Too Much

We did that “cute” couple-like thing; you know, where we didn’t quite move in together but we had stuff at each other’s apartments. Though you were convinced you didn’t need clothes because “Lexy likes naked Jacky”, or something wild like that. I just rolled my eyes, a smirk ever-present. So yes, you pranced around my apartment either half- or fully naked. Often times, I came home from work to find you lounging on the couch, naked in all your glory. But “come on Alex, who wouldn’t run around their boyfriend’s apartment naked?”

I was starting to believe that you’d forgotten you had your own apartment, as you were spending more than ninety percent of your free time in mine. The only time we were at your place was when we were too drunk to remember where I lived. Sometimes it was spells of a week. And yes, you told me I couldn’t wear clothes either.

I decided to spend an unreasonable about of time at your place after that, sacrificing my sanity (and clothes) to become a bum on your couch like you did to me. You weren’t as annoyed by me as I was you because a) you wanted me there and b) you wanted me naked. Granted, the first day I was willing to appease your naked wants. After that, you were more lenient about your “No Clothes” rule.

By the end of my little experiment, however, you had the bright idea of me moving in with you indefinitely. You said that you were exhausted from running back and forth between our apartments so why didn’t we just move in together? Your request startled me slightly because you were so adamant about it. Plus, we were drunkenly walking to your bedroom, so it caught me off-guard. Who would be thinking about moving in with someone whilst making out with said person?

Nonetheless, I went home one evening after work to find most of my stuff was cleared out of my apartment. You were standing in the doorway, chuckling about how you were dead serious about me moving in with you. It turns out you spend your time taking most of my stuff and moving to your place. I was still in shock, even as you led me through your crowded apartment.

You also said you wanted a puppy. Why? I have no fucking clue. But we argued over whether we were responsible enough for a puppy.

“We’re not getting a puppy, Jack,” I told you over a makeshift dinner.

“Why not?! How else am I supposed to rid of all my energy? You’re not nearly as alive as I am!”

“We’re not responsible enough. We’re not getting a puppy. End of story.”

We ended up getting a Welsh Pembroke Corgi.

We owned probably the only dog who didn’t like me. He bit me when we first got him and it’d been his mission to bite me every time he saw me after that. You found it cute, so you never admonished the dog. You’d just giggle and kiss me as you left to walk him. When you returned, about a half-hour later, your hair would be windblown and you looked fresh out of bed. I felt my stomach flutter and smiled stupidly. No matter how angry I was about your biting dog, I couldn’t help but feel better at your smile.

Eventually, I think, Michelangelo warmed up to me. He’d only nibble on my toes if they were moving. Like if you and I were lying on the couch watching some lame television show or whatever, he’d sit on our ankles and nip our toes when they curled. You kept cooing at him because it tickled. And when we both walked him, he wouldn’t deliberately trip me by stopping right in front of me. So we had some sort of sadistic love affair, but it was a lot better than at the beginning.

My only problem with our dog was the fact that, of all the dogs in the world, you got probably the most emasculating dog. I mean, really? A corgi? Preferably, I’d rather be bitten by a German Shepherd and have a terrible bite. But a Corgi? Really?

It couldn’t have been too long after we got Michelangelo that you came home bouncing off the walls. You smiled creepily at me and danced down the hallway while humming along to some song that was stuck in your head. I instinctively followed you, our dog behind me. I leaned against the door, watching as you removed your tie. You were still smiling and humming.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I’m really happy.”

I smiled. “Well duh, Jack. Why are you so happy?”

You walked over to me and pecked my lips. “I’m thinking we should go out to dinner tonight.”

“Jack!” I whined, drawing out your name.

“Patience is a virtue, Alexander.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You love it.” You chuckled and headed down to the kitchen. You were stirring dry iced tea mix into a glass of room temperature water when I rejoined you. Then, you added ice cubes and leaned back on the counter. You grinned at me with that mischievous sparkle in your eyes. I was slightly wary as to what you could’ve been hiding from me. But you didn’t give in just yet. You got me really frustrated, as you know I hate secrets. Still, you didn’t tell me until dinner.

You took me out to that fancy restaurant I really like, even though this was about you, not me. As we settled into our chairs, you couldn’t help but be happy and fidgety. Finally, when our waiter left with our orders, you couldn’t stand not telling me anymore.

“Okay! So!”

I smirked. “Yes?”

“I....” You searched for the words that were on the tip of your tongue.

“You...?”

“Shut up,” you chastised playfully. “I’m thinking.”

“Clearly, you’re thinking too much.”

You glared slightly. “Anyway. I got a promotion.”

“Oh my God! Really?” You nodded in response. “I’m so proud of you!” I practically jumped over the table to hug you, gaining glares from the people around us. “Why didn’t you tell me at home?”

You shrugged. “I wanted to wait.”

I smiled. “I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I. But....”

“But?” I asked, suddenly worried.

“The promotion is up in New York.”

“Oh; that didn’t deserve to be prefaced with ‘but’. I thought it would be worse. Like, ‘But... I can’t be with you’ or ‘But you’ll have to turn to selling yourself’ or something terrible.”

You chuckled. “Okay, both of those are ridiculous.”

“No, those deserve to be started with ‘but’. Yours was just a poor choice. But don’t worry, I’ll still be your boyfriend.”

“Thanks,” you smirked.

“Anytime, babe.”



“Hey, Lexy.”

