A:N: Heh heh, so it's been a while, eh? Busy busy busy with school and track and being lazy and having the nasty case of writer's block. But here you go! Hope you likey, eh?

The Morning After

When you sleep over at the place belonging to the love of your life, it is supposed to be a night full of magic, passion, and promises, right? What about the morning after? Well, it could be a repeat of the night before, no? Or, it could be filled and overflowing with affectionate kisses and cuddles; and after that, one could share a late brunch and just spend the rest of the day together.

Oh, how I wished my morning ended up like that.

Gripping the sheets to my body, I swallowed awkwardly while staring unsurely at my male companion seated next to me.

He had his sinewy back hunched over with his face resting in his callous hands appearing dejected. His curly blonde hair was even curlier and messier than usual, and his tan from surfing so much was as dark as ever.

It was about six in the morning, so we had about an hour and half until school started, but judging from the present situation, I don't think I would have the strength and required mood to even drive to the hell hole.

I swallowed again before speaking.

"Bryson?" I squeaked. Yes, squeaked. Maybe from voice loss? From, uh, you know…last night and stuff.

Notice that I inserted "stuff".

Meaning that there were other activities that involved screaming at an abnormal level besides sex.


Bryson did not answer.

"Hello?" I tried again.

No answer. Again.

"Hell….looow?" I attempted in a sing-song voice. "Huuhh-looo?"

He didn't even budge. He didn't even acknowledge my totally nude existence. Hell, he didn't event grunt. Isn't that the "cool" way to greet people nowadays? For guys anyways?

"Bryson? Bry-bry? Bridey-tidey?"

He didn't put a single effort into glaring me.

I sighed loudly, frustrated up to no end.

I was about to pull on my hair, but realized that my fingers could get stuck, and I would have to cut my way out like I did last time.

Straight as it may be when I have taken the time to tame it, but it's like the sticky hairball that my cat used to always hack up every thirty minutes. All tangled and messy and shit. Without the stickiness.

Oh, I hated that cat.


I crawled over to his side, wanting to find out what the hell his problem is.

I assumed that he was…sleeping? Or he was just being a jerk. Which is unlikely since Bryson was the sweetest guy I knew.

Turns out that he was neither.

In fact, he was had his hands over his ears.

I wanted to slam my head against the headboard as many times as it took to burst the many capillaries that resided beneath the fragile skin.

I don't know what his deal is, but he always has this tendency to cover his ears whenever he's sad, stressed, angry…yeah, that emotional stuff.

And right now, I think he's feeling, uh…what's the word…mind-blowned?

Well, that's not a word, but it's something similar along those lines.

But I have to say; even I was surprised at my behavior last night. How I had attained my…prowess and endurance is beyond me.

Fiddling with the sheets, I started feeling really uncomfortable and awkward sitting there in silence. So I tapped him lightly on his toned shoulder.

Startled beyond belief, he jumped vertically five feet in the air resulting in the blanket concealing his lower region to fall off; therefore exposing his treasures to the world.

Embarrassed, he quickly gathered the sheets and covered as much of himself as he could.

Pfffft, as if I haven't seen everything already. Like, seriously.

"Sorry?" I offered weakly. "I didn't mean to, uh, scare you like that. You just seemed really…distracted."

He was standing up now, wrapping the blanket so tight around him that his knuckles were white. He was flushed, and his tan cheeks were tinged with the deepest of pinks.

"Minnie!" he gasped. "Don't do that!"

Oh. Right.

I forgot what happens when you touch Bryson while…what's the word?

Occupied? Engaged? Distracted?

I witnessed one of the times when he was pissed, and trust me, it was beyond attractive. Maybe even a turn on, if you get my drift.

I heard from my friend who heard from her boyfriend that some jerk said some things about his little sister. Let's just say that his comments were nowhere near appropriate or respectful.

I was there when it happened. Bryson was shielding his ears tightly, and his eyes were shut firmly in concentration, trying to control his anger. But the stupid dickwad was all up in his face, patronizing him, insulting him, and still making crude comments about his sister. And then he made the mistake; he put his arm around his shoulder as if they were the best of buds.

I remember the way Bryson's eyes shot open quicker than I could blink, I remember the immediate strike that pummeled the guy's nose, and I remember how he was instantly knocked out.

It's a great thing that I'm a girl. Because Bryson would never hit a girl. He'd just push. Really hard.

I'd rather that than a broken nose any day.

"Um, you okay?" I scratched my head uneasily.

"Yeah…," he said quietly. He paused. "Minnie? We need to talk."

"Oh, great! Cause there's something I need to tell you too."

Yes. This was my chance. This was my chance to finally confess to Bryson how I've been in love with him for two years.

