You’ve never been in love. Your best friend is willing to show you what it feels like.
Not a request but rather the product of my own imagination. Hope u angels enjoy❣️ let me know if you want pt.2🥰
People make loving look so easy. Fragile but willing to lay it all in each other’s hands, you observe it from afar, strangers at their best yet weakest.
The pretty girl in your philosophy lecture with all the answers but blushing cheeks for the tall brunette in ripped jeans that waits for her by the door after class.
Again with your friends later that night at the bar, Corinna’s undivided attention on the man dressed in a leather jacket and a wicked smile as they intertwine their hands and wave you off on their way out.
It’s everywhere, however fleeting like with your blonde friend or permanent in the way your mother checks in on you every week. So why is it so hard to write about?
‘I want you to write about love.’ An assignment that stumps you momentarily upon its request, in the professor’s individually personalised design set earlier that week.
It’s something you should have expected from the creative writing course, love being the only topic you have failed to write about eloquently so far.
Except this particular piece can make or break your entire grade, endless sleepless nights and soul poured into truth-telling only Professor Howard’s class asks so much of from each student.
You signed up for that of course, waiting lists and statements in competition with hundreds of faceless authors. You’ve been thinking about it for the last five days, every free minute spent with your heart in your throat because holy fuck you have never been in love.
‘Are you alright? You look like you’d rather be anywhere else’ the teasing words whispered in your ear and arms wrapping around your middle pull you back into the real world, where you’re still stood awaiting your drink at the bar.
Jeff has the bartender over with a wave of his free hand and one smile, it draws an involuntarily roll from your eyes.
‘One water and vodka soda for the lady please’ he recites the order from memory, confident in his knowledge of your choice in poison from many nights played out just like this in the past.
He’s been a part of your group of friends for the better part of the last year now, your initial weariness of his dazzling smile and ability to make you laugh with only a couple of witty words forgotten with time.
The two of you were so different but somehow still
the same, you an aspiring writer working for one of LA’s online magazines, still taking part-time classes at UCLA in hopes of publishing something other than generalised opinions of the city’s secrets and it’s inhabitants & Jeff’s step into Youtube’s best known within his own controlled environment of the vlogs.
He leans over you to swiftly pay for the drinks & simultaneously offer a questioning look as you realise Jeff is still waiting for an answer.
It’s on the tip of your tongue, a veiled concern of your inability to simply feel, one which will have to wait until a later time when the rest of your friends appear to coerce you both to the dancefloor among other antics of the night.
‘You never answered my question’ the brown-eyed man points out. You have left the bar behind you, both walking the short distance to your flat when the party got cut short following Zane’s inevitably accident and visit to the ER.
Jeff glances away from his surroundings to your shorter frame tucked under his arm, natural instinct to protect you in the dark of the night partially affected by the curiosity of what’s been on your mind.
He’s seen it clearly in your eyes, glazed over in fleeting moments of calm as you drank and danced the night away, ephemeral happiness laced in your tipsy smile.
Anyone else wouldn’t notice but he’s long past the denial of his sight permanently set on you, reading every expression almost like the back of his hand, every room, crowded or barren of other people alike.
A slurred confession escapes you in a whisper ‘I’ve never been in love’, one Jeff would miss if not for your proximity.
His eyebrows furrow, mind pondering if he’s miscounted the number of drinks you slipped past your lips.
‘It’s my last assignment…to write about love’ you find yourself adding following his silence, words clearing up some of his initial confusion. ‘And I don’t know where to fucking start without speaking about my parents before their divorce or our friend’s failed talking stages and my own inability to let anyone stay past the fourth date.’
In any other case, you’d scold your honesty, but with Jeff, it feels almost as easy as breathing, unfiltered in the truth of your statement.
There’s no answer from your companion, the rest of the short walk spent in silence until your keys jiggle in the lock of the door.
Jeff follows inside, shoes slotted on the rack beside your own, body towering over the sink as you brush your teeth beside each other and his fingers carefully plating your hair in a simple braid.
It’s a routine both of you have grown accustomed to, one no longer questioned by other people, either of you following the other’s path home, to your place from Saddle Ranch or Jeff’s after an evening at David’s.
He only breaks the silence once you’re safely tucked back into his side on the sofa, TV on to offer background noise in the quiet of your home & blanket wrapped around your laps.
‘What if you wrote about me…about us?’ Jeff’s words forcing your eyes away from the screen and up to glance at his face for clarity.
‘Spend the day being in love with me y/n.’ It’s not uncommon for silence to follow after one of you symbolically spills your guts, the other person taking their time to find the right words to follow, careful in your response.
Which is why his declaration stumps you, sat like a deer in headlights on the couch. Jeff clears his throat, underlying understanding of your quiet emerging from confusion rather than the considerate grasp of his thought process.
It makes him turn towards you in his seat before he clears his throat. ‘Hear me out, darling. You need to write about your experience of love right?’ at your reluctant nod Jeff continues, fingers slipping between your own and knees touching.
‘So spend the day “in love” with me. You’ll have something to write about and who knows, it might be fun’ the way he appears so nonchalant in his plan, broad shoulders shrugging when Jeff is done talking, makes you involuntarily begin to consider his proposition.
‘I…what if?’ you both understand what you’re asking without saying it, what if I fall in love with you? What if we ruin this?
Neither willing to truly grasp at the hypothetical result. The possibilities are endless, but worrying about them now won’t change anything and so you nod, slowly agreeing to the idea. For homework, of course.
‘Okay?’ Jeff asks in a soft tone, much too light for what is transpiring. ‘Okay….’ you whisper in reply, before his arms reach to pull you into a tight embrace, frame unwittingly pulled half in his lap. What did you just get yourself into?
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