Devon couldn’t sleep.
His mind was racing, and he was very aware the he was alone it the
apartment. It wasn’t unusual for him to
be the only one there at night, but after what had happened to Tim, he was a
little on edge.
Tim… He bit his lower lip.
He hadn’t cried, not yet, not really.
They were there, lurking inside, waiting to come spilling out. If he cried, though, it would be admitting
that Tim was really dead. He couldn’t
admit that. He refused to admit
that.
They had been close, Tim and him. Closer than anyone realized. Not even Peter knew what had been going
on. It had started after a party. Tim, drunk and stumbling, and had stumbled
his way right into Devon’s bed. It
wasn’t the first time that had happened, and it wasn’t all that unusual,
considering how much Tim would drink, so Devon had thought nothing of it.
Then Tim had kissed him, touched him. He had tried to wake him up, to alert him to
what he was doing. That didn’t
matter. Tim knew full well what he was
doing, and maybe it was because of Devon’s almost year long dry spell, but he
had given in.
After that night Tim’s presence in his bed became a pretty
regular occurrence. At first Tim would
always play drunk before crawling under the covers, but after a month he had stopped
with the three beer queer act.
Devon had assumed that it wasn’t all that important to
Tim. It was an available hole for when
Lori wasn’t willing to put out, but Devon didn’t mind. It felt nice to feel someone’s skin against
his, to feel their touch on his body.
The sex wasn’t that great, but it wasn’t the sex that kept Devon
interested. It was the fact that Tim
kissed him. Not just pecks, but real,
deep kisses. The kind of kisses that
take your breath away. It had been a long time since someone had kissed Devon
like that.
Then, two weeks ago, Tim had said those three, heavy
words.
“I love you.”
He wasn’t drunk, not even tipsy. They had just been lying there, sweaty and
spent, and Tim had turned to him, his eyes meeting Devon’s, and he had said
those words. Devon had…
Devon threw off his blanket, pulling his knees to his chest
and doing his best to push the memories from that night out of his mind. Why had Tim had to say that? Why had he gone and made it all the more
complicated?
The tears came hard and fast, pouring in rivers down his
cheeks, the sobs making his whole body quake as he remembered that night, and
the look on Tim’s face when he had… when Devon had…
He couldn’t say it.
He couldn’t tell Tim that he had loved him, because he wasn’t sure he
did. He wasn’t sure how he felt about
Tim outside of being fuck buddies. Sure,
they were friends, but there had never been that deep bond that Devon had
associated with love. At least, he
didn’t think there had been.
Tim had left that night, and they hadn’t talked much
since. Now Tim was dead, and Devon was
sitting in his bed and the realization that he would never have the chance to
make things right between the two of them made his heart hurt.
He stood up, took a deep breath, and headed to the
shower. He couldn’t sit around the
apartment all night. He’d go nuts.
He needed to get out.
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