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Insomnia vs Sheep
Topic Started: Oct 19 2010, 10:50 PM (383 Views)
Rowan Dougherty
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“Well… I guess we won’t be attempting to make tarts again anytime soon…”

Those amused words, which had echoed off the corridor walls as Rowan and Toby fled one very pissed off, rag waving House Elf, had haunted the subdued boy for days. For some reason, the words seemed to hold a finality to them that left a sinking feeling in the pit of Rowan’s stomach.

We won’tmake tartsagain.

It was absurd really. They just were not going to make tarts together again. It was not as though their friendship was over because Rowan couldn’t be in a kitchen for five minutes before hurting himself. And yet, something stirred uneasily inside of him, and it had all begun after those shouted words. Though, to be completely honest with himself, it had probably occurred immediately before the enrage elf had brandished her towel at them.

It was the heavy silence. The way Toby had looked at him after he had foolishly drawn his hand back as though he had been burned. Those emerald eyes that had glimmered with confusion as they bore into his own until the walls had dropped away and time had been suspended.

At least, this had been the case for Rowan. And it worried him.

Heaving a mighty sigh, Rowan rolled onto his side in frustration, tangling his sheets between his legs as he did so. With an exasperated noise, he sat up and grabbed his covers with more than a twinge of annoyance. He yanked, hard enough to almost rip, until he was able to battle his way free and lift his trouser-clad legs over the offending sheets. The moon lit up his bare chest and face as he fell back against his pillow and stared at the canopy above his head.

One sheep. Two sheep. Three sheep.

Another troubling thought. Why exactly had he felt like hexing Bates into next year this morning at breakfast? He was a friendly boy, outgoing, handsome… He was popular amongst the ladies, which was rather humorous, as Toby had informed him that the red-haired boy preferred the opposite sex… Grinding his teeth, Rowan remembered the way Peter had looked at Toby, the way he had placed a familiar hand on his shoulder… Rowan rolled over once more, forcefully pushing such thoughts from his mind. Toby could do whatever he damn well pleased. Rowan was just being a jealous friend who wanted Toby all to himself. That was it.

Four sheep. Five sheep. Peter Bates turning into a skunk.

Rowan flopped onto his back with a huff. Ok, so he obviously had some sort of inner turmoil that he needed to assess. However, he did not want to sort through his feelings. He just wanted some damn sleep!

Seven sheep. Wait, did Bates count as a sheep? Six sheep. Seven sheep. Now he had double counted. One sheep…

Did Conner have to snore so loud? Honestly, the boy could have woken a deaf man.

Two sheep…

He peeked a glance at Toby. Why, he had no idea. He was in the same position as he had been the last time Rowan had checked on him. Sprawled across the bed, one leg dangling slightly from the side, poking out from underneath cream-colored blankets. His friend had a lingering smile on his face, his eyes squeezed shut as he slept, brunette locks splayed across his pillow. For some reason, this made Rowan even more irritated. Why was Toby not in turmoil as well.

Three sheep.

Now he was just being irrational. He immediately regretted the accusatory thoughts directed at his best mate.

Four sheep.

He wondered why he was smiling though. Probably dreaming, most likely about Bates. A grumpy frown worked its way across Rowan’s face.

Five sheep. If only he didn’t have to be an insomniac. Dwelling on these thoughts was helping nothing. Making it worse, in fact. He tossed himself onto his stomach. Six sheep. He punched his pillow, attempting to fluff it. Seven sheep. Hey, here’s where he had run into problems before. Progress. Eight sheep. He threw himself back onto his back. Nine sheep.

“Damn it Conner, do I have to smother you?” he suddenly exclaimed, though quiet enough to do nothing more than make a few boys stir restlessly in their sleep. Rowan propped himself up on his elbows, directing a glare at the noisy boy.
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Toby LItton
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All he wanted to do was sleep. After History Buffs practice, the break up with Colin, attempting to make tarts with Rowan and being chased out of the kitchens by a rather angry elf, it wasn’t so hard to believe that Toby was inexplicitly exhausted. It didn’t take him long to trudge up to their dormitory rooms, divest himself of his muddy and slightly pungent uniform and shower with the water set to near-boiling levels.

He was just as emotionally drained as he was physically. As the hot water beat down on his thick head of hair, Toby tried his best to expel all romantic thoughts of his best friend out of his mind. It was inappropriate to even harbor such feelings, but Toby couldn’t help it. Rowan was beautiful, from his rumpled, dark hair to his never-clean-shaven chin, right down to the sometimes mismatched socks he wore on his feet. He was everything that Toby could appreciate in a man; honest, intelligent, caring, understanding, open-minded, and humorous.

But he was straight. A fact that haunted Toby every time he looked at him.

He didn’t leave the shower until he was pruned and relaxed. He’d received many threats of hexes and curses for using up the hot water, but he brushed them off indifferently, mind fully set on crashing onto his bed and finding peace underneath a large, blue comforter.

That was where he found himself when he was awoken by a familiar burr hooting through the dorm room. Stretching, Toby raised the blanket so that it was just under his chin and snuggled down deeper into the bed. But something – and he had no idea what it was – kept him from falling straight back to sleep as he would any other night. His eyes remained open, feet moving around each other to try and create a smidge more warmth in the bed.

