The Holt Conundrum

third march

It's March and our documentary is finally out. It doesn't create a lot of wave. People in the business sort of notice it and it's getting good reviews, but not a lot of people bother to actually watch it. The people that do all love it though. I try to find comfort in that, but it just feels like I've wasted months doing something that'll just get lost.

Maybe I'm asking too much out of life. Maybe I should be content with what I already have. It just feels like nothing I do will ever truly satisfy me.

Our friends at the web newspaper throw a party for Keith and me, to celebrate the documentary. It's nice that they're happy for us, but I don't feel like celebrating, so I leave early.

I drag my feet to my room in my dark apartment and I'm about to let myself fall on my bed, but someone is already there.

"What the fuck," I squeal ready to fight whoever's there. Let's be honest though, I'm good at insulting people, but actually fighting would probably be disastrous.

And Holt is saying, "Oh shit, sorry," and I'm glad I won't have to actually fight anyone.

Also, what the actual... "Holt?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, sitting up.

"What are you doing in my bed?" I ask, freaking out.

What's this? Is this some kind of cruel joke?

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't think you were coming back tonight and I forgot to put my bed sheets in the dryer and it was late and I didn't want to wake our neighbours so I figured you wouldn't mind."

Only Holt could be saying stupid shit like this and for it to actual make sense. God damn Holt. "Did you wash all of your bed sheets at the same time?"

"I only have one set," he admits.

Sometimes he says these little things, these small insignificant things and he breaks my fucking heart. I could tell him that I have a few changing set in my wardrobe. I could tell him that. But there's no way I am.

Instead I just say, "move, that's my side of the bed."

"Sorry," he repeats but complies.

"Whatever, but you only have yourself to blame if I cuddle you," I grumble.

"Hashtag MeToo," he snorts and I punch him. "How was the party? I thought you'd be partying all night."

I sigh. "It was fine, I just didn't feel like it."

"You're not as happy as you should be."

I snort. Yeah, I definitely am not. And I should be. Right now I should be over the frikkin' moon with Holt in my bed. But I just feel kind of empty. "How happy should I be?"

"A lot more than you are now."

I sigh, running a hand over my face. "I don't know, I guess after working so hard for something it sucks that it's not getting the recognition I wanted it to have."

"Are you happy with it? Are you proud of it?"

"Absolutely," I admit. And that's what sucks. I actually thought something would come out of it. I was so proud of what we had created but it'll be swept under the rug in no time. It sucks.

"Well then, that's all that should really matter. Do you realize how awesome what you did is?"

"Kind of."

"Eliah, sometimes I don't understand you."

I roll my eyes for my own benefit. "Sometimes?"

"I mean, you're always on my back about being more positive and doing things that make me happy and trying to get me out of my shell, but you don't follow your own advice."

"Those that can't, teach," I tell him. It's easier to tell people to get their life together, but it's a whole other thing to do it for yourself.

"You're always saying that you're fabulous, but you know you actually are right, and not just in a pejorative way. In the you're a very amazing human being way."

I clench my fists under the cover. "Careful, you saying that stuff to me in my bed in the middle of the night, it totally counts as coming on to me."

Holt isn't affected. "You've also notice that you do that often? Revert to humour when someone is talking about more sensible things with you."

"Keep this up and I'll send you back to your own bed," I mumble. He's an overly joyful puppy. He shouldn't notice these things about me. He shouldn't know. But he does. Of course he does. Because he's Holt, my Holt.

"Your documentary not being popular is not a reflection of your personal worth. It's just circumstances. You're not worth less because you didn't become an instant hit. You have to know that Eliah..."

I want to kiss him. To shut him up, because what he's saying hits home. Because what he's saying is hitting home. Because I love him. Because I thought I knew love before, that it implied a more physical relationship. Because I was wrong and even if I'll never actually get to kiss him, I'll always love Holt.

Because even when I try to run away from him, even when I think I'll be able to move on from him, the truth is, you don't run away from love when it's real. You can ignore it, but it's not going anywhere.

And that's okay. At least I think it is now. After seeing all these people getting their lives destroyed because of one misplaced word in an article or some small misunderstanding, it puts things in perspective. Holt might never love me the way I love him, but he's a part of my life and I should be grateful for it. Loving someone shouldn't just be about kissing them or having sex with them. I should stop focusing on what I'll never have with Holt and be grateful for what I do have.

Holt is my best friend. He's one of the most important people in my life. And clearly, he knows me better than most.

It's time I stop taking it for granted.