notes: inspired by the same person who inspired i’m yours. i took a less desperate, i-want-you-to-love-me turn this time. and the funny thing is, there are actually a lot of dynamics in this relationship that happens between us in real life. except for the romantic part, thank god.

(it’s so hard to fit my feelings into something as small as this.)

Sometimes, the things most important to you are the things you don’t see coming.

“We know you refuse to talk to us, but we have a close family friend whose son is attending university in your city. He can’t afford living on campus, so we offered your place for him. So unless you’re up for kicking someone out to live on the streets, we would really appreciate this favor.”

She frowns visibly at her mother’s voice, and proceeds to take a nap.

---

He’s a quiet boy—nothing like she would’ve imagined. He fumbles and he’s awkward, and when he walks, his tall figure leans from side to side, almost as if he’s lumbering.

“Thanks so much for this,” he keeps saying every time she does something for him, like set up a mattress in the living room, tell him where to put his toiletries, and give him her extra key. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” she says each time with a small smile, but the last thing she wants is for him to be there.

---

She doesn’t hate him in particular—she just hates people like him.

She hates the hardworking students who spend years upon years in university, paying just to learn and suffer. She hates those people, because she could’ve been one of them, but lost her chance.

She has a wonderful job now—she teaches piano—but sometimes, she wishes that she could’ve made it into university on the first try so she could do bigger and better things.

She’s always wanted to be a music therapist. But now, she can’t.

So she vents everything out on him. For the first few days, she speaks the bare minimum to him. She avoids him as much as possible, and makes sure to show that she’s upset when he messes things up. She never makes him meals, and sometimes, when she gets to sleep in, she notices him rushing around the apartment, getting his books together and grabbing a granola bar from the pantry before bolting out the door.

And all the while, she thinks that she could’ve been doing the same thing.

---

She can’t ignore him, though, when he comes home one day to find her playing the guitar.

“You play guitar?” he asks, an excited smile stretching across his lips.

“Yeah,” she says. “Do you play?”

He then bows his head a little. “I used to. Aw, but now I’m so busy, I can’t anymore.” He looks really disappointed at this, so she glances at her acoustic guitar before handing it to him.

“Here. You can play it.”

“Really?” The smile is back, and she feels a little guilty, because she only wants to see his skill level. She passes him the guitar, and he sits down, and then suddenly, his fingers flit across the strings, and all she can do is sit there, mesmerized by his music.

And she finds herself involuntarily smiling.

She tries everything in her power to hate him after that, but she realizes that she can’t. Not with the way he’s always running out the door in the morning with a granola bar, not with the way he plays her guitar, not with the way she sometimes catches him singing when he’s in the shower—a little off-pitch, but reminding her of home—

She can’t hate a boy like him.

---

He gets sick incredibly easily.

One day, about a month into their acquaintanceship—because they aren’t friends, she reminds herself—they cannot be friends—he falls ill to the point that he doesn’t even have the energy to walk.

“You’re running a really high fever,” she tells him, pursing her lips at the thermometer.

“Did you know that at high temperatures, the proteins in my body are unable to function properly, so they denature?” he asks, in an attempt as a joke. He’s taking all of the sciences in university—he wants to be a physiotherapist.

“I recall something like that from high school,” she says lightly. “I have a couple of students today, so I’ll make you some soup, okay? I’ll leave it in a thermos beside you, so when you’re hungry, just eat it.” And she’s surprised by the fact that she doesn’t mind taking care of this boy.

“Thanks a lot,” she hears him say, but she’s already out the door.

---

And there are points when she’s positive that she hates him—like when he makes such a mess on her bathroom counter, or when she stirs in the middle of the night, because he tripped on something in the kitchen while getting a snack to keep him fueled to do his homework.

He doesn’t drink coffee. He says it tastes terrible.

But then one day, she comes home from a particularly bad day—an uncooperative student and finding out that her long-time crush got a girlfriend—she’s ready to crash.