Rowan, his mind thought in its post-dreaming daze. That name at the forefront of his thoughts brought him lucidity; something was wrong with Rowan. Letting his eyes adjust to the pitch-black darkness of the room, he zoned in on the bed that Row occupied. Before seeing his outline, it was the unsteady breathing that he heard, much different to any of the other boys in the room. Rowan always huffed once or twice every few minutes when he couldn’t sleep at night.

And then he saw the outline. Instantly, his mind reeled with images that ought not have been imagined. Rowan was propped up, dark pieces of his pillow-swept hair spilling onto his forehead. And a short ways down were his eyes, not easily seen through the dark.

All of a minute passed before Toby flung his duvet away from his face and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his four-poster bed. He stared at Rowan, whom he had no doubt was looking back at him. He imagined confusion on his friend’s face, though there was no real way of knowing just yet. As quietly as possible, he pushed himself off of his bed, hand fisting his shapely pillow.

He walked to Rowan’s bed, stood barefoot and bare chested as he gazed down at his friend with a look that he hoped wouldn’t betray his concern. Rowan had never been a sleeper like Toby had; and usually, when they were smaller children, they’d lay in bed for hours talking, cracking jokes, planning things they wanted to accomplish. Once Toby came out of the proverbial closet, those night time bedscapades ended.

“Hey,” he whispered extremely quietly, taking note of the delicate situation he was about to lay out before his best friend. “Scoot over – make some room.”

Without giving Rowan much of a choice in the matter, Toby slid into his bed, ignoring the blissful feeling of his bare arm making contact with Rowan’s. It might drive him out of his mind with unrequited love, but maybe if he stayed, just until the other boy fell asleep, he’d forget about those feelings and replace them with something nobler.

"Care to tell me why you're threatening Conner?" Toby asked, just as quietly as before. "Or is this something you do in the dead of night when you think no one is listening?"
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Rowan Dougherty
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Ever since Rowan was a young boy, he had had spells of insomnia. They came every so often, sometimes because of stress, sometimes because he just had too much sleep. He would lie awake into the wee hours of morning before slipping off into a fitful doze. Dark lines, almost like bruises, encircled his ever haunted eyes daily, revealing inner turmoil he kept hidden under a calm façade. Nobody had ever been able to help him. Not the stroking of his hair by his mother, not the soothing voice of a Healer, not the cursed sheep who plagued his dreams when he could sleep, demanding he buy a mattress from them. It was as though his brain couldn’t shut down. It was always on, thinking, analyzing, even to the point where his thoughts became crazy nonsense. He even muttered some of it out loud, as evidenced by the way he was still glaring at the slumbering boy he had threatened.

No, nobody had ever been able to help. Well, nobody, that is, except Toby.

It was only when Toby was curled up by his side that Rowan had beaten one of his insomnia cycles. For all his boundless energy, his constant movement, the boy, for some reason, was able to calm Rowan in a way that other methods had failed. His mind was able to still, as though it were satisfied enough to allow him to fall blissfully into unconsciousness.

Toby was his sheep. Specifically that last one, the one that didn’t quite jump the fence because its counter had drifted off.

Swiveling his head, Rowan turned to look at his “sheep” once more, and was surprised to find the brunette awake, legs dangling off the side of the bed. A sliver of light, cast by the moon through the window opposite Toby, threw a slanted ray across his face, enough for Rowan to realize that Toby was watching him closely. The world seemed to slow as the two faced off, simply staring at the other in incomprehension. Rowan bit his lip to avoid saying something ridiculous. “I have decided you are my sheep” currently on the tip of his tongue definitely classified as one of these.

Rowan’s eyes traced the outline of his best friend, taking in the rumpled hair, the shadowed eyes, the sharp curves of his bare chest… Suddenly, Rowan was overtaken by a deep yearning, a nostalgia for days long past when they were but boys, laughing together as they crawled into one bed, sharing their most inner thoughts until they both inevitably succumbed to sleep, feeding off the warmth of the boy snuggled next to him.

He wished they could still do that. He wished Toby would come over here, crawl into bed with him, and listen to a sleep-deprived Rowan jabber on about nothing.

When Toby suddenly stood up and walked over, peering down at him with a whispered “Hey”, Rowan, terrified, wondered if he had spoken the words aloud.

“Scoot over – make some room,” Toby demanded. Seemingly ignoring Rowan’s blank stare and lack of movement, Toby slid into the bed, forcing Rowan to move or be crushed. Any doubts that this was a dream disappeared as their arms met, sending a jolt of electricity through his nerves. All at once, Rowan was painfully aware that they were both shirtless.

Nevertheless, he moved to the side of the bed, holding up the covers so that Toby could slide his lithe body under, concerned about the chill of the room.

“Care to tell me why you’re threatening Conner?” Toby asked as he settled himself, “Or is this something you do in the dead of night when you think no one is listening?”

Despite the tension he had been wrought with just moments before, Rowan’s lips cracked into a half-grin. It was the naturalness of it, the way that Toby would have always talked to him that dispelled the strange atmosphere that had been cast as soon as Rowan had noticed Toby was awake. It allowed him to relax, to sink back into his bed, not bothering to maintain a strict no-man zone between their bodies. A pleasant warmth exuded from where Rowan’s arm rested up against Toby’s.

