Peter's POV

Carefully, I act laid-back when I see her. My composure falters when I see her brown eyes. I love her eyes, they remind me of you. That and the ghost of a smile that slips onto her face when she sees me.

I wait for her to come to me. I don’t want to step out of my I-don’t-give-a-fuck persona for her. Even her glossy black hair brings you to my mind. Those eyes and hair make it easier to pretend it’s you standing in front of me. If I squint my eyes a bit she almost looks like you. But your frame is more slender, and your clothes darker.

She speaks, and the mirage dissipates. I watch her soft lips outline words. I struggle to keep a hold on the conversation. Maybe she’ll be worth it, even if she’s not you.

I casually ask her out when she pauses in her story for a breath. I try to sound as though the idea was spontaneous, and not a pre-meditated action. As though the minutes and hours I spent sorting cons and pros in my head are irrelevant.

Maybe it’s too untailored, for she rejects me just as casually.

We continue to talk, but something is there that was not there before. Unease lurks at the corners of our eyes. An unsaid awkwardness hovers.

But maybe I’m only imagining it. Maybe it her, everything is just as it should be. I don’t know.

I forget what we’re talking about, but I cover the silence with a joke I’d heard the other day. It’s lame, but funny enough to make her laugh. I imagine you laughing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh before.

It’s not until she asks me if I’m okay that I realise how pathetic I am. One semester of gym, and I feel like I’ve known you forever. Not soul mates -the idea doesn’t exist to me- but familiar. Like the smell of chicken soup on a day you’re home sick; something that just belongs.

She repeats her question. I feel bad for spacing out on her, but she’s used to it by now. The similarity between the two of you is so striking; I can’t help but think of you whenever I’m with her.

I assure her I’m fine. She smiles, but it’s the kind of smile you’d get if you just tripped over your feet and landed in the mud… that pitying, sympathetic smile. I bit back a grimace. I regret trying to pick a girl to please my parents. But I don’t know what I’ll do now that the girl that’s most like you has rejected me.

She remarks that she’s got to get to class, and leaves. I watch her go. Suddenly, I get this urge to leave. I need to get outside and get away.

Quickly, I walk out of the school. The halls are congested, and more than once I feel someone step on the back of my shoe. Each time I ignore it and keep up a heady pace. When I finally get outside, I feel like I can breathe again. I fill my lungs to their capacity and take a few faltering breathes.

Not in any rush, I make my way across the sports field.

I wonder briefly why I thought that she could replace. But you’re a guy…. You’d never be with me. After all, what’re the chances that you’re even gay? Slim to none, I remind myself.

Only a sliver of a hope.

The thought depresses me. Tears leak from my eyes as I face the facts. I can’t have you… fuck, I wasn’t even good enough for the girl that reminded me of you. My inadequacies are so blaringly obvious against your perfection.

A lingering gasp causes me to turn around. Then I see you. How long have you been there? I flush in embarrassment. I never wanted you to see me so frail. You look nervous so I do my best to reassure you. I motion for you to step forward. You do, hesitantly.

“Who…?” The word escapes my lips before I could acknowledge it.

You shake your head. Your eyes apologize for the lack of answer.

But I want to know you. I want to know your name, your face, your personality, your favourite food. “Who are you?” I whisper.

“No one important,” you voice is strangled with emotion.

You’re important! I want to say. Instead, “Please, tell me,” I plead, trying to reach forward and touch you.

You shrink away. “Tyler,” you surrender.

I love your name already. At once I want to try it on, like a pair of pants. “Tyler,” I repeat. The weight of it on my tongue is pleasant. I wonder how often I will be lucky enough to be able to say it. The burden of this thought causes me to smile sadly.

Lost in my own thoughts, I don’t realise your closeness until arms encircle me. Can you feel my heart beat quicken? At first I’m edgy at the close proximity of your body. But then, what is there to lose if you do notice my increasing heart rate?

Only everything.

Yet I snuggle against you. Your unique scent fills my lungs. The closest I can get to describing to universal scents are… a mix of Dove soap, pine trees, and a hint of sweat. If Tommy Hilfiger or Axe could reproduce this scent, I’d be all over it.

Everything overwhelms me: your embrace, your scent, and the risks. I start to cry. I feel slightly ashamed that this will be the second time I’ve cried before you. But I can’t help it.

When you notice I’m crying, you don’t retreat as I expected you to. Your arms tighten around me. I feel safe. Safe…?

I disentangle myself from you. Can you be trusted? After all, love is said to be a child, so oft beguiled. Not thinking, but wanting to protect myself I blurt out, “I don’t even know you.” It’s hard to put on a strong front, even for you. Maybe especially for you. “Why are you here?”

“You know my name,” you say quietly. You don’t answer my question. Do you even know why you came here?

“That’s not the same,” I say. “I mean really know you,” I insist. “What do you know about me?” Do you know as much about me as I do about you? is the question I leave unspoken.

You say nothing, but stare at me with those beautiful brown eyes. So wide and dark, they make you look innocent.

“We’re strangers,” I bit out, stating the obvious. Forcing into the open, what I’d been trying to ignore.

Still, you stare at me. What do I do? What can I do?

Those eyes are driving my insane. So is the gentle slope of your nose, the light dusting of pale freckles, and the piece of hair that refuses to stay behind your ear. I force myself to breathe.

We’re strangers, I remind myself.

He’s a boy, I try even harder to restrain myself.

It doesn’t work. As if in a trance, I step closer. “Your eyes,” I murmur. “I’ve always remembered that colour.”

Your already wide eyes become wider. Cutely, you gape at me, blush threatening to set fire to your whole face.

I decide to probe the wound more. “If I get this worked up when your stand-in rejects me, I wonder how broken I’ll feel when you do.” I search your face for a response as my hand finds its way to the rebellious lock of hair. I tuck it behind your ear.

Still no answer… maybe I should retreat while I can. Is your reply going to be a fist to my face? Disappointed, and chiding myself on elated hopes, I turn away. My hand leaves your hair reluctantly.

Your voice draws my attention, “How do you know?” I’m not sure whether it’s the words or the emotion dripping from it that catches my attention so effectively.

“Know what? I ask, ready to be beaten down. I glance over my shoulder to steal a glimpse of you. Are you seriously considering…?

“How do you know I’ll reject you,” your voice is strong, chastising me for my lack of hope. Do you have so little faith in me, your expression asks. I can’t look at your face anymore. If you’re just teasing me….

“Won’t you?” I ask. My gaze has found a safe spot, four inches to the left of your face. I tense up, waiting for rejection and….

“No.”

Wait…what? My eyes snap to your face. You giddily happy face. Your answer settles into my brain, and I can’t help but grin.

I stride towards you, pulling you against me.

“Peter,” I offer. Did you already know my name?

You smile knowingly. Have you been watching me while I was sneaking looks at you?

Our foreheads rest against each other, fingers intertwining. I want you to notice my laboured breaths and racing pulse. I note your ragged breathing with satisfaction.

I realise I can’t remember that girl’s name, but I couldn’t care less.

Her name isn’t Tyler.

This took longer than I thought (meaning I kind of forgot about it and it sat on my computer until I was inspired to finish).

Review, please!