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You can do this.
You know you can, you’ve done harder things, you’ve put up with his sorry ass for five months, so this should be easy.
No problem.
You’re not terrified of rejection or anything.
Okay, no, that’s stupid, try to rationalize this. What happens if you get rejected? He’s a calm troll, the worst that’ll happen is he’ll just say “sorry motherfucker, I like livin’ on my own,” and that’ll be the end of it.
No big deal.
Right?
Right.
Somehow it’s still hard to ignore that nagging thought of how much it will hurt when he tells you he doesn’t like you enough to want to live with you.
So you just have to convince him.
You know that when he’s tired, he’ll agree to anything. But that’s not what you want—you don’t want him to wake up and realize he’s made a mistake, because…
Well, because that’s even worse than him outright saying no.
You want him in a good mood, and you want him to know why you want this. The setting needs to be right.
Images of walking him into a high-ceilinged room covered in flower petals and dramatic music come to mind, but that’s just… stupid.
God that’s so stupid, why did that even come to mind.
Holy shit that’s monumentally stupid.
Okay, so, clearly, you need to tone down your thoughts a little.
Just… have him over at your house, for starters. You can sit him down somewhere; take his hand. Tell him how important he is and how much better you feel when he’s around. Tell him you always want him to be around.
Twenty minutes later, you’ve revised your speech enough to be satisfied.
You pick up your phone to call him but—no. It’s too early.
No, maybe… tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow.
Nine in the morning tomorrow. You’ll call him. You promise yourself, you set an alarm, and then you make the revision that if he calls first you’ll invite him over then instead of waiting.
You can do this.
No problem.
-
It is 8:32 the next morning and you are fairly certain you can do this. You were going to eat breakfast but instead you just sit and stare at the phone in your hand, because you feel a little sick.
-
It is 8:46 and you are a little doubtful, but you told yourself you would do this. You are watching TV to calm your nerves.
-
It is 8:59 and you think maybe you shouldn’t do this after all.
He’ll probably say no. He’s also probably a terrible housemate, and he’ll probably eat all your chocolate, and he’ll forget to pay the bills or do his laundry. You’ll get annoyed with him and he’ll get sick of you and then he’ll break up with you.
By the time the clock flips over to 9:00, you’ve made up your mind.
You set down your phone.
You get down from the counter you’d been sitting on.
You had every intention to go shuffling back to your room, but the phone rings as you’re landing—you lose balance in your surprise and your head collides with the handle of the fridge.
Begrudgingly, rubbing your head and groaning, you answer the phone.
“What.”
“Hey my man, can a motherfucker come over for a little lunch date?”
You think your heart stops a little.
“Uh.” You re-reconsider. After a moment of thought, you take a deep breath and decide that… it probably wouldn’t hurt to ask. “Yeah. Yeah sure.”
At least it’s lunch, so you’ll have plenty of time to—
“Great, I’ll see you in a few.”
Your mouth is still gaping in shock and you haven’t even put together a “wait no” in your brain before he hangs up.
Oh no.
Oh no no no no no.
Nothing’s right, you’re not ready—shit, okay, calm down, he lives a few blocks away! You can get things put together before he shows up, right?
The door opens.
“Haha, oh man, I got you! I totally got you. You thought I meant a few minutes, but I meant a few seconds, ‘cause I was just all up and walkin’ outside when I passed by here and thought, oh, hey, I should go bug my best friend, go and buzz up in his face like a motherfuckin’ fly, but I should call him first so he doesn’t go all batshit and flip a tit, haha, am I right?”
He’s still grinning at you by the time he walks up to you. He must be misinterpreting your look of abject horror as a face of temporary surprise, because he laughs again.
“Yeah, I totally got you,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and wanders off into the living room again.
Okay.
You can still take control of the situation.
You can handle this.
You can do this, you know you can.
“Hey, sit down.” He turns, halfway to sitting down anyway, and then makes an exaggerated motion of it. “Thank you.” You follow him.
You sit.
You turn to face him, and you look up at him as he holds the remote up to the TV.
“Man I am so up for some Animal Planet, how about you?”
You go to touch his hand but he moves, stretching his arms far enough above his head that you accidentally graze his exposed side.
He jumps.
“Shit, your hands are cold.”
“Sorry,” you mumble, and he brings his arms back down with a laugh.
“Ain’t no big thing, you just startled a bro.”
“Uh. Gamzee.”
“Yeah?” He looks at you, and then back at the TV. “Want me to change the channel? I know the stuff with the lions squicks you out.”
“No, I don’t—”
“Oh, okay, I’ll leave it then.”
You’re silent for a moment.
You’re not really sure how to salvage this situation.
The next time he speaks it startles you. “Hey, you want some food?” He’s starting to stand, and he’s looking down at you, and you’re pretty sure you intended to say “yeah, make me a ham sandwich,” but what came out of your mouth was
“I think we should move in together.”
Your face is burning and your stomach is doing weird things and he’s just sort of
Staring at you
And then he
sort of
smiles
And keeps walking.
“Alrighty then.”
You are half relieved and half ready to kill him.