“The latter,” he replied, amusement evident in his hoarse voice. Turning to the side, Rowan propped his head up with his hand, elbow bent on his pillow as he smiled down at Toby, unseen mirth filling blue eyes. “I have a system and everything. Five loud snores and you get a warning. Ten, you’re threatened. Twenty, well...” he trailed off.

It had been a while since Rowan had been this close to Toby. He could count the eyelashes framing his uniquely emerald eyes, trace laugh lines around full lips. Laugh lines, no doubt, attributed to the jokes one red-haired, Peter Bates had regaled him with earlier that day. Rowans grin froze on his face.
Turning again, Rowan moved to lie on his back, head sinking into his feather-soft pillow. He didn’t know why he said it, why he felt the need to, but the words were there and they were itching to be asked. He had to know, for some reason that he could not explain, Rowan just needed this confirmation. Perhaps it was why his insomnia cycle had started once more.

And because he was Rowan, he had to go about it in the most round-about way.

“I think Bates likes you,” he said, voice carefully trained to neutrality, eyes fastened determinedly to his canopy.
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Toby LItton
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Noble flew out the window the very second that Rowan grinned at him. He couldn’t help it that his own face lit up in a relishing smile. Relaxing against the plush pillow under his head, Toby turned his face to the side to maintain some form of eye contact with his mate. All those ruffled dark locks atop Rowan’s head did nothing to keep Toby from feeling the stirring of desire in the pit of his stomach. Before Rowan spoke, he took a deep breath and held onto it as long as his lungs would allow.

“The latter,” came Rowan’s whispering, husky reply, instantly sending Toby’s self –control out of the picture. He looked up as Rowan gazed – no, he wasn’t gazing, that would imply some semblance of desire and he was sure that Rowan’s look was completely platonic – down at him. “I have a system and everything. Five loud snores and you get a warning. Ten, you’re threatened. Twenty, well…”

Toby snorted a laugh through his nose and closed his eyes briefly to reign in the urge to laugh louder. It was easy to do around Rowan; he often found himself guffawing at the dry and witty cracks that he made without much effort at all. His eyes swept the handsome features of his best friend, completely drawn into every word, syllable and breath that he’d articulate. All he really wanted to do was grab Rowan by the back of the head and force him to sink down and mash their lips together. His smile faded then. As did Rowan’s. For a split second, Toby worried that Rowan had read his mind. Saw the longing in his eyes.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be the case. The loss of intimacy in the way that Rowan was (not gazing) looking down at him sent a chill through Toby’s body. Rowan wasn’t shooing him from the bed, which was a good sign. Instead, he stared up at the canopy while Toby stared at him, trying to discern where the change happened. Maybe Rowan did know something… or had an inkling and was trying not to encourage it.

“I think Bates likes you.” Toby watched his friend’s lips settle into a straight line. No jealousy, no bitter resentment. Just mates chatting about love interests. If Toby had any hope that Rowan felt a smidgeon of his feelings, they would have been dashed at that second.

Bates. He assumed the ginger boy, Peter, that Toby had a few classes with. The lad was nice, quite funny and not too bad looking as far as Toby’s taste was concerned. He was gay as well, which was a bonus for Toby’s prospects. It was insufferably difficult to find a man in this school that was both heart-stoppingly attractive and gay. Take Rowan, for example.

Toby turned on his side and propped his head up on the palm of his hand, looking down at Rowan in much the same fashion as Rowan had done only moments before. He smiled, cheeks dimpling and green eyes lighting up. No wonder the prat couldn’t get to sleep with all that hair flying all over the place and into his face. Bringing his other hand around, he quickly swept the locks from his friend’s face, running his fingers through the to try and make the hair stay back and away from his forehead.

“This is half your problem,” Toby mumbled quietly, taking his hand from Rowan’s hair and placing it between their bodies in the shape of a fist. After a beat of silence, Toby explained further with a chuckle dancing on his lips. “How do you expect to sleep while being irritated by all that gorgeous hair dangling in your eyes?”

He hadn’t realized how intimate the movement was, really. Toby was used to being close to Rowan, used to touching him. Usually the touches were playful shoves or light pinches on the arms in jest. But he couldn’t help wanting to put his hands back into Rowan’s hair. Just to relax him, of course. Something in Toby’s stomach sprung like a coiled snake; there were a lot of things he could do to Rowan once he had his fingers laced through his hair. Lips could meet, bodies could meld. Warmth shared.

Shaking his head slightly trying to dispel the thoughts of canoodling his best mate – straight mate – in his own bed, Toby sighed and shifted his gaze to the wooden post above Rowan’s head. After taking several calming breaths, he forced another over-the-top grin on his face.

“Bates?” he asked in attempt to bring an end to the awkward feelings rolling through him. Again. Because that was what Rowan did to him. All the time. “He’s good-looking. Funny. Nice ‘n all.”

As he ticked off Peter’s good qualities, Toby knew without a doubt that regardless of notability, the bloke just wasn’t his type. No, because Toby’s type, unfortunately, was straight, best friends of the heterosexual variety that just so happened to be bloody gorgeous. Braving the incredible, Toby brought his eyes back to Rowan’s intense, blue stare.

It was only then that he realized that his fisted hand was no longer pressed into the mattress, but against Rowan’s side. And the only reason that he noticed was because, in a natural act, it was moving back and forth, slowly, in a contained, almost imperceptible movement.

