,” I mumble, “about … us.”

“Us?” Ryan asks blankly. “What is there to talk about?”

“Don’t play stupid, Ryan,” I say with just a hint of anger in my voice. “You know what I’m talking about. The whole half-hating each other since we started dating other people and how you keep kissing me. That’s what I’m talking about.”

I’m looking at him now and I see how he’s unable to look me in the eye as he says: “Uh! We’re best friends, Brendon, can’t I kiss you if I want?”

“I’m dating Pete, Ryan,” I shoot back. “I’m gay. You know that a kiss means more to me than that!”

“And I’m dating Keltie, Brendon,” he says in a cruel imitation. “So I’m obviously not gay.”

“You’re killing me, Ryan,” I say in a soft, strained voice. “The way you play hot and cold with me. I can’t take it anymore!”

His honeyed eyes widen and his head snaps up to stare at me in alarm. “I … you … don’t mean that,” he says disjointedly. “Do you?”

“Just tell me how you feel about me. Tell me what I mean to you.”

“I … I can’t,” he chokes. “I … Brendon, this is so damn hard!”

And suddenly we’re in each other’s arms, crying and holding each other, as we so often do.

“We’ve spent far too much time crying lately,” I say with a sniffle. “You know?”

He nods, face buried in my chest. “I’m sorry, Brendon.”

“What for?” I ask, rubbing his back.

“For everything.”

We pull away from each other slightly to stare at each other. “It’s not your fault,” I tell him quietly.

“Yes it is!” Ryan screeches, tearing away from me, hands shooting up to rip angrily at his hair.

He looks so stuck, like a CD that can’t stop skipping.

“It’s always my fault!” he screams, flailing around dangerously. “Why can’t I be honest for once in my life? What’s wrong with me?!”

I reach and grab his hands before he can break something. “So be honest,” I suggest softly. “Right now.”

Ryan raises his tear-streaked face to look me in the eye. “You’re my best friend,” he says in a broken whisper. “And I love you.”

“What kind of love?”

“You’re my best friend! You’re my best friend!” he wails, over and over again. “You’re my best friend!”

He can’t stop repeating those four words.

“You’re my best friend!”

“Yes,” I say, wrapping my arms around him. “I am. And I’m gonna look out for you, okay?”

He nods, suddenly calm but still crying silently, and I take him by the hand to lead him into my room, where I tuck him into my bed.

“I’m gonna be in the living room,” I tell him, smoothing down his hair. “You come and get me if you need anything, okay?”

“Wait,” he whispers, hand shooting out to grab my wrist. “Don’t … go …”

“Okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s staring up at me with his wide, angelic eyes. “Stay … with me,” he asks.

“Always.”