Work Text:
Dear Ryan Ross,
How to tell you this in person?
I won’t. I shouldn’t. I can’t.
You’re sleeping on my couch again. A fitful dream woke you in the middle of the night, and you came here? I’m surprised, but not in the way that you think. I’m surprised in how that I’m not.
It wasn’t the first time that you had a fight with the one that I know you want. I’m not blind. I could see it in your eyes, how you look at him. I see it in his eyes, too. Actually, everyone sees the way he looks at you. There’s no secret how he feels about you. What is a secret is how I came to feel about you. Fuck, that’s sappy. See? See how you make me feel?
I don’t understand how I came to like love want you so much. It’s stupid, really.
People think you’re HOT or HAWT, or however way those fangirls spell it. I don’t see it, to be honest. To be completely honest, I think you are too skinny, too bony and your arms are too long. In fact, your whole body seems to be freakishly long. I think your head is much too big for your body, or sometimes I think it looks much too small. You are impossible. You think you own the world. You act like a fucking, fucking... I don’t know, but just know, I hate it. And I hate your hair, it’s stupid, but it's soft. I like soft.
You’re a contradiction.
You’re beautiful. Some people don’t see this. Maybe they don’t want to. Maybe they’re jealous. Or they don’t know what beautiful is. I know what beautiful is. Beautiful is in the way that you crinkle your nose when you’re upset or in the way that you brush your hair away from your face when you’re nervous, or when you rub your neck when you’re annoyed. Beautiful is your smile. Your eyes are beautiful, they see things that nobody else sees and perhaps some things nobody should have to see and yet, you don’t share this. You don’t tell anyone because you don’t want to burden anybody. You are selfless, that’s beautiful.
Also, about your eyes, they’re this shade of brown, what is that? Honey? Maple syrup? Well, whatever color your eyes, I think they’re beautiful.
You really are hot, you know? Yeah, I lied earlier. So what? You won’t find out anyway. This is my secret. I secretly want to hold your body close to mine. Whenever you are near, I could always feel your heat. How is it that your body radiates such warmth and yet, you never sweat?
What’s really hot is your hips. Men shouldn’t have hips like yours. Your hips are sin, tempting me away from thoughts of ladies and into a web of obsession over your damn hips. I’ve already memorized the curve that peeks above the waistband of your jeans that I wish you would wear more often. When you do wear them though, I pray that you don’t stretch or lean over or do anything that would expose those sinfully gorgeous curves because it’s literal hell trying to remember that I can’t touch.
Adding to the list, you’re smart. I’ve never met anyone else like you, the way that you can make anyone else seem inferior. I know you don’t do this deliberately, I don’t even think that you know what kind of effect you have on people. It’s a scary thought; this is why I think that you have this power of possibly owning the world. Is that too much? Maybe. Maybe not.
You’re funny too, and I love that you don’t give a damn what other people think.
Someone else has your heart, even if you don’t realize it. That someone else, I feel for him. Sometimes I think it must be harder for him because everyone knows. But then I think that I have it more difficult, you see, because nobody knows. Nobody knows. And they can’t ever find out, especially you. There are some things that can’t happen. We can’t happen.
What will happen though… I’ll fold this letter and eventually burn it in a fire that you will make sometime today. I will continue to watch you sleep. I’ll watch you breathe. I’ll hold my breath when I see you stir and I’ll look away, only to turn back to see you settle again. And when you do wake, I’ll laugh as you blink your eyes and I’ll take a picture, hopefully, capturing the crinkle of your nose as you try to get a hold of your surroundings and mutter to yourself how annoying I am for always taking so many damn pictures of you. You think I do it to annoy you. The secret though, it is because I can’t help it. I think you’re beautiful and I may possibly be falling for you and all I can do is capture these moments I have with you.
You’ll eventually smile or hit me with a pillow, either way, I’ll offer a hand to help you up or I’ll sit next to you and smile because I’m your friend. And perhaps being your friend is enough, well, regardless, that’s what I tell myself.
Love,
Jon Walker
P.S. Your breathing hitched just now, are you awake?