She’s ready to crash, and he’s right there.

“Hey,” he greets cheerily when she groans and falls onto the couch. “I made dinner for you.”

“Don’t you have other things do?” she asks, shooting him a look. But she takes the food anyway.

(He’s a better cook than her—but she doesn’t mention it, and he’s smart enough to not say it out loud.)

“Yeah, well,” he laughs sheepishly, “I can’t really pay rent right now, because I’m so poor, so this is my way of repaying you.”

“Dinner once in a while? That’s not enough, you know.” And normally, she wouldn’t be so rude or snappy, but she’s just so tired—especially because he’s there, because he’s always reminding her of who she could’ve been.

“Yeah…” He’s always had a way of sounding shameful. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“Sure.” But she doesn’t believe that he will, not even for a moment.

---

“Are you okay?” he asks her a week later, when she comes home for the third day in a row, throwing her keys onto the counter and dropping onto the couch.

“I’ve been better,” she tells him, sighing deeply. “How was your day?”

“It’s over,” he says sullenly, plopping down beside her. “I have an exam tomorrow, and I’m not even ready.”

“Have you been studying?”

“Yes! That’s what I’ve been staying up late doing for the past…ever!” And she can’t help but smile a little at his indignant expression. “And—aw, my girlfriend broke up with me today.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Well—it’s complicated.”

“What do you mean?” And it’s so strange to her, because she can’t imagine a boy like him having a girlfriend—he’s almost like a child, always doing the best he can, always giving it his all—always trying and never knowing when it’s time to just give up—

Despite his age, to her, he’s still young and naïve and needs someone to care for him.

“We weren’t really dating. We were just—aw, I don’t know. I just think I haven’t been treating her right lately—I’ve been so busy and stuff, and…” He trails off.

“And you’re living with me,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah…But it’s not your fault!”

“I know.” She rolls her eyes a little. “Get your books—I’ll make dinner, and then we’ll study for the rest of the night.”

“Really?”

She shrugs. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.” She doesn’t tell him that she just wants to help him—be the supportive friend that she never had. So she makes them a simple dinner, and they study on the couch.

They fall asleep on each other a little after midnight.

---

Just as the last student leaves her studio in the afternoon, she sits at her piano and sighs.

She hasn’t composed in a while. He once told her that being a physiotherapist was his second career choice—his first was being a musician. He’s written a couple of songs, and she’s heard them—they’re very honest and nice, but not fit for the real world.

She wants to write a song for him.

It’s then that she hears a knock on her door. Which is odd, because she doesn’t have any more students for the day.

She’s surprised to see him on the other side of the door.

“Hey,” he says, smiling and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “You usually get off work on Wednesdays the same time as I get off school, so I thought we could go home together.”

Home. It’s a word she’s never quite grasped before—

But somehow, it feels like she understands it a little more now.

---

And there’s the possibility, she thinks, that she cares a bit too much.

“I have to go to school earlier tomorrow.” He heads to the kitchen to get a glass of water, walking in that strange way. “So don’t make breakfast for me. And I’m coming home late too, so don’t make dinner either.”

“I’ll just get up earlier,” she says, “and make a bigger breakfast, ‘cause you’ll need more energy. And I’ll eat dinner later with you.”

He laughs a little—she loves his laugh. It’s so genuine and honest—he never lies, and if he does, it’s always for her sake—even though she can always see right through him. “Thanks,” he tells her.

She can’t help but smile back.

And now, before he leaves the house, she often hugs him goodbye. She’s always been a hugging type of person, but she rarely feels close enough to anyone to hug them anymore. He never hugs her back—it’s always an awkward pat on the back, but most of the time, it’s enough.

Most of the time.

Because she knows that she’s going to be the one that he’ll be coming home to.

