Another Sentimental Argument

He is kissing me. Billie's lips are against mine so surely—I've never felt more real in my whole life. And suddenly, I am not crying anymore and I am just looking into his big green eyes as he pulls away from me.

I'm floating and the only thing keeping me grounded are his hands pressed against the skin of my back. With both of his hands tangled in my hair, his thumbs resting on my temples, through a sort of sad smile, he says, "Logan, I can't do this anymore." I don't panic as I usually would have and let him continue what he has to say without cutting him off with my cynicism or idiocy. "I like you and I want to be with you."

So clearly stated, like crystals in my ears—it almost hurts.

"That's all I've wanted to hear." I say, making sure I am as loud and clear as he was. "That's all I've ever wanted to hear, Billie."

"It's all I've ever wanted to say, really, since I met you." He puckers his lips and I kiss them without hesitation.

He takes a moment to break away from me and stands up from the couch. I follow him with doe eyes, mesmerized by all of his movements. Instead of fearing that he will leave, like I usually do, I know it's different this time. I feel that it is different.

After a quick stretch, he turns around to me with a cute, cute smile and tugs me from the couch.

Suddenly, we are slow dancing in the dark without any music. He guides me and twirls me around like a princess and I feel like we're in slow motion—like a perfect movie of perfect moments with two perfect people. We're laughing and smiling and leaning into each other because we feel like we will never be close enough. Without any music playing, we have the perfect opportunity to just dance and dance until we're done dancing. We could dance forever in this silence and in these smiles.

Now there's something in the way he is looking at me that makes me say it. "I didn't mean it."

Mid-twirl, he stops and drops his hand to his side, with my own in his grasp. "What?"

"When I said you were trash. Goddammit, Billie, you know I didn't mean that." He doesn't speak so I continue. "I was afraid. How was that not obvious? Fuck, of course it wasn't obvious. I was so caught up in you I almost didn't feel like a real person."

He still isn't saying anything. The silence isn't comforting or agonizing. It's just a thick silence—a fuzzy silence. In this moment, it would be a good time to cry. A perfect moment to cry. I want to cry, but I don't. I can't.

"Billie, say something." In my own ears, I sound so desperate. "Please."

His hand is sliding slowly away from my own and I finally start to feel nervous. I open my mouth to say something, but I only end up biting my lip painfully as he turns his back to me. Where is he going? I move my mouth to say his name but nothing comes out. He is going farther and soon I won't be able to see him. Why aren't there any lights on? I move my mouth again and the nothingness that comes out is even louder. I blink, knowing that will fix everything. But when I open my eyes again—just black.

I stare into the darkness until my eyes hurt. Then my chest starts to hurt. And everything is just fucking hurting so I open the window and all I hear is nothing.

My stomach is in a knot and my eyes shoot open. I see light and I've never been more happy to see it. Even if it's just a soft glow coming from the kitchen. ...Who's in my kitchen?

I sit up and look over the back of the couch. My head throbs for a moment and my vision is blurry for a millisecond.

There he is. Standing there gracefully. I want to admire him for hours because I don't think he knows I'm awake, but that would just hurt too much and I'm not feeling particularly too masochistic, especially after that dream.

"Hey."

He spins around slowly. "Sorry, did I wake you? I was just really hungry." He lifts the waffle in his hand to show me before taking a bite. I nod. "Are you feeling better? You cried yourself to sleep, Logan."

Hasn't been the first time, Billie.

"I'm okay." Ah, the infamous Logan lie. "Are there any more waffles left?"

He nods. I look at the clock on the microwave behind him. 3:57 A.M.

While I wait for the waffles to pop out of the toaster, I stare out the window. Billie seems distant. I did something wrong. I shouldn't have cried so much. I always cry too much.

"Here you go." I take this opportunity to look into his eyes because I miss seeing them up close and I just really need a fix of him and when I do bring my eyes to his, I feel like stardust.

"Thank you, Billie." I have to look down quickly because if I don't, I'll surely want to start crying. Or start kissing him until my lips hurt. Whichever comes first.

I hear his footsteps travel back to the other side of the kitchen. I feel kind of sick because I wish he would have stayed next to me. And then I realize how needy and creepy that is of me and I just keep chewing my waffle in between my teeth even though I'm not even hungry.

"I forgot to ask if you wanted syrup."

This small talk is driving me insane.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks."

Stupid fucking waffle small talk.

So the minutes travel by and the waffles are soon gone and we're just sitting there in the same room, but not next to each other.

I want to tell him what I said to him in the dream, (I always want to tell him what I said to him in the dream), but it feels as though there is a padlock on my lips (and it always feels as though there's a padlock on my lips.) So instead of saying what I should have said, I say something else. (Always.)

"Do you want to try and go back to sleep? Unless you have to get going."

"I don't really have any place to be at four in the morning, so I think it will be okay that I stay." He smiles and gives me a wink.

I smile sheepishly because I feel giddy and nod. I smile a little to him but mostly to myself because how lame is it that twenty minutes ago I'm sitting in a corner, chewing a damn waffle, complaining that Billie isn't within two feet of me and now I'm fucking smiling at the bastard because he's sort of cute when he winks.

"I'll just go back on the couch and you can take my bed. My room's kind of messy, so you can just throw all the stuff that's on the bed onto the floor." I make my way to the couch and start adjusting the pillows. Billie hasn't said anything, nor has he moved and I started getting a little suspicious.

I peer up and he's standing there looking at me with those dumb green eyes that pale over in the moonlight and I feel a little frog in my throat before I croak out: "What is it?"

He smirks. And I glare. But the little shit keeps smirking.

"What! You're driving me crazy." A smile fights it's way to my lips not so much because of Billie but because that is the first true thing I think I've ever said to him when it came to my feelings. Of course what I said is a vague generalization and he has no way of knowing that when I say he's driving me crazy, I mean it with every ounce of sincerity the universe could muster, but—it's a start.

I hear him answer me. "Good." And he comes across the room and snatches me away from the couch quietly and gently with both of his arms around my stomach and he takes me into my bedroom.

I feel lightheaded with gushy, mushy feelings.

"I think both of us should sleep in here." He smiles and places me onto the floor. I flick my eyes over my shoulder in his direction and he is just smiling. I shake my head and laugh to myself.

"Help me, then." I say just before he comes over and we both start shoving all the junk off my bed onto the floor. It's loud and messy and we're both laughing.

"You're a slob." He says to me as he climbs in on the right side.

"Tell me something I don't know." I bend down to grab my pillow that fell on the floor and then I climb in next to him.

He hums with his eyes closed as if he is racking his brain for something to tell me that I don't already know.

He never did. And if he had, I was already asleep.