He glanced down and all the air seemed to escape his lungs. Terrified that he had crossed some line, he pulled his hand back, placed it flat against his thigh, bit his lip and closed his eyes. There was no way to pretend that it hadn’t happened. No way to tell how long he’d been doing it before realizing that was what he was doing. No way to guess if Rowan still wanted him in his bed, because if he hadn’t felt it before, he definitely knew it then.

Steadying himself with a deep breath, Toby opened his eyes and found Rowan once again. His body felt a bit wobbly, like he was a child caught in a lie. He licked his lips absently, feeling parched. He wasn’t sure why he said what he said next, but it was all his brain was shouting at him, to try and rectify whatever discomfort he’d created.

“I guess I’ll ask him out tomorrow, then,” he whispered and immediately made a move to leave Rowan alone in his bed, probably never willing to allow Toby back into it again.
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Rowan Dougherty
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Teeth clenched, eyes fixed determinedly on the canopy, Rowan braced himself for the inevitable admission. Really? You really think so? I think I might like him too! And while Rowan should have been happy for his best mate, glad that he wouldn’t suffer too much heartbreak from his last fling, for some reason only despair clutched at his heart with unyielding fingers.

What the hell was wrong with him lately?

But of everything he had prepared himself for, Toby’s hands drifting lazily through his unruly locks was certainly not one of them. The resulting jolt that shot through him, which felt suspiciously like pleasure and excitement, was even further down on the list.

Shocked blue eyes flew to Toby’s dark form, taking in the languid position, the relaxed smile with the cute dimples to either side as he looked down on Rowans stiff body.

“This is half your problem,” Toby muttered, almost as if to himself. Rowan wondered if his friend was talking about his inability to breathe, because that was the only problem occupying his own mind at the moment. “How do you expect to sleep while being irritated by all that gorgeous hair dangling in your eyes?” Rowan could merely shrug sheepishly, his throat suddenly to dry to speak.

Toby had never stroked his hair before, but Rowan would have imagined the action would bring solace and comfort, not this, this sense of expectation. It felt like he was holding his breath for… something, something that clearly was not happening. Anticipation rose in him, choking him with its grip. Every fiber of his being seemed to scream out, wanting whatever was going to happen next.

But nothing happened. Toby removed his hand, laid it between their bodies, and whatever it was that had consumed Rowan fled just as quickly as it had come, leaving Rowan uneasily bewildered and feeling as though he needed a cold shower to clear his head.

Insomnia was strange indeed. At least, that’s what he blamed his curious reactions on for the moment.

Silence. Usually Rowan was fine with silence, actually preferred it most of the time. But this silence was thickening, pressing down on his lungs, crushing his chest like a weight was perched on top of it. For the first time in his life, he wanted to scream, just to fill the void, to understand what was happening to him. Why he both wanted to kick Toby out of his bed and pull him closer at the same time. Why he wanted to touch Toby’s hair in return, figure out once and for all if it was as silky as it looked.

“Bates?” Toby questioned aloud. The one word was close enough to the cold shower that Rowan had been wanting earlier. He almost cringed at the name. “He’s good-looking.” This time Rowan did wince, then tried to cover it up by shifting. “Funny.” Rowan flung his hand through his hair. “Nice ‘n all.” Now he was nodding absentmindedly, brow furrowing, lips pursing. He struggled to fend off the sudden agitation that had overtaken him.

It didn’t seem to be working, since Toby was now idly stroking his side, no doubt sensing his fidgeting and attempting to calm him.

Wait.

Toby. Bare chest. Stroking.

Rowan froze, eyes snapping to meet Toby’s in a wide-eyed stare.

Toby stopped, seeming to realize what he had been doing, glancing down as if to check that it was his hand, that it had actually occurred. Rowan watched his mate remove his hand, stared as Toby placed it against his firm thigh. Anxious, Rowan searched his brain for something to say, something that would save this. He didn’t mind, did he? It was troubling, indeed, but truthfully, Rowan was troubled that he felt a sudden sense of loss. That he perhaps wanted the contact again, wanted the pleasant yet frustrating electricity that erupted just beneath the skin.

Rowan propped himself up on his elbows, regarded Toby, his closed eyes, his rapidly rising chest. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again without making a sound.

And then it was too late.

“I guess I’ll ask him out tomorrow, then.” Rowan’s heart constricted even as panic clenched his stomach, causing bile to rise in his throat. No! Toby couldn’t… he wouldn’t!

But he was already leaving, already slipping gracefully from his bed.

“Toby,” he blurted, reaching out to grab his friend’s wrist in an unyielding grip, preventing him from moving any farther. Toby’s feet hadn’t even touched the floor yet. His mate seemed to stare at him expectantly, but no words would move past Rowan’s lips, choosing to lodge in his throat instead. What was he supposed to say? What did he even want to say? It’s alright? Do that again? Don’t go, please? I don’t blame you for anything? It’s too soon, you’re too vulnerable?

Out with it, Dougherty!

“No,” he choked, hand still fastened around Toby’s wrist, as though if he let him go, Toby would be gone forever. “Don’t ask him out.” The words were vehement, urgent, his eyes bore straight into the shadows that surrounded Toby’s. He cursed the darkness that hid his friend’s reaction, cursed himself for his forwardness. Dropping his eyes to the bedcovers, he added, as if to make his outburst gentler, “I… I don’t like the way he touches you.” And then, more convincingly, eyes moving determinedly to meet Toby’s once more, “He’s too possessive.”

