genuinely seething* that the flowery jarona poll has the most engagement of all my posts
the hardest part of making it was double checking the pirate gaster lyrics in the tags
please deltarune fans, read homestuck, i'm begging you guys, please. i want to be more than exclusively a jaronaposter :/ *jingles toby fox music in front of our faces*
902-word drabble. Hiro ranting to CRUSHING!MC about Medusa for the first time. MC is flawed and has a semi-set personality. They are not perfect and never will be. They are possessive in this and in general. Possessiveness is not a good or healthy trait to have and shouldn't be treated like one. MC knows it's a problem, and so does Hiro. Feel free to ask more!
The sun creeps into Hiro's cluttered room from his rusty windows, the harsh light gazing onto his form. He and you have been sitting on his bed, the sheets sprawled half off the mattress, and he's been ranting about some girl named Medusa for over half an hour. The lovesick expression on his pretty features makes you actually sick, your stomach churning with suppressed emotions. At the same time, your mind races with defenses, and your tongue is laced with hypocritical remarks that you struggle to swallow.
This hasn't been the first time he's done this, blabbering about a newfound crush- not even close- but it always makes your throat close- and your eyes prickle, your demeanor bubble up into unbridled annoyance. But, it's not like you're going to say anything. . . you're just going to sit there, nodding along to each honeyed word that falls from his lips. He always listens to you, right? What kind of friend would you be if you didn't listen to him. . ?
Your name falls off Hiro's tongue smoothly, confusion drawn around each syllable, and it snaps you back into reality, your head tilting to the side while your eyes focus back on him rather than a spot on the wall devoid of paint. "Are you listening?" He asks, his soft smile tainted downward.
"…Yeah, of course," you reply, shuffling and tugging up one of the blankets he patched in a sewing phase in his early teens, "She seems nice." The compliment is practiced, lazy, and repeated- you have not been listening. You can tell he knows when his smile dissolves completely. You scramble to fix it. . . right your answer- to pull the corners of his lips back up. "I mean. . . like, you guys seem like you'd be really cute together." You offer up, a placating grin added along with it. The words don't feel right- they leave a sense of bitterness tanging your mouth. Your nails press into the skin of your legs where they lay idly.
"Really?" He beams, pointy teeth shining, "I think so too," he shifts forward, grabbing your hands like it's the easiest thing in the world. It is- to him- but it makes your breath hitch, your attention glued to the absent-minded touch. Your fingers twitch, "She's so pretty, and her voice. . ." he trails off, dramatically at a loss of words, as if nothing could describe it.
"Hiro," you say, and you catch the shake in your voice at the beginning, inwardly cringing. His brows furrow, cocking his head, doe-like eyes staring at you with traces of concern and puzzlement. You gently bring your hands back to yourself, placing them in your lap. With your withdrawal, worry attacks him, lips parting, no doubt with reassurements about to leave him. This has happened multiple times before- your jealousy showing itself- but it still manages to irk you every time, even if you're the one who made your discomfort aware. You wish you had kept your mouth clamped shut and let him ramble on about the girl, who you've already forgotten the name of.
"What's wrong?" He questions. He knows you're jealous, but not because you're in love with him. He thinks you're worried he'd get distracted by the girl and forget about you, let your friendship fade. You guess he's half-right, but the in-love part… has started to outweigh that. But you can't confess to that. You don't want to. So, you let the silence hang heavy in the air until he continues. He eventually does once he realizes you won't answer,
"You're my best friend, okay?"
. . .Yeah. That's the problem.
"I won't let some relationship ever change that." He promises, looking like he's about to reach for your hands again and squeeze tight, but he composes himself, keeps his hands to himself- part of you wishes he wouldn't. He's smiling gently at you, an expression reserved only for you, this kind of unmeasured love. Platonic love.
You force yourself to nod, a trembling grin plastered onto your face, "Yeah, I know. . . I'm just dramatic." You look at him, tight-lipped, and he shakes his head in disagreement with your claim. You're not dramatic- you're possessive. You know you are. You've been called it by him and Finn- jokingly, of course. You know they sorta mean it. They aren't wrong, though. Every time Hiro- or Finn- mentions someone new, all your breath leaves your lungs, and a tightness settles into your chest, swirling and clinging to you.
After a moment, he slants forward, pats your thigh, then leans back. "It's fine, don't worry about it. I think it's cute. It reminds me that you love me." He grins. He's teasing, but it still sends shocks down your spine and causes your posture to turn slightly rigid.
"Who would love you?" You retort, scrunching up your features with faux distaste. He laughs, eyes crinkling, the sound shimmering.
"You, duh."
You know you'll always be seen as his best friend, even if it makes you want to scream, but you guess being his friend is better than being nothing to him. At least he loves you in some way, even if it's not in the way you want him to. You're less than content with it, but it's not like you'll act on it- especially not when he's spewing infatuated nonsense.
