There's this guy I like. I won't tell you his name or anything but I'll talk about him.
He's cute. No, handsome. Sort of rugged if you look at the right parts of him. Pretty if you look at the other right parts.
He's funny. Like I find myself smiling either out of laughter or incredulously around him. He's got a shitty taste in humor, but it aligns with mine, and I suppose that's all that matters. He likes memes a bit too much, enough to where it's worrying, but I like him all the same.
He has a really good sense of fashion, even if it isn't entirely of his doing. The guy just has nice clothes to throw on constantly and he looks great in all of them. I do like it though, when he dresses down. Because even in a pair sweatpants and an old Kennedy Youth t-shirt, he really looks good. He pulls off the jacket-tied-around-the-waist thing. It's kind of infuriating.
This boy is really fucking intelligent—especially when it comes to history. Humanities is his thing and god, is it attractive. He's a huge nerd and a fucking loser sometimes, but he makes me want to get off my ass, watch the news, crack open my textbook, do something to further the body of knowledge that exists about human history because he'd love it.
I feel like we could talk for a long time in circles about so many different things if we were sleeping in the same bed. On the two (what are essentially) dates I've been with him, we've spent good hours discussing nonsense topics ad nauseam, in the middle of some fast food restaurant, freaking the other patrons out with our outlandish conversations and our more outlandish reactions to each other's words.
This boy has a spring of patience and absolute kindness coming from his heart, and he's so fucking innocent. Holy shit, how he's survived this long I don't know. Apparently he wasn't always the kind soul he was today, but I honestly can't imagine First Name, Last Name being in any way worse than he is right now. Like, his state of being seems so innate, so him, it's a wonder he developed to this point. Once, he apologized whole heartedly for wrongfully blaming me of something inconsequential, like what? He has not a single mean bone in his body and I admire that.
I like to think of his eyes as kind of droopy, something that happens when I romanticize a guy a lot.
His hair is so soft, like holy fuck. It's soft and smooth; and he lets me run my hands through it sometimes and he does the same to mine, and wow, his hair is a gift. My hair is really poofy and soft, but it's coarse, like a wool sweater or something. His is like silk, or a warm, soft fuzzy blanket. I think I'd be able to spend as much time stroking his hair as I do talking to him.
I said he was rugged if you looked in the right places and those right places would be at his arms and at his chest. I don't know if he actually even works out anymore, all I know is he's pretty built—it's kind of a plus. His arms are nice and robust and he has a fucking Dorito bod; he's picked me up before and held me so that's how I know they're real. I told him I was cutting food out of my diet for lent, and he was so worried about me and my lumpy self, and he told me my body was fine and I didn't tell him him how much I appreciated that remark.
This boy cannot dance to save his life and I think that's one of the funnier aspects of his personality. There was one time we had to do a waltz, at a party, and I paired up with him for the fun of it; he kept pushing me back and yelling something about asserting his dominance; he didn't even have the hold correct, oh my god.
I once erroneously ended up with his jacket. I had just finished filming outside and I was freezing, and I asked for something to warm me up and he just threw it into my face. He left quickly after that and I didn't get the chance to return it to him. I have a feeling he didn't want it back though, because he was reluctant to take it back every time I offered it. Something about me needing it and it being okay if I needed to borrow it for a while. I had a bad homework night with it, but I pushed through with his warmth and his smell around me, and honestly, from then, I should have known I was fucked.
I mean, I probably was fucked all along from the start. Like, I knew at the beginning of the year I was attracted to him and called him hot back when we were still just acquaintances—I didn't know then that we'd become closer like this. I should have kept the barriers up though, because now I'm here.
Here, craving his warmth, and oddly enough, more of his smell. I don't know what it is about him, but the specific blend of men's care products he uses produces like. This scent that is just kind of addicting. It's in his car when he gives me rides, in his house, right off his skin; I learned the last part recently wrestling for his phone in the middle of a Starbucks.
But like. He's so fucking straight. And like, it's easier to believe now than when I had my first straight boy crush, but there's always that hope in my head that he hasn't actually considered his sexuality as fully as he possibly could and that there'd be room for me. Which isn't going to happen most likely, because he is in tune with what sexuality is and he would know and tell people if he were in the least bit gay. But he isn't. At all. So I'm stuck between a rock and hard place and honestly, it feels so fucking awful.