So says the one denying his friends happiness so he can keep him all to himself. The hypocrisy of his statement did not escape him.

Releasing his wrist, Rowan moved his hands up further, gripping Toby by the upper arms as he scrambled to a kneeling position and pulled Toby to sit in front of him.

“Don’t settle, Toby,” he continued, unable to keep himself from stopping, powerless to stop the overwhelming sense that he had to make Toby see. See what, Rowan wasn’t entirely sure, having not completely figured it out himself yet. “You deserve so much better than him. Someone who would rather die than hurt you,” Rowan voiced fervently, moving one hand up behind Toby’s neck, as if this would help Toby to better understand. “Someone like—” Rowan cut himself off, eyes widening as his breath hitched.

Me.

“Fun,” he finished lamely instead. His eyes fell down to the side as he attempted to calm his racing heart. He couldn’t bring himself to relinquish his hold on Toby, though.
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Toby LItton
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Toby wasn't used to feeling vulnerable. Sure, he was a bit of a ponce - quite literally and thoroughly, apart from his sense of extreme adventure and medieval weapon wielding. He meandered through romance like a goon. Somehow, he was never exactly good enough for his boyfriends; too flighty, too distant, too straight, too messy, too bookwormish. It never bothered him too much. After a couple of days and a tasty treat from the kitchens, Toby would be back to his regular self. Why?


Rowan.


Rowan who he had fondled like some possible love interest. Some romantic venture. Rowan. His best mate and, quite unfortunately, the love of his life. Bugger. He'd really, royally fucked it up. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he hadn't even had the chance to find the floor with the ball of his foot. Rowan's hand was tight around his wrist, his voice higher and more panicky than Toby had ever heard.


"Toby!" He turned his head slowly, staring out at Rowan's pleading eyes through the untidy, curly fringe that hung in his face. He waited, not moving, barely breathing, taking in every harsh, quick breath that his friend let out. His hopes rose steadily, climbing higher and higher with each passing second of silence. "No. Don't ask him out."


His eyebrows rose and his lips might have pursed a fraction of an inch as he took in the widened, beleaguered expression before him. First instinct was to reach out to his best friend, place a calming hand on his shoulder and smile, reassure Rowan that he wasn’t going to ask him out, that it was just a jest. Because Peter wasn’t Toby’s type. Because Peter was so far out of his sight thanks to his ridiculous crush on Rowan.


Instead of that, however, Toby kept his eyes on Rowan’s face, squinting to catch each little reaction in the dark.


“I…I don’t like the way he touches you.” Toby didn’t miss the change in tone, nor did he overlook the slight change of angle at Rowan’s chin. The differences were almost indicative of shame or guilt. Neither of which Toby was okay with him feeling. Peter was a very handsy person, always touching his hair or his hands or his shoulders, his back, his thigh when they would sit next to each other. The problem wasn’t that Rowan looked ashamed, but that Toby didn’t understand why these things bothered him so much. To cause this kind of reaction. “He’s too possessive.”


Ah. Row had said the same of Colin. And of Tom. And Fredrik. And still, Rowan was holding onto his wrist, where Toby’s sight landed. It was ironic that he should be holding him so tightly and still confess his dislike for possessive boyfriends.


He lifted an eyebrow as he tried to understand, but was jarred from thought and away from the edge of the bed and moved so that he was sitting in front of Rowan. He could see the worry lines between Rowan’s eyes, the way that his eyebrows were almost knit together. The firm grip that he had of Toby’s upper arms was almost lost as Rowan’s breath was fanning against his face. Toby could see the detail clearly in his friend’s face. Concern. Unease. The feelings were even beginning to swell in his own chest, tightening it and causing him to panic. What could have Row so worked up, so out of sorts and uncollected?

“Don’t settle, Toby. You deserve so much better than him. Someone who would rather die than hurt you.”


Someone like you, Toby mused sadly, a lopsided, halfhearted smile on his face. “I-”


And then Rowan’s hand was behind his neck. An action so intimate, so demanding. He had no choice but to really listen to Rowan’s next words. His heart was beating wildly, waiting for the moment he’d been fantasizing about for months and months. A kiss. An admission of love.


“Someone like--”


Toby’s heart leapt. His face leaned in to catch the final word, the one he could only hope for. Like you, like you, like you. Did he finally see?


“Fun.” Rowan’s desperation seemed to fall short on the word, his entire body losing the tension it had amassed as they sat facing each other on his bed. Toby’s insides seemed to liquefy; gone from hope and expectation to feeling ridiculous and broken.


“Someone like fun?” He spoke slowly, the words being forced from his mouth with all the strength he could muster. Toby forced a bigger smile on his face. It hurt his cheeks. “Is that American slang you’re picking up from those books you’ve been reading?” The joking hurt.


He lifted his hand up to where Rowan’s rested on his neck and held him there for a second – just the breath of a beat – before pulling the comforting touch from his body and placing their joined hands between them. He took his other hand and placed it at the side of Rowan’s face, his thumb caressing just enough to know where his lips ended and his cheek began.


