A/N: My very first one-shot, wow, this is weird. I just hope everyone enjoys it, oh, and comments are appreciated :]

Also I want to thank my awesome beta and friend Julia (effervescent-sentiments) for helping me shape it up.

-C

Memory Lane

I’m not sure what brings me to your room.

I have been here countless times before. But it’s not the same anymore, because you’re no longer around. Ever since you moved away for college you haven’t been around at all.

What I, at first, dismissed as silly feelings, that sprouted the exact moment I realized you were going away, keep my heart racing as my hand reaches for the doorknob and turns it.

I almost expect to see you there, napping on your bed as you do so often, your messy brown mop hiding your face and your eyes tightly closed because you always forget to shut the blinds, even though you know the light will bother you sooner or later.

But you aren’t. It seems I still have trouble accepting the fact that you really have gone away.

How long has it been? Two months? No, three months; you left the day after my birthday. You stayed longer than predicted just to accommodate another one of my wishes.

You always do that; make sure I get everything I wish for. I like to think I do the same for you. And I do try, but never to the extent of all the things you do for me.

Like that time that I got into trouble at school when one of the kids made fun of my brother all those years ago. I still hate it when people call him names; he is the way he is and has no one to answer to.

I got so mad, that time, that I punched the kid in the face, but when a teacher came running towards the commotion we had created and asked what the matter was, you stepped in front of me and, before anyone else could get a word out, proceeded to say it was your fault, that you had punched him because he was calling my brother names.

I still remember the look of sympathy I got from the teacher before she took you away. I’m used to that now, every time someone happens to mention my brother, people can’t help but look at me like I’m someone to pity, having that kid in my house.

But not you. One of my fondest memories of you is from that day that you came to visit me when I was sick. What I had was contagious, so my mother prohibited you from entering my room.

But you didn’t give up; instead, you went out on the garden in front of my window and enlisted the help of my little brother to create a play, so that I wouldn’t be bored to death, locked away in my room.

I couldn’t help but be surprised with how good you were when it came to dealing with him. He has trust issues; not many people get through them, but you had him help you build up a makeshift stage in no time. And not once did you complain when he did something wrong, not once did you call him ‘retarded’ like so many had.

-xXx-

I finally let go of the doorknob and move inside your room, I reach your bed and, like so many times before, I let myself plop down on it and lie down, so that I can look at the ceiling.

I often asked you, why the ceiling? Why plaster thousands of photos, on such an unusual place?

Granted it looked nice; art was your thing, after all.

Still, I always asked you, why the ceiling? But I don’t think you ever gave me the same answer twice. Sometimes it would be the uncaring, ‘because I felt like it,’ others a playful, ‘to make sure I remember all my friends.’ Nevertheless, I always thought that your serious answer was the best: ‘because I like waking up and remembering I have all of this love surrounding me.’ And you were right. You are so lovable, caring, and somewhat goofy that no one can get to know you without caring deeply for you, maybe because you care deeply for them too.

You were never that popular in school though, since you keep to yourself and don’t give many the chance to get to know you. I was lucky to have known you for so long, because after your mother’s death you closed off even more.

-xXx-

I shift to my side and look at your desk; it’s as cluttered as if you have been here this whole time. But of course you haven’t; you just didn’t bother with cleaning it before you left.

On the right corner, lying dangerously near the corner, is the framed photo I gave you when you turned seventeen. My eyes are drawn to the photo; it was the first photo we ever took together. I was a sulking five-year-old who did not like taking pictures. My mother had her arm stretched out, holding my hand to make sure I stayed in place and her other arm was around your mother’s waist. You were already six by then but you were not a picture-lover either and your mother had scooped you up and placed you on her hip to make sure you didn’t run away.

I found this picture by chance, after my mother had bribed me to go over the attic and see if I could clean up the place.

Now I’m really glad I said yes, not because of the money, but because of what I found in one of my mother old albums.

Our mothers had been friends since college, roommates for the whole extent of their stay there. Still, they lost contact soon after my mother got married and moved.

When we moved back, I like to think that Fate intervened and they met again while strolling on the park one day. It was on that same day that they took our picture and until your mother’s death they remained really good friends.