I could feel the adrenaline kick into my bloodstream. All my senses were on high alert just so I could tell him that I love him.

"Do you mind if I go first? I really need to get this off my chest," he asked.

Uh, no. Mine is obviously more important.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," I said instead.

He sighed gratefully.

"Oh, thanks Minnie. A lot. I mean it."

He sat himself down across from me so that were face-to-face. He stared at me with such intensity in his grey-blue eyes that made my palms clammy and heart rate quicken.

"So, what's up?" I said light-heartedly, offering a small smile.

He twiddled with his hands somewhat nervously. He also kept biting his lusciously plump lips that I had been kissing a couple of hours earlier.

"Okay, so last night…," he started.

"Last night," I repeated.

He paused.

"Eventful," he decided.

"Eventful, indeed," I agreed.

"And, uh…fun."

"Yes. Fun."

"And, well, tiring."

"It was pretty tiring, huh?"



"Can you stop repeating me?" he asked tiredly.

"Sorry. I'm just nervous."

"Nervous? About what?"

But before I could answer, he cut me off.

"Never mind. But anyways."

He licked his lips nervously and looked around the room anxiously. He had posters of bands I never heard of all over his walls. There were also two surf boards standing against the wall near his closet, and he had clothes and surfer gear strewn all over the floor. A typical room for a teenage boy.

"As fun and eventful as last night was…," he started again.

I nodded slowly, gesturing for him to continue.

"…it was a mistake," he finished.

My heart broke.

It shattered into tiny bits of grainy sand and dissolved in the deep ocean blue.

Even though I was hurting like there was a tsunami slamming into my chest every second, I refuse to let an ounce of anything I was feeling leak out.

"A mistake," I deadpanned.

He sighed. "I thought I asked you not to repeat everything I said."

"You know what?" I said, standing suddenly. Bryson's eyes widened, and his flush from earlier was even darker now. The warmth from the blanket disappeared, and his humid room was suddenly chilly.

"Fine. I guess it's a mistake too. Now that we have established an agreeable conclusion, I have decided that what I needed to say have no more importance."

I stalked around his room angrily, trying to locate the garments that he ripped off carelessly last night. I could feel his pale eyes follow me around, and just the thought of him staring at me while I was naked brought chills to my bare skin.

"Minnie, listen—"

I pulled on my underwear.

"I am so sorry, Mary Ann, for doubting you about Robert. I'm sure he was a great guy, and I regret not going to that date you arranged for us," I muttered to myself angrily.

Bryson's gaze turned steely. "Robert? Who the fuck is Robert?"

My head snapped at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?" I drawled sardonically. I jumped into my denim cut-off shorts. I spotted my red t-shirt hanging on one of his surfboards. Ugh, I felt like beating Bryson's head with them and throwing him into the ocean so the waves and mighty sharks can eat him.

"Minnie, please just hear me—"

"Just ignore him, just ignore him, just ignore him," I chanted to myself. "Bastard's not worth your time if he thought the sex was a waste of time."

I threw on my red t-shirt.

"What?" he said disbelievingly. "It was not a waste of time! It was the best fucking night ever—"

I stomped to him so fast and pushed him down. His head hit the pillow harshly as I got on top of him, my legs on either side of him. I leaned my head down so close to his face, our noses brushed each other teasingly.

"Best, you say?" I hissed. "Well, that 'best fucking night', as you put it, is a mistake."

His breathing became short, ragged, and shallow. My heart quicken at the sound, reminding me all over what happened last night.

"Tell you what," I started in the same breathy tone I used before, "you want to know what my mistake was?"

"Minnie…" he breathed. He licked his lips, and my eyes automatically traveled down to his moistened lips. My gaze slowly returned to his grey-blue orbs.

"You want to know the mistake that I made? The giant, huge mistake that's now killing me inside? Do you want to know the mistake that I have had the pleasure of doing for two whole fucking years?"

He swallowed. His eyes kept darting from my moving mouth to my hard eyes. I felt like slapping him and telling to keep his gaze in one place.

I leaned even closer, so my mouth was close to his ear. Teasingly, I gently grabbed his ear lobe and nibbled it with my teeth. He gasped, and his hands reached up to grip my waist.

I released his ear and whispered, "I made the mistake of loving you. Only to have it thrown back in my face as a mistake. As you said."

I hopped off of him, flushed from having to be so close to the guy I loved.

"See you never," I grit out before slamming his bedroom door.

As I was marching down the sidewalk to get to my house two blocks away, I was half-hoping for Bryson to come running back to me and beg for me to stay and apologize until the sun set. But then again, the asswipe can just lounge lazily in his room and add my name to his list of things that he wished he never did, but did anyway. I wished more for the former, because I don't think I'm ready to stop loving the guy.