“If it means that much to you, Row, I won’t ask Peter out,” he said soberly, running his thumb back and forth over the back of Rowan’s hand. “It’s probably not fair if I do anyway. I’m in love with someone else.”
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Rowan Dougherty
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Someone like fun. The words were going to haunt his every moment for the rest of his life. Hell, they already seemed to reverberate through the still night air, causing a crimson blush to slowly creep up his cheeks.

“Someone like fun?” Toby repeated, the words lingering in his mouth as if he wanted to make sure he was actually pronouncing them correctly. Rowan winced and seemed to shrink back as if he had been hit. Of all the smooth recoveries he could have made, he had to opt to make a complete fool of himself instead.

“Is that American slang you’re picking up from those books you’ve been reading?” Toby asked him, his mouth stretched wide in a huge grin. It was tense though, almost tight, as though the smile was literally hurting the other boy. Rowan felt his heart break. He didn’t exactly know why. Something was definitely wrong, and he had the sinking feeling that he was the one to blame.

His forehead creased, clearly troubled, desperately wanting to make things better again, but his thoughts were disrupted by Toby’s hand taking his and moving it down towards the bed. Startled, he nearly jumped at the thumb that lightly brushed along his cheekbone. He let him, of course he let him, for it was Toby after all. Toby who was gay, who was his best mate, who was closer than his brother, who sometimes seemed to render Rowan speechless, breathless. His mind was struggling to figure something out, but he pushed it down. There was clearly something more important that was distressing his Toby for him to be over-analyzing himself again. Motionless, he sat waiting, looking at his friend with wide, quizzical eyes at the tender treatment. At the forlorn look half-concealed on Toby’s face.

“If it means that much to you, Row, I won’t ask Peter out,” he finally announced. Relief consumed him, causing a thin smile to lift his lips. It easily weighed down the guilt that was trying to rise in him, guilt that he may be denying his friend happiness for his own selfish reasons.

He was such a prick.

The realization muted his joy.

It’s probably not fair if I do anyway.” Unconsciously, Rowan tightened his hold on Toby’s where they lay between their bodies.

“I’m in love with someone else.”

For a moment, Rowan could only stare at him in dumb shock. Someone else? There was a someone else? His mouth opened and then shut again as he wracked his memory, trying to remember Toby’s tell-tale signs of attraction. He couldn’t think of another boy whom Toby had been more attentive to lately. Other than himself, of course, but that was normal. Expected. It was always like that when Toby didn’t have a significant other. The way Rowan liked it. He really did act like a jealous boyfriend sometimes.

And then, as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head, Rowan noticed that Toby hadn’t said “like”.

He ripped himself away from Toby so quickly, he actually managed to tumble off the edge of the bed. He landed with a thud, pain shooting up his back as the breath was forced from the lungs. He wasn’t entirely sure it was the fall that had him gasping, however. Dread slowly spread through his recovering form, pooling in his stomach where it sat like a heavy rock.

Love?” he choked, voice hoarse. Surely Toby had said he had loved another before. It wasn’t love love. No, it couldn’t be. Like love, maybe. A voice in the back of his mind cruelly asked him why he cared so much. Toby’s happiness came first. But then, he could make Toby happy, did make Toby happy, didn’t he? And what if Toby did love somebody? He eventually was going to. Would probably love many men throughout his lifetime. Would each admission make Rowan break out into a cold sweat? Would each new love poke another hole through his heart?

Yes, he instinctively knew it would. It alarmed him that he didn’t know why.

Rowan scrambled to his knees, head poking up almost comically, what with his dark hair splayed every which way. He attempted to calm his racing heart, cleared his throat, and admonished himself for overreacting.

“And does he—” Rowan’s voice cracked slightly and he stopped, taking a deep breath before he continued, wondering why it was so hard in the first place, “does he return your… affections?” The stricken expression he donned revealed just how much he didn’t actually want to know the answer to that question.
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Toby LItton
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Admitting such a thing out loud was difficult for any teenage boy. It was infinitely harder, however, admitting it to the object of your adoration. Of course, he hadn't come straight out and said, "Rowan, I love you." But this was the closest he had ever gotten to talking about love with Row, and the closest he had been to spilling his true feelings for his best mate.

He expected that Rowan would be surprised. Toby envisioned wide eyes, shocked gasps, and perhaps a little questioning regarding this emotion he had never prattled on about before. Instead, Toby was stock-still, watching as Rowan flew off of the bed and onto his back. Breathing heavily. Like he was scared. Had he already sussed it? Was it a reaction to knowing that Toby was - had been for a very long time - in love with him?

It was clearly evident when their eyes finally met again that Rowan was terrified. It wasn't something that graced Rowan's face often, and if Toby didn't know Rowan so well otherwise, he wouldn't have had the faintest idea that his friend was struggling so badly with the idea of him being in love. It was enough to cause the tension in Toby's body to give, shoulders slumping, eyes falling the tiniest bit to the ground so that he didn't have to look at Rowan directly any longer.

“Love?” The way that the word left his mouth practically forced Toby to lean backward as if he had been burned. Like it hurt Rowan to even say it. Like it was a curse word, one so bad a little black box should have popped over his mouth to block it from view.

His confidence was a hard thing to shake. Toby was always - or, usually - very comfortable with himself and who he was. But just then, everything seemed to pause. There were questions flooding his overwhelmed mind; did he say too much? Did he scare off his best friend? Had he taken his affections over the line? Was he not good enough?