Your face, when you unwrapped the frame and saw the picture, was beyond anything I had ever seen. It was a short while after your mother’s death. My mother didn’t think it was such a good idea to give you the photo. I had debated over and over if I really should give you the present…but your mother looked so happy, so healthy in that picture that I decided I’d rather have you remember her like that than sick and thin like she was on her last days. Cancer was not a nice disease.

You had not cried on her funeral, nor had you cried in the following weeks, but after your birthday party, when we were back at your room, and you unwrapped the picture, I saw a single, lonely tear fall before I hugged you as you finally let go.

Later, you thanked me sheepishly. I could see you were embarrassed, that you had not expected to cry like that and rather than getting all serious I made a little joke out of it. I could feel the gratitude in your smile. With you some things are better left alone until you decide to talk about them on your own.

And sooner rather than later we did talk about her again. One night, I was looking at your ceiling pictures when I spotted a few new ones. I commented on a few but the one that really got my attention, was a big, old-fashioned picture you had of your mother; still, I didn’t want to pry.

You noticed where I was looking and before I even got the chance to gather the courage and ask you about it, you spoke. ‘My father gave it to me the other day; I couldn’t think of a better place to put it.’ I remember smiling and turning my face your way. You were sitting on the floor with a small smile on your lips too, clearly thinking about her. We remained silent for a while and later we had replayed all our favorites memories of her, her scoldings and praises and her not so subtle hints about our shady friendship; that always got us blushing like crazy and shaking our head in denial.

Now I wonder what you would have done if I had said I didn’t really mind the hints, that maybe they held some truth in them. Would you have made a move? Kissed me? Or looked away embarrassed and nicely put me back on my assigned place, the best friend one.

That forces me think about the day you left and how terribly I miss you. How it took you leaving for me to admit I do feel something more than friendship for you. I can no longer deny the fact that I fell for you long ago.

-xXx-

I can’t take it anymore. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sick of remembering; it seems it’s all I ever do. I get up, intent on leaving, but as I rearrange my clothes I’m suddenly tackled against the bed.

‘Oof!’ I’m speechless. There is no mistaking in who is it that has just tackled me and is currently lying on top of me, hugging me in a bear-like fashion.

It is your ‘God, I’ve missed you’ that has me talking. It’s awkward at first; I don’t really know what to say to you. There I am in your room, uninvited, preparing to leave, when you appear out of nowhere.

I shake myself out of my stupor and pat your head laughing as I say, ‘Look who came home!’

Hugging you feels so good, so right, that I’m afraid of what I might do, so I try to untangle myself only to have you move us in the bed so that I am sitting on top of your legs and you have your arms around me as you rest your back against the wall.

‘How have you been, Red?’ I missed that nickname. You had started calling me that ages ago. You were the only one allowed to do it too.

‘So, so. School’s been a bitch.’ It’s easy to shoo the awkwardness away after a moment, but the nagging voice in the back of my head telling me to jump your bones is not easy to ignore now that we are face to face.

‘Miss me?’ One of your hands moves up my back and starts playing with my hair. I have to fight a chill that runs up my spine as I smile at you.

‘Not really,’ I tell you, but after seeing your crestfallen face I give up on my pretence and hug you senseless. ‘What do you think, silly?’

You hug me back and we don’t let go for a while. I stay put, listening to your breathing, hoping to calm my fraying nerves.

‘So, what’s new?’ you ask me and I move back to our previous position.

Your question gets me talking about what has been happening here ever since we last talked.

You chuckle along with me when I tell you how I caught your little brother making out with a girl at school. ‘Smart kid,’ is your only comment when I tell you that the moment the kid saw me, he kissed the girl goodbye and ran.

‘It’s not like I would have hit him or something. I just wanted to have a little chat with him,’ I defend myself as you chuckle again.

‘Don’t forget I know you, Red. You would have teased him like crazy too. Smart Kid, I tell you.’ I only nod and laugh along. You’re right; I wouldn’t have left the kid alone.