I looked up in time to be met with a pillow to the face. The corner caught my eye. “Hey!” By the time I peeled the pillow away, you had jumped into my preoccupied arms. I fell back onto the floor; you landed right on my stomach with a giggle. “Jack, why?” I complained.

“I’m tired of packing.” You sat back, off my stomach and onto my thighs.

“You’ve done hardly anything.”

“Have so done stuff!”

“You took a nap instead.”

“Exactly! Packing made me tired!”

I sat up and kissed you. “How about we continue tomorrow?” I knew I wouldn’t have won the argument of getting you to help, so I set you on the bed. I sat on the floor cross-legged and faced you. I kissed the tip of your nose lightly and you laughed. You pulled me closer and attached your lips to mine. When we detached, you bit your lips nervously. “Lex.”

I nuzzled your neck softly. “Mm?”

You shivered slightly. “I love you.”

I pulled back, only partially startled. Sure, the idea that you loved me was common knowledge. But we had yet to do... this.

You face fell when I didn’t say anything. “Lex?”

I suppose I’d been thinking about it a little too long. “Mm?”

“You don’t love me.” You said it like a statement, not a question.

My heart sank. “Oh, Jack, that couldn’t be further from the truth-”

“Then why didn’t you say it back?”

I honestly can’t tell you why. I suppose I was in shock. Still was, even as you waited for me to stop staring at you. “Jack....” You looked up at me expectantly. Until all I did was stare into those beautiful eyes of yours. I was busy admiring the way your nose crinkled up and your lips pursed together so beautifully and your amazing skunk-hair was spiked just so. I meant to say everything to you, but I couldn’t find the appropriate words now.

You rolled your eyes and got up. “Fine.” You stalked off to the living room.

There were so many things I wanted to ask and tell you right then, but I was too caught up in you to do so. When I finally managed to pull myself from my stupor of you, I found you laying face down on the couch.

“Jack.”

“I’m not talking to you, meanie.”

“Then listen.” I settled my weight on your ass, gaining a groan of discomfort from you. I ran my fingernails up and down your spine, just how you like. My lips pressed to your shoulder blade so softly. “Jack, baby; I do love you. So much it hurts. You just surprised me, is all. It was a pleasant surprise nonetheless. And I was so caught up in you and your ‘I love you’ that I forgot that you were waiting for me to say something.” I got up and turned you over, hovering carefully over your body. “Jack, I love you more than, I don’t know, oxygen. Baby, I’m sorry that I’m so dense. But please don’t ever think I don’t love you.”

You pouted up at me. “Really?”

“I have a thought; I love you more than you love Home Alone.”

You smiled. “But I love you more than I love that movie.”

I smiled. “I thought you said that you wanted to marry it...?”

“Not as much as you would think.”

I leaned down and kissed you. “Come on, let’s go out somewhere.” I pulled you up into my arms, setting you on your legs before grabbing your hand. I didn’t know where we were going, so we just walked around. Finally, we found a hole-in-the-wall diner where we ate breakfast for dinner, though this time you didn’t pour syrup on our waiter. (Thank God.) You were too busy snuggling against me to care about the world around us.

When we got home, we curled up with Michelangelo and watched movies until we passed out. At some ungodly hour in the morning, I woke up to you rolling around, trying to get comfy. But with your squirming, you managed to push me off the couch. I woke mid-fall, just as my forehead connected with the glass coffee table.

“Fuck!” I hollered, hand covering my face.

“Babe, shh,” you groaned groggily, arm slung over the edge of the couch in an attempt to tell me to “shut the fuck up.”

“Ugh! Motherfucker!” I was still yelling, though in a lower octave.

You turned over. “Babe, stop talking. It’s, like, two in the morning. And what the hell are you doing on the floor?”

“You pushed me off the- wait a minute.” I felt something wet running down my wrist. I pulled my hand away from my face. The smell of tangy iron quickly filled my nose and I groaned. “Fuck.”

You sat up and flicked the light on. “What the- oh my God.” There was a hint of laughter in your eyes.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Your forehead.”

“What? What about it?!”

“A gash.” You were trying not to laugh.

“Huh?”

You got up, gathering me with you, and tugged me down to the bathroom. Once you flicked the light on, I looked at myself in the mirror and had a heart attack. There was a fairly decent cut at my hairline, carefully dripping blood down my cheek. “Holy mother of God!”

You chuckled. “And you say I pushed you off the couch?”

“You and your lanky body.” I poke your side and you yelped. It was high-pitched, something I never expected from you. I started laughing at you.

Somehow, I managed through you trying to clean the cut and wrap it. Every time that you insisted on pressing the hydrogen peroxide to the gash, I flinched back and hit my head on the mirror. And you burst out in laughter. Then you’d do it all over again. It was sort of this lather, rinse, repeat thing you had going. Until you gripped the back of my head to keep me from flinching. I silently thank you for that. After thoroughly fixing me up, you walked out of the bathroom without another word, flicking the light off on your way out. You managed to our bedroom, passing out perpendicular to the length of the bed. You hadn’t cared to get undressed.

I carefully repositioned you under the sheets and then took my place curled up next to you. I never told you this, but you fit in my arms like we were two pieces of the same puzzle. It felt right, like this was the only reason I was put on Earth. To complete your puzzle and vice versa.

You shifted in your sleep and settled against me. An arm was thrown over my stomach as your form contorted into the shape of me. My arms snuck around your waist to keep you close. You let out a tired snore and I found it sickeningly adorable. I pressed my lips to your forehead. “I love you, Jack Barakat.”