Title: Three Small Words

Author: Ayakaishi Fei aka. FireDemon

E-mail: Ken_Dai_

Rating: PG13

Category: Original Manga. POV. Romance.

Warnings: Shounen-ai.

Summary: 'I don't know why I fell in love with you. I don't know why I can't fall out of love with you.' Spilling your feelings is hard, even in a letter that won't be given to it's intended recipient. M/M slash. Set in my "All The Broken Glass" Universe.

Dear Shannon,

I don't know why I'm writing to you, I barely know you, and you don't know me at all. I'm Ben - Ben Lucas, I sit next to you in home group. Maybe, and I'm being awfully hopeful, you can picture me. Spiked dark brown hair - frosted, cobalt blue eyes, shortest basketball player in the senior team?

Well... yeah. We got given this assignment for Year 11 English, we have to write a letter to our dream "person", and tell them why we like them. Most of my friends are writing to stupid pop-stars, but I wouldn't know what to say, and I can't write 1200 words to Britney Spears telling her I like her breasts, because I don't.

I guess we're supposed to say how we first met our crush, or where we first saw them - at least, that's what I copied off the board. I guess it was about a year ago, right after I moved to America - I used to live in London you see - anyway, we'd just moved and I saw you down the mall, dressed in this cute purple sleeveless turtleneck and skin-tight jeans that flared down the bottom. I kind of thought you were a girl, even though you didn't look exactly like one - you were completely flat and you... there was something kind of masculine about you.

It scared me, because I could tell you were a guy, and my body wasn't the slightest bit turned off - you were still the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. I guess you could call it love at first sight, but that's really very cliched.

I'm not usually a cliché kind of guy, I prefer to find my own words, when I can, but the problem is, you fit every cliché I know.

I'm not really the type of person most people would pick as being gay, I don't look gay, or dress gay, or even act gay. I don't stare at the other guys I hang around with... I'm too busy looking at you. You stole my heart before I could offer it to you freely, but that's okay. I forgive you.

Everybody knows you're gay, so it's not really a big deal any more. I guess when I first moved, just after you came out of the closet as it were, there was a lot of people angry and disgusted, but you have this... this "I'm gay, so deal with it or fuck off" attitude that nobody wants to mess with. Plus you're totally beautiful.

Your hair - I'll start with your hair. It's the colour of spun gold, feathered around your face, it makes you look younger... more attainable. Or maybe that's just me. Whatever. I love your hair. I love the way you streaked it with purple during the summer; it highlights your cheerful personality.

Your eyes, which I dream about gazing into, are this deep greeny-brown, or are they browny-green? I can't work it out, despite all my stolen glances. They're beautiful whatever their colour, warm and infinitely caring, windows to your soul. I think I fell in love with your eyes that day at the mall - when you helped me stand after I fell over practically on top of you and gazed into my eyes.

Or maybe you didn't - maybe that was just me being hopeful again. I'm not the sort of guy you'd fall in love with - I've seen your boyfriend. At least I assume he's your boyfriend, because you look at him like I look at you.

He's pretty, prettier then I could ever be. He looks like an oriental angel, vulnerable and seductive, and yours. I'm a half-English, pathetically short basketball player with the charisma of a skunk.

I suppose I'm being hard on myself again - I tend to do that a lot - a very girlish habit I realise, but I can't help it. Some days I stare at myself in the mirror and list my good features, I'm not fat, I'm not chronically ugly, I have nice clear skin, I have nice eyes, I have a nice smile, even though I don't smile much. I've had a girlfriend, and she was very pretty.

But then I look at my list, and I realise none of it matters, because none of it is going to help me get you, and if you want to the truth, you're really the only thing I want.

I love the way you move, graceful yet natural. Not like a ballerina, more like, I dunno, like an elf or a hunter in those stupid fantasy movies. I love the way you laugh, and the way you talk, not when you talk like a lisping effeminate gay, but when you talk normally, excitedly, to him.

Sanosuke - your boyfriend.

I listen in, and I pretend that you're talking to me, until one of my friends distracts me and draws me into their conversation.

I know I'm too young for you to consider liking, I can tell I'm not your type. I'm too straight. What a laugh.

I've been watching you for so long, pining for your touch, yearning to be loved by you, and some days I'm stupid enough to delude myself that you could return my feelings. Sometimes, when you smile at me, probably without realising you do, when you flirt with me and my friends, who freak out slightly when I flirt back, when you tell me things off the top of your head, then I think I have a chance.

And I wish I didn't - because I don't.

You're perfect... well maybe not perfect, but I like you so much. I want you to like me too.

I... I'm running out of things to say now.

I guess; even though I'm not actually planning to give you this letter, I want you to know... I love you.

I love the way you wear your hair, clipped back with sparkling barrettes. I love the bangles you wear around your wrists. I love the way you don't give a damn about societal norms, because when I see you I get the feeling that if you were my boyfriend I'd never have to worry about anything.

I dreamt about you last night, not a sex dream, just a date dream. I took you out for ice-cream, and you kissed me.

I don't know why I fell in love with you. I don't know why I can't fall out of love with you. It might be because you're beautiful, or because you're sweet. It might be because you're sensitive or smart. It might be the combination that makes you Shannon, which makes you irresistible to me. I don't know.

I'm rambling now, because I'm scared, because I actually wrote down my real feelings, and because I know that having done so, I'm no longer one of the normal.

I don't think I'm going to hand this up after all. I think it's too personal. Plus I'm a jock - jocks can't be gay, just like cheerleaders can't be lesbians. It's one of those unspoken rules.

I'm breaking a lot of rules, because I'm in love with you, and I'm too scared to tell you, but too desperate to keep it a secret forever.

Just... even if you never read this, I want you to know that there's someone out there that loves you. Truly, madly, deeply, from the bottom of their heart.

I... I want you to be happy Shannon, because I've watched you for long enough to say that I know you, and I know you enough to want you happy.

So be happy Shannon, because I know you deserve it. And... If you ever notice me, all I'm asking for is three small words and I'll be yours for as long as you want me.

I... I love you.

Yours forever,

Ben aka. The stupid junior who's in love with you.