The next day is a rough day. She’s always had her rough days—they come and go—but ever since he arrived, things have been rougher. She’s been cooking for two, she’s been helping him study, learning more guitar from him—he seems to have made a huge impact on her life. But despite having more rough days, things seem to go by…unbelievably fast. In a good way.

She receives a phone call the next evening.

“It’s Dad. I know you don’t want to talk, so just let me do the talking.” She purses her lips and holds the phone to her ear. “Your mother was in a car crash yesterday. She’s in comatose. I just thought you’d like to know. She might not wake up.”

She remains silent for a long moment, and even contemplates on saying something comforting, but changes her mind. “Okay.” She then hangs up.

She hangs up and sinks to the floor, crying.

---

When he gets home, she’s in bed, staring off into space.

“Hey, are you feeling sick?” She didn’t eat dinner yet, because she was planning to wait for him, but now, she doesn’t feel hungry anymore. Despite leaving home right after she turned eighteen, it’s impossible for someone like her to completely detach herself from her family.

“My mom,” she says, voice raspy. “She’s…in comatose. My dad said that she might not wake up.” She pulls herself out of bed and walks over to him, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. Dammit. She’s crying again. She never wanted him to see this side of her—she’s supposed to be the one protecting him—not the other way around.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He’s never been good when it comes to these things, but he pats her back awkwardly. She sniffs.

They stand there for a long while in silence, and she can feel him growing uncomfortable. “Sorry,” she mutters, pulling away and wiping her eyes. “I didn’t make dinner. I’ll do it right now.”

“We’ll order take-out!” he says optimistically. “And hey, it’s the weekend tomorrow, so I’ll just hang with you tonight.”

“You should try to get ahead of things. University is important.” Not that she would know.

“Nah, it’s okay. Consider this my monthly rent.” And she feels a little better, because if this is the rent she gets, she wouldn’t mind housing this boy for the rest of her life.

They order take-out, and watch reruns of Grey’s Anatomy on television. The entire time, she’s leaning against him, drifting in and out of sleep. Finally, when she notices that the clock says it’s one in the morning, she sits up straight, frowning at the crick in her neck. “Hey,” she whispers to him, shaking him a little. “Get up. Sleeping like that is bad for your back.” His eyes only flutter open momentarily, but it’s enough for him to stand up and tumble onto his mattress in the middle of the living room.

She looks at him for a long moment, contemplates it, and then falls onto it with him. The covers are tangled between her legs, and the mattress is a little hard, but listening to him breathe beside her makes up for everything else.

She sleeps soundly that night.

---

When she wakes up, his hand is just barely on her hip, but it’s there. Sighing in content, she moves just a little closer to him, afraid that if she’s too close, he wouldn’t like it.

She watches him only for the next few minutes, and then he wakes up. And when he registers that she’s right there, he literally flies back.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks with a faint smile, sitting up and stretching.

“Wait, were we sleeping here all night?” He looks so confused and bewildered—it’s quite funny, actually.

“Uh, yeah? What, am I that scary?”

“No!” It’s his turn to laugh. “I’m just scared of being really close to another face.”

She raises an eyebrow. “So what was up with your girlfriend before? Did you guys, like, never kiss?”

“It was complicated! We weren’t actually dating!”

“Have you, uh…even had your first kiss?”

He looks away, sounding embarrassed and sheepish. “No…”

“Dude, you’re twenty-one.”

“Shut up!”

She knows she shouldn’t, but she finds that so adorable.

---

Days come and go. He comes and goes.

Usually, he spends his holidays at home with his family. Which is understandable. But that means that he’s gone for an entire four months, and somehow, time just seems so much harder to get by without him.

He’s always been there to help her get by.

He calls her once every two weeks, and occasionally talks to her over the computer. But it’s never the same. Not when they used to make music together, not when she studied with him into the late hours of the morning, not when they went home together on Wednesdays—

She wrote a song for him. She plays it by herself, again and again and again.

And it’s just not the same.

She can’t tell if she loves him, or if she’s in love with him.

