Addicted [BoyxBoy]

2 A.M.

BUZZZZZZ.

BUZZZZZZ.

BUZZZZZZ.

My phone vibrated with intensity, but I was reluctant to answer it. I could still claim that I was asleep; it was two in the morning. Then again, who really calls me? I had a feeling as to who it was, though. I shifted in my bed to see the caller ID.

My assumptions were correct.

I made a split-second decision and picked up the phone from the bedside table.

"Hello?" I answered, my voice still a bit groggy.

"Hey, how's my favorite faggot?"

Bobby and his terms of endearment.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" I retort, not letting my drowsiness affect my authority.

"You know I never listen to you," he quickly says back, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

I shake my head, sighing. "Why are you calling me at two in the morning?" I asked, a little annoyed but otherwise okay. He did it a lot.

"Just wanted to hear your voice," he said excitedly, like a little kid talking to his older sibling. Like he purposely wanted to annoy the crap out of me.

"Yeah, right," I mumbled, "What's really bothering you?"

"Nothing, I just really missed you," he said with a little bit more seriousness. The kind of switch in tone that you can only get from Bobby Barr.

Bobby was a long time friend of mine who moved to Sacramento a few months back, and we'd been staying in touch since then. He randomly called me one night and it turned into a daily thing. He pisses me off a lot, sure, but we've been through too much to drop each other. So, we talk. He talks about his problems and I listen. I don't say much about my life, though, which bugs him. But I see no point in talking about my problems; there are never any solutions. At this point, we hadn't been talking for a while, and to get a call from him was actually pretty exciting.

"You missed me?" I ask, sarcasm lining my voice, "Bobby, go to bed, you're too gay when you're tired."

He chuckles and says, "Yeah, but who cares? I'm lonely."

I never know what to say to this guy.

"Stop being gay, it freaks me out," I sort of whine. He likes to make me uncomfortable and it has made for quite a few interesting conversations.

"Come on, you like it, makes you feel like you have a chance."

You have no idea, I think.

I sigh once more before saying, "So, what's up?"

"Well I actually called to tell you something," he said quietly.

"Oh goodie!" I exclaim with mock excitement, "Another sex story!"

Bobby was a man-whore. No use sugarcoating it; he admitted it himself.

"No," he scoffed, "I actually called to say I'll be back in LA for a few weeks."

I immediately sat up. "Oh," I responded, masking my worry.

There was a long pause before he said, "I thought that'd elicit a more positive response."

"No, no, that's great," I played it off, "But I just think you're coming for all the wrong reasons."

"You mean 'She Who Must Not Be Named'?" he chuckled over the line, creating a puff of static that tickled my ear.

He had a long, drawn-out history with a mutual friend of ours, Megan. They were poison to each other, yet they couldn't seem to stay away from one another for too long. I made the assumption that he was heading back just to see her. . .and possibly start something he couldn't finish.

"You know, I thought about that," Bobby mused, obviously catching my drift, "But I decided that would be unwise."

"Glad you're using that brain of yours," I chuckled lightly. He never gave himself credit for anything, including being very intelligent.

He laughed a little before saying, "Yeah, plus, I kind of have a girlfriend."

There was a tiny twinge of jealousy deep in the pit of my stomach, but I immediately pushed it back. I didn't need my feelings for him fucking anything up.

"That's awesome, who is she?" I asked with genuine interest.

He sighed on the other end before saying, "Her name's Lily, and she's about to be a freshman in college."

I smacked my forehead with the palm of my hand. "Bobby," I breathed, "You're about to be a senior in high school. There's a law against this kind of crap."

"That's if we've had sex."

"Did you have sex with her?" I asked, uncovering my face.

There was silence for a short amount of time before he said, "Well, yeah, but we don't need to talk about that."

I sighed. "Whatever, your life."

He laughed before asking, "Is my favorite faggot jealous?"

"No," I said rather quickly. I was glad that I was only on the phone with him and he couldn't see the flush in my cheeks.

"Yeah, alright, I can practically taste your denial."

"Must be licking yourself, with your closeted gayness," I retorted, not letting him push me in a corner. He liked to do that.

"If I were licking myself," he said, his tone more suggestive than before, "you would know."

"Okay enough with the sex talk!" I hissed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Fine," he whined. I imagined a pout on his face, his big blue eyes looking more childish than they should.

"I really need to sleep," I took a deep breath, running a hand through my hair, "I have an art class to teach tomorrow."

"You teach an art class?" he asked, a little surprised.

"Well, not exactly. I'm a teacher's assistant, but sometimes I step in when Mr. Patterson wants to work on personal projects."

"Ah. Okay," he said quietly, "Well, have a goodnight, my favorite faggot."

"Shut up, asshole," I snapped back, a smile on my lips.

"You love it," he chuckled before hanging up.

I sat there, the phone still at my ear. I placed it back on the bedside table, and flopped down on my bed.

Maybe, I thought, but I also might love you.