He’s looking at me again. Damn him! Why can’t he go stare at someone else?

I wonder this angrily, slouching a little bit into the plush sofa. I pretend to be engrossed in my sketchbook, but let’s face it. I haven’t drawn a single line in the past twenty minutes. And how am I supposed to be able to? With him only a few feet away?

I shift my position on the cushion, trying my best to ignore him and his pensive stare. He knows something’s bothering me, but I’ll be damned if I’ll tell him. Ha! Not in this lifetime buddy!

His gaze moves away from me and now he flips through channels with the remote control, aimed blindly at the big screen television in the corner. The others have gone out to a club, but we didn’t feel like joining them, so here we are. I almost wish he’d just leave and go somewhere, anywhere, as long as it’s away from me.

He clears his throat and leans forward in his chair. He’s found some nature program to watch. I glance at the tv and see two wild bears fighting each other.

I hold back a smile. Those bears remind me of us...him and me. We seem to argue a lot, mostly over little stuff. I can’t help it. He’s always so freaking smug and bossy! He makes me want to slap him. . . or kiss him, mostly the latter.

I sigh loudly and twirl the pencil around with my fingers. He pauses and looks at me.

“Are you okay?” he asks, for what must be the thousandth time this week. His eyes are full of concern and suddenly the huge hotel suite we’re staying in seems stuffy and far too small.

“Sure, fine,” I say shortly, nodding at him.

I drop my gaze down to the blank page in front of me, but not before seeing the brow arch and the frown form on his face.

Shit, now he’s all worried.

He stares at me for a few seconds more before turning back to the television. My shoulders slump. I’m tired, so very tired of this charade.

It eats at me every day, that I’m so close to him, and yet I’m so extremely far away from him as well. How can he not know how I feel about him? Is he that blind?

I don’t think that I’m blatantly obvious in my actions towards him, but I’m not terribly subtle either.

Why can’t he see that I want us to be more than just friends? I mean, sure, our friendship is great, it’s completely solid and unbreakable, but doesn’t he know how much I just want to hold him? To be there with him when he wakes up in the morning?

I snort bitterly. He doesn’t need me for that. He has someone. She’s everything I’ll never be. She’s sweet, caring, beautiful, and most importantly, female.

Fuck it. She’s a horse and I hate her.

I sigh again, still twirling my pencil. It suddenly flips out of my hand and hits him in the kneecap before bouncing to the floor.

“Hehe, um, oops,” I say, reaching down to pick it up.

He does the same and our hands touch. I jerk my hand away, too quickly it seems, because he’s frowning at me again.

He picks up the pencil and hands it back to me. I take it, being careful not to touch him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks. “If you want to talk. . . “

I shake my head no and close my sketchbook.

“I’m really okay,” I assure him, throwing in a smile to further convince him. “Right now though, I think I’m gonna head for bed.”

“All right. Good night.”

I can feel his eyes on me as I walk to my room. They’re practically boring holes into my back. I slip into my room and close the door, grateful now that there’s a barrier between us.

I toss the sketchbook and pencil to the bed and cover both eyes with my hands.

Why is it so hard for me to tell him how I feel?

Oh wait, I know why. Because he’s not like that. Because even if he was, he’d never act on it. The public would skin us alive. The fans would abandon us. Well, maybe not all of them, but a hefty chunk of them, definitely the ones under age twelve.

I can feel tears welling up behind my closed eyes and I find myself groaning. How many fucking times am I going to cry over this man?! It’s not fair! Why can’t I be happy?

I think back on every relationship I’ve ever had, and how crappy they’ve been. I can’t help but wonder if he and I were to give it a try, would it work?

I shake my head yes. It would work. Why? Because as far as I’m concerned, he’s the only person on this earth that truly understands me. I’ve always felt comfortable going to him for advice, even though I might not like what he has to say, I always listen. We complement each other, personality wise. We work well together and I honestly believe we could be happy together.

The only thing I’ve never talked to him about though, is my sexuality. That would mean revealing myself, heart and soul to him, and I can’t do that just yet.

Even though I really, really want to.

A knock at the door makes me yelp and jump away. It slowly swings open and there he is, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed, looking incredibly sexy. I swallow and blink rapidly, stuffing my hands in my pockets because they have suddenly decided to start shaking.

“Nick,” he says softly.

Oh God, please don’t say my name like that. Don’t you know how it drives me crazy?

“What the hell is with you lately? Are you angry with me?”

In a sense, yes, I am. I’m angry with you because everything seems to come so easily to you, and I have to struggle with myself every single day. I’m angry with you because I can’t find the words to tell you how I feel, or what I think, or what I want.

But I keep this all to myself.

I shake my head. “No, I’m not mad at you. What makes you think that?”

He shrugs, almost unsurely. “I just get the impression that you want to confront me with something, but you don’t know how to say it.”

Damn, he’s almost got a clue.

I laugh and try to ease his fears. “Yeah, I wanted to tell you that the shirt you borrowed from me last week has a hole in it. And I didn’t put it there.”

He smiles, that fucking dazzling smile that rarely surfaces.

“I know you’re lying to me, bro. But I’ll let it slide.”

He turns to go back towards the living room, but pauses and glances over his shoulder at me.

“I wish you’d talk to me. You used to, but now. . . You know me, Nick, I’ll listen and I won’t judge, I swear. But I would really like to know what’s bothering you.”

That’s all he says. He goes back to the chair he’s been sitting in all night and curls up in it. I stand there, like a complete idiot and let him walk away. He’s just given me the opportunity to tell him everything, and I just let him walk away.

Mustering up every ounce of courage I can, I take a tentative step in his direction.

And then the phone rings. He answers it and a smile instantly spreads across his face.

“Kristin,” he says, cradling the receiver close to his mouth. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

Upon hearing that name, I turn around and close the door, deciding once and for all, that no, Kevin, you’ll never know.