As little pieces of his self-esteem chipped away, Rowan moved onto his knees. Toby found a little smile through the thicket of worry; Rowan's hair was a masterpiece in itself and his eyes were widening at a rate that made him look cartoonish. Warmth spread through Toby like it always did when his thoughts lingered on his best mate. It calmed the waves of doubt, even though he knew that he would never, truly get what he wanted.

“And does he—” Rowan's voice was pitchy. Unsure. But what struck Toby the most was the way that he said 'he' - it meant that he didn't know that it was him. It put Toby in the clear once again. He wasn't as ridiculous as he thought. Not transparent. “Does he return your… affections?"

Toby choked. He really had no idea. None. Not a clue. He felt is eyebrows raise against, his smile widen just a fraction of an inch. Perhaps, thankfully, he hadn't damaged his friendship. They could go on like normal, in their own world of Rowan the Clueless and Toby the Haunted. It was a place where, albeit tiresome and pathetic, comfort reigned supreme. He could secretly be in love with Row and Row could be blissfully unaware of it. Who would want more? Who would want to ruin it?

The way that Rowan was staring at him, though, made his chest tighten. He had to answer the bloody question, of course. He couldn't just ignore it. Nor, unfortunately, could he take back what he said. So what to do? As he sat in silence in the wake of Rowan's question, his mind sprinted with the things he could say. Yes and no, but also the truth.

In the end, he settled on reaching his hand out to help Rowan off of the floor. It seemed like an eternity passed from the time that the boy was on the floor until he was sitting in the space next to Toby once again. It wasn't as light as it had been. There were expectations now. There were confessions wasting away from the seconds that ticked by. And Toby still hadn't released Rowan's hand.

"No." Toby shook his head sadly, choosing the truth. Or part of it. "The chances of him returning how I feel are small. He doesn't even know."

Taking a large, steadying breath, Toby then licked his lips and chewed on the bottom one. He didn't know what to say. If he said too much, Rowan would know... and the burden of his secret really began to bear down on him more. Watching Rowan watch him. Feeling the unrelenting, curious gaze. Those beautiful eyes waiting on him... waiting for more.

And Toby finally cracked a bit. He puffed his lips out. Took another deep breath. Tensed up. He couldn't believe he was going to do it. Finally, to tell Rowan just how he felt. Otherwise, it would ruin their friendship. They couldn't keep having nights like this. And Toby knew he could lose Rowan as a friend, but the way that he felt was already beginning to do that.

"I..." He felt a quake from in his stomach radiate outward and down to his toes. He hadn't lost his eye contact with Rowan... but it was taking all of his strength to maintain it now. "Rowan, I'm in love with-"

"Oi!" A pillow zoomed by his head, straight between his and Rowan's faces. He immediately turned to the sound of the voice, mouth closed and confessions of love lost in his throat. "It's 3 in the bloody morning! We're trying to sleep!"

And that was it. The moment was gone. It was like someone had doused him in cold water. Evaporating the need to tell Rowan. The need to keep their friendship always truthful. Rowan wasn't gay. He could never feel the same way. It was moot.

Whispering, trying to keep the devastation out of his tone, Toby dropped Rowan's hand. "Crikey, three in the morning. You better get some sleep, Row, otherwise tomorrow you'll huff and puff and blow the school down."
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Rowan Dougherty
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Rowan didn’t blaze through life. He sort of meandered his way along his destined path. He felt the full range of emotions, of course, but they never were to an extreme degree. There was no overwhelming joy and contentment, but then, there also wasn’t devastating heartbreak and sorrow. When he was angry, he raised his voice slightly; when he was amused, he chuckled lightly. He didn’t overreact. He simply was, easily overlooked, often mistaken for uncaring because he took the safe road through life.

But then he met Toby.

Toby cracked a joke, Rowan couldn’t help but let a bright burst of laughter escape.

Toby was insulted by some homophobic fool, Rowan’s fist clenched as he furiously took an intimidating step.

Toby smiled weakly through tears impossibly kept at bay, Rowan suffered and mourned and cried.

Somewhere in their friendship, Toby had become a part of him, irrevocably and inescapably. He made Rowan something more than just another gray form in a black and white, boxed world. He gave him color; he gave him life. He introduced him to circles and triangles and hexagons. Toby held his heart, nourished it, enlightened it, protected it. And Rowan gladly let him. But he never realized the implications, not until this moment, not when it felt like Toby was squeezing it in a tightening grip.

Toby was in love. Love was in Toby. No matter how he twisted it, he didn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand. Toby and love, love and Toby… it left no room for Rowan and misery, misery and Rowan.

Clarity. Clear and sharp as crystal. Rowan had expected to always be number one to Toby. The various boyfriends he had over the years had never been a cause for concern. They had always been number two. Rowan couldn’t compete with love. That number two spot was full of thorns and snakes, and a whole slew of other unpleasant organisms. Rowan couldn’t survive there, cold and numb, granted only glimpses of Toby’s glow.

He wanted Toby all to himself. If possible, that scared him more than Toby abandoning him for whichever bloke who had managed to capture Toby’s heart. And that was the dilemma, wasn’t it? Toby held Rowan’s heart, but Rowan had never tried to grasp his in turn. And now it was too late. Someone else had taken it first.