I crossed my arms over my chest when a soft breeze blew. But despite the slight chillness and my lack of clothes, I continued to saunter my way to my house.

Until I heard awkward shuffling behind me.

Did Bryson decide to come running after me after all? Oh, dear me. My heart could just burst.

I turned around slowly, and sure enough, there he was hopping gracelessly towards me with only the bedroom sheets to cover his bare body.

"Minnie! Wait!" he called desperately.

I raised my eyebrow coolly at him while my heart was beating erratically with excitement and happiness.

"You forgot your bra!"


Now that he mentioned it, he was waving my strapless black bra in his free hand that wasn't gripping the sheets as if his life depended on it.

Why I wear a strapless bra with a t-shirt confuzzles me too.

When he finally reached me, he was panting like my mother after screaming at the devil children who lived next door for vandalizing her gnomes.

I reached for my bra, but he pulled back. Confused and angry, I was set on ripping the sheets away from him, but he stopped me.

"Minnie, wait," he gasped. "Just hear me out, okay?"

"Give me my bra," I demanded.

"Not until you listen to what I have to say," he said determinedly.

I stared back at him hard. But I could feel the defenses around my severely wounded heart crumble down like the cheap cookies I bought from the local grocery store.

"Make it quick," I decided. "I have school to get ready for."

His mouth morphed into a small grin. "Thanks."

He inhaled deeply and began his speech which I assumed he must've practiced in front of the mirror before he met me here.

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "I mean it. I'm really sorry for what I said."

I raised my eyebrow.

"I didn't mean for it sound the way that you thought that it meant," he said, raising his own eyebrow at his own word choices. "You misunderstood me."

"A misunderstanding, you say?" I said. "I don't see how I can misunderstand when I heard what you said to my face perfectly clear."

"Let me finish," he said exasperated. "Yeah, it was a mistake, but not the kind of mistake that you're assuming."

I placed my hand on my hip, waiting for his prized explanation.

He noticed this and swallowed.

"What I mean to say is…I didn't want to have sex with you."

My jaw just dropped. I mean, it felt it was dislocated when gravity grabbed at it like it was the last chocolate bar to ever exist on planet Earth.

"Oh my God, no! That's not it," he said quickly. "Goddamn it, Bryson," he mumbled to himself.

My jaw was still open like I was inviting the flies to just fly on in and lay their eggs.

"Shit, why is it so damn hard to talk you?" he muttered again. "What I meant was that I didn't want to have sex with you because it wasn't the right time. Well, I mean I did wanted to, for God knows how long, but I didn't want to."

I narrowed my eyes in confusion.

He took a step closer to me.

"Don't you get it, Minnie?" he said.

I gave him an "are you kidding me?" look. "No," I said bluntly.

He sighed loudly and stepped even closer to me. "We haven't even gone on a date yet, and we were already acting like we were consummating our marriage."

I sputtered.

"I like you, Minnie. A lot. You make me feel like the greatest idiot in the world, and for some reason, I love that."

I felt my face soften.

"I love how whenever you laugh, there's always some sort of snort that comes with it. Sometimes it's a loud, unattractive snort, like a pig, and sometimes it's subtle that you have to open your ears to really hear it.

"I love how your hair is bipolar, how it's so silky smooth and shiny but it turns into a giant rat's ass when you wake up in the morning.

"I love that you know a lot about surfing, yet you can't surf to help stop the end of the world. And I love the way you watch me when I'm out on the waves. It makes me feel special in this weird way that I can't find the word to describe it.

His free hand holding my bra was now caressing my cheek gently. It sent butterflies on a rampage deep inside the bowels of my abdomen.

"I know that you love me, but I don't love you. Yet, anyways. I do know that I like you a lot, so much that I want to take you on dates and hold you and kiss you senseless in the bathroom of the boys' locker room just because it seems less clichéd than behind the bleachers."

Using both of his hands, he lifted my shirt and slowly slipped my bra around my chest. He had no trouble hooking the back.

He put both his hands on my face.

"I may not love you yet, but will you wait for me? Do you mind waiting for me?" he asked quietly.

My face broke out into a big grin.

"Yeah," I said just as quietly. "I can wait."

His own face broke out into a grin before leaning in and kissing me so soft and lovingly, all my internal organs and muscles transformed into the instant mashed potatoes that my dad always insisted on making during Thanksgiving.

Let's just say that it was the sweetest kisses I have ever received. And from the love of my life too.

I pulled away, my smile never leaving my face. I looked down and chuckled shyly. When I glanced up, he was also smiling.

"Hey, Bryson?"

Bryson was nuzzling my neck and drawing irregular circles on the lower part of my back.


"Your sheets fell down."