When he comes back after four months—four long, treacherous months—she can’t help but wrap her arms tightly around him and not let go.

“Hey,” he says, laughing as he pats her back. He’s less awkward now, and she smiles into the crook of his neck, remembering how he smells, and faintly registering that he got taller again.

She pulls away before taking a look at him. It never occurred to her, but he’s beautiful.

“Hey,” she responds, voice soft.

He’s home.

---

He’s cooking when she comes home, and after placing her bag on the floor beside the couch, she comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, not even fazed by the physical contact. He’s grown used to it, she thinks—every day, she hugs him, leans on him, links arms with him—and when she’s lucky, he’ll reciprocate the actions a little.

She can’t help it, though. He’s just so warm. So warm and right.

“Did you find a new girlfriend back at home?” she asks teasingly into his back.

He laughs, embarrassed. “No! Nobody likes me anyway!”

She laughs too. “Nah. I bet all of the girls are secretly all over you. They probably have, like…shrines in their closets, or something.”

“That’s so creepy!”

“Well,” she says, releasing her hold on him and stepping away. “I like you.”

His head moves up and down in exaggerated nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He’s embarrassed again. How cute.

---

It’s nearing Christmas, but she doesn’t feel festive.

She wakes up near noon, glad that she only has a few students in the afternoon. When she shuffles into the kitchen for a small breakfast, she spots him, sprawled on his mattress, his long limbs stretching everywhere.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be at school?” she calls out, but he doesn’t answer. She abandons the thought of food and makes her way over to him, inspecting his sleeping figure. He’s breathing deeply, and his lips are parted. He’s drooling. And it’s very probable that it’s the most attractive thing she’s ever seen.

What does she do in a situation like this? Follow the clichés and kiss him in his sleep? Or wake him up?

Or just watch him breath, dreaming his life away?

She finally decides to wake him up, because he’ll blame her later if she doesn’t. She nudges him with her foot, but he still doesn’t stir. What time did he go to bed the night before?

A smile creeps to her face, and she decides to sit on him. She straddles him, and proceeds to flick his nose. He finally stirs, and when he sees her, his expression tells her that he nearly had a heart attack, but he doesn’t move.

“Why are you up so early?” he finally manages.

“Actually,” she says lightly, “it’s noon.”

It’s silent for a moment.

“Crap!” He struggles under her, until he asks frantically, exasperatedly—but all with a smile on his face, “Will you get off me?”

“Nah.” She straightens herself so she’s laying flat on him, her ear pressing against his chest and listening to his quick heartbeats. “You’ve been overworking yourself lately. Don’t go anywhere today.”

“Get off!” He’s still laughing, so she knows it’s okay. She smiles, and only adjusts herself so she’s more comfortable.

“Just breathe,” she tells him.

He breathes.

---

“Hey, uh, Merry Christmas.”

She turns around and smiles widely. “Thanks! You too.” She has a present for him—a new guitar. He says he left his at home, because he wouldn’t have time to play it now that he’s in university anyway. It’s a cheap one—but hers is cheap too, and he said he liked it.

She hopes it’ll make him happy.

“I have, uh, a present for you.” He’s shifting from foot to foot—he’s uncomfortable.

“Why don’t you wait ‘til the party tonight?”

“Actually, I wanted to show you in private.” There’s just something about his smile that gets to her.

(And she’s long since realized that he’s nowhere near perfect—his teeth are crooked, he still has zits, his hands are sweaty, and he can never stand up for himself—but it all just seems to add to his beauty.)

“Oh. Well, I’m going to buy groceries right now—do you want to give it to me now, or later?”

“Well—maybe I’ll just show you after the party. Yeah.”

She raises an eyebrow, but shrugs. “Okay. Do you want to come to the store with me?”

He nods, smiling. “Sure.” She’s not even surprised when he reaches out and brushes that persistent lock of hair out of her face. He always does that now—and it makes her happy, because it means that he’s finally growing more comfortable with her. After being together for so long, he’s finally comfortable with her.