Did that mean he wanted to love Toby? Not in the platonic, brotherly way he already did, but in the passionate, heart-aching way of lovers? Surely not! He wasn’t gay. He didn’t fantasize about blokes; he didn’t become aroused by the sight of other boys. Some traitorous part of his mind pointed out that the same could be said of him and girls.

And Toby? He studied the other boy’s shadowed form in the dim light of the room. There was hardly a distinguishing feature to make out in the gloom, but Rowan had his mate’s appearance memorized. Coffee-colored locks, always mussed as though he had just rolled out of bed or walked a mile through a wind storm. Broad forehead, never creased by worried wrinkles. Full brows over bright emerald eyes, always glittering with warmth and mirth. A prominent nose hovering over thin lips that were permanently tilted upwards, spreading sometimes into a brilliant grin that dimpled his cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes. His lean torso, subtly muscled from years of practice with the History Buffs. The way the towel wrapped snugly around his narrow hips, sopping hair falling lazily into his laughing eyes as he stepped out of the shower…

What was he doing? What the fuck was he doing! He was checking out his best friend. He was checking out his gay best friend who had just informed him that he was in love with another gay boy. Rowan was not gay. But he was attracted to a man. No… no. He was observing Toby. Observing his features… his eyes, his hair, his silky skin which Rowan suspected was moisturized daily. There was just no way a boy could have skin that sinfully smooth.

He was doing it again. Oh hell and fuck and shit and any other swear word out there… twat sounded good too. He was sleep-deprived. That was all. Insomnia did strange things to the mind and body, and it was late. It was very late. It was so late that he had gone completely bonkers. More than talking to jumping sheep mental.

He needed to get a grip. And he needed to avert his stare from Toby’s smiling face to the bedcovers. The sheets were safe. The sheets didn’t glisten when they were wet.

And then Toby’s hand found his, guiding him to the bed, and his stomach lurched uncomfortably and his thoughts scattered abruptly…

“No,” the soft voice interrupted Rowan’s panic so violently, he nearly started. He had momentarily forgotten that he was in the middle of a conversation with his best mate, that the other boy was not, in fact a statue sitting on his bed. Distantly, Rowan remembered asking Toby a question. The contents of that question evaded him.

“The chances of him returning how I feel are small,” Toby continued helpfully, reminding Rowan of the previous inquiry. It caused a guilty relief to flow through Rowan, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. That wasn’t true. He knew exactly why, he was just too much of a coward to recognize how selfish he was. Then, on further reflection, Rowan wondered who couldn’t return Toby’s love. Everybody loved the sweet, humorous boy before him. That ended his relief.

“He doesn’t even know.”

Good, that self-serving voice wanted to say. Let’s keep it that way.

He rejected it almost immediately, slumping slightly in his seated position. Toby deserved happiness, and if he found that in another, then Rowan couldn’t possibly stop him from seeking it. The back of his mind was nagging him, insisting that there was something that Rowan needed to understand. Rowan was much too distracted in the sudden tensing of the atmosphere. Anticipation could almost be tasted in the air. His nerves stood on end, he leaned in expectantly, aware that something very monumental was about to happen. Toby was the source, his anxious posture, his forced breathing, the tightening of his hand around Rowan’s… gods, his hand is pleasantly warm…

“I…” he started, his eyes seeking Rowan’s, Rowan attempting a small, encouraging smile in answer, “Rowan, I’m in love with-”

His heart pounded in his chest, his lungs stopped taking in air, his eyes bore into the darkened spots where he knew Toby’s were…

“Oi!”

The moment shattered so completely, Rowan sat stunned for a moment, a sudden, severe sense of loss nearly causing him to punch the bed in frustration. It quickly transformed into anger, and that fury was quickly moved to the roommate whom had thrown a pillow.

“It’s 3 in the bloody morning! We’re trying to sleep!” Rowan may have audibly growled in response to this.

“Crikey, three in the morning,” Toby was saying, releasing his grasp on Rowan’s hand, adding to the abandonment. Rowan was searching for something to say, but it was all he could do to keep his thoughts from scrambling.

“You better get some sleep, Row, otherwise tomorrow you’ll huff and puff and blow the school down.”

A weak smile was all Rowan could muster in response to this statement. He wanted to reassure Toby, he wanted to… well honestly he wanted to shake the other boy until he no longer loved this mysterious student. He couldn’t do that.

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed instead, sighing as he moved up his bed once more. “We can continue tomorrow. I doubt you’ll fall out of love overnight,” he attempted to joke, but his quiet chuckle came out strained. If only Toby knew how much Rowan yearned for that to happen, he would have ended their friendship on the spot. Blimey, but this was a miserable pickle of a situation. The idea of Rowan sleeping now was laughable at best. He had many troublesome thoughts to sift through tonight, and he wanted to quiet that incessant internal pestering as soon as he possibly could. What could his mind be trying to tell him that was so damned important?

In an afterthought, he grabbed Toby’s upper arm, holding him by the bedside for a moment longer. He hesitated, licking his lips as he tried to form words to go along with his impromptu action.

“Toby,” he started, looking into his friend’s eyes and then away, striving to keep the ache from his voice, “whoever this guy is, I’m sure he… returns your affections.” And now he forced himself to meet Toby’s stare as his fingers pressed unconsciously into that supple skin, “He’d be a fool not to love you.”

A fool indeed.
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