I’m in the mood to tease you, so I ask you if your reaction would be the same had I caught your little sister instead. You scowl, clearly not amused. ‘She’s just a baby.’ I point out she’s my age and you tell me that had I gotten a boyfriend too you would chop him off in pieces and throw him in the ocean, just like you would to hers. I do not bring up the fact that I had two previous boyfriends that are still alive and well.

It feels good to pretend you actually care about who I date.

Letting go of it, I shift the conversation to a more pressing matter. ‘What about you, what kept you so busy you didn’t return my calls?’ I try to pass it over as if it were nothing, as if I had not been hurt by your lack of attention. But there’s no fooling you; your face turns serious and you hold me tighter.

‘I’m sorry, Red. Something came up. I—” As you start talking I see how tired you really look. I hadn’t seen it before because we were laughing and hugging, but now, with all traces of playfulness gone from your face, I can see you’re running on fumes.

What you tell me next has my heart go out to you even more. Your roommate’s mother died last week. It was all very sudden, a shock, and you could not help but offer your support.

You had gone through it too and these past few months you guys had become such good friends, you could not let him go back home alone, much less allow him to drive by himself. So you had jumped in the driver’s seat and driven your friend home as quickly as possible. Once there you had planned to leave immediately, but your friend asked you not to, he could not go through this alone. So you stayed, one day, two days, three days. On the fourth day you realize you left your cell phone back at your room.

You wanted to call me, but there was no way you could have. ‘I still don’t know your number, Red.’ So after the funeral you hopped on the car again and drove back here.

You smile. ‘I stopped at your house first, but your mother told me you had left a couple of minutes ago.’ You smile wider and proceed to tell me that you drove around town next, trying to spot my blue convertible, but when you couldn’t, you just drove back home to find my car parked right in front of your house.

‘What did you come here for anyway?’ There is no need to explain how I had entered; I have had the spare key since forever, but explaining my reasons for being here was trickier. Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know either?

I try to shift the focus of the conversation. Looking back at our picture I ask you why you didn’t take it with you. The accusatory tone on my voice is enough to make you forget about your question.

You give me another of your goofy smiles and shake your head slightly as if marveled by something. ‘Because I planned on coming back to get it.’ I don’t get what you mean and it clearly shows in my face, you just shake your head again and elaborate.

‘I needed a reason to come back.’ It still doesn’t make any sense.

What you do next has me catching my breath and almost stops my heart.

You lower your head ever so slowly and peck me on the lips in a butterfly kiss that has me closing my eyes and hugging you closer. I don’t think to question it; I just hope it lasts. And it does. At first your kisses are slow and tentative and your hands cup my face as you deepen the kiss. And the moment your tongue traces my lower lip I can’t help but open my mouth and bring you closer.

My hands travel through your hair, relishing that I have you closer to me than ever. I’m wonderfully aware of every place you touch me and I can feel the hair on the back of my neck rise with pleasure. My heart is about to burst and I smile against your lips when I feel how fast your heart is beating too.

-xXx-

I’m no longer on your lap. We are sprawled on the bed and I feel the sudden urge to hide my face in the crook of your neck. With a smile, that’s exactly what I do.

With my face safely hidden from view I gather the courage to ask you why now, why not before. I don’t specify before because I realize then that I have no idea since when you liked me.

You ruffle my hair and I feel rather than hear your quiet laugh. You start explaining how hard it was for you to leave me behind. You had all these feelings that you could do nothing about; you didn’t want to ruin our friendship.

But on the last day you decided to give yourself three months. If nothing changed then you would come back and claim me.

I laugh at your choice of words, but hearing you talking about me so possessively makes my insides turn to goo.

You move us so that I’m looking at your eyes. You are trying to gather my reaction to your story, I realize. I can see the insecurity settling on your eyes when I don’t say anything right away. Had my kissing you back not been proof enough? I start to wonder, but I put my musings aside and give you my best smile before lowering my head and kissing you again, hard.

I have no idea how long we stay like this, kissing.

But later, when I have my face back on the crook of your neck and I can feel your gentle breathing tickling my ear I tell you what has been running through my mind ever since I entered your room this afternoon.

‘I love you.’