She links arms with him as they leave the apartment together, and she’s glad that he doesn’t pull away, like he used to.

She smiles.

---

“Oh my God, I’m so tired.” She falls onto his mattress, sighing. “Let’s clean up tomorrow.”

“I still can’t believe we even fit that many people in here!”

“Yeah, no kidding.” She closes her eyes, and almost contemplates sleeping right then and there. “Oh, right. You had a present for me, right?”

“Yeah…but now it’s like nothing, because you got me this amazing guitar.”

“It’s nowhere near amazing. It was cheap.”

“Yeah, but it’s still way more than what I got you! And it sounds great!” And she smiles, burying herself into the covers of his mattress, inhaling his scent. He smells so good.

“Give me my present!”

“Uh, actually, I wrote you a song.” She cracks open her eyes, and suddenly, she’s not so tired anymore.

“Oh my God, really?” A song for her? Disbelief spreads across her face. She must be the luckiest girl in the world.

“Yeah.” He’s nodding and smiling, obviously embarrassed.

She brings the covers up to her face to hide her grin. If he sees how ecstatic she is, he’ll think she’s creepier than he already does. “I want to hear it!”

“But it’s so bad!”

“You already wrote it anyway, so it’ll go to waste if you don’t show me!” So after much grumbling, he takes out his new guitar and tunes it—he’s always had a great ear for that—and takes his time in clearing his throat.

“This is really embarrassing…”

“Can I film you?”

“No!”

But he plays it for her. And she can’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be—can’t think of anywhere else, but here in his bed, lying under his sheets and on his pillow, and listening to his music and his sometimes-off-pitch voice that’s just so warm and honest and perfect.

And for the first time in a long time, her troubles just melt away, and she’s completely content.

“That was actually,” she says when he finishes, “pretty romantic. I’m touched.” She sits up, cross-legged on the mattress, and smiles up at him like a pleased child.

“Yeah, well,” he looks away, “that’s how I feel about you.”

It’s quite for a long moment.

“Oh.” She stands up, and straightens her shirt. “Okay.”

She locks herself in her room for the rest of the night.

---

He probably thinks that he ruined their friendship. He probably thinks that it’s all his fault.

Maybe it is. But even if it is, she would never blame him for anything.

For the next few days, everything is quite. She smiles at him when she sees him, but she spends her time locked up in her room with her laptop. She spends her time lying in bed, wondering what’s wrong with her.

Because, really, isn’t this what she’s wanted from the start?

She closes her eyes and sleeps.

---

“Look.” He glances up at her from his homework, and he smiles awkwardly.

“Hey.”

She sighs and ruffles her hair. “I haven’t done this in a while. Dating, I mean. And—and if you really feel that way about me, I’m not going to be like your old girlfriend and let things be ‘complicated’. I’d want us to be definite. And I wouldn’t want to share you.”

And the way his jaw kind of hangs open as he nods and says, “Okay,” is kind of cute.

She stands there in silence for a moment. “So, uh, yeah. We’re a couple now.”

He nods again, nervously. “Okay.”

She swallows. “I’d, y’know, kiss you right now, but you’re afraid of faces being close to yours. So I’ll just…make dinner now.”

“Well, that’s why people close their eyes, right? I mean, like, when they kiss.”

And it’s most likely the most awkward moment of her life when she looks at him in surprise when he closes his eyes and just sits there, waiting for her to kiss him. She purses her lips, and tries to gather the courage. She can cuddle with him, she can hug him—even jokingly lift his shirt to see if he’s got abs—but kissing him is so hard.

When their mouths meet, it’s clumsy, and she nearly loses support of herself because she’s leaning down—

But the emotions she feels rampaging inside of her make up for it all.

---

“Hey, um, can I film you playing my song?”

“Stop asking me that!”