Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > I Want to Kiss You on the Mouth and Tell You I'm Your Biggest Fan

In 'N Out burger

by rainbowsprinkles08 7 Reviews

This one is dedicated to Kitkatpwl and xSoMeOnEx (AKA the most amazing person ever) because they reviewed the last one! and thats why I updated so soon XD

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: R - Genres: Angst,Drama,Humor - Characters:  - Published: 2007/12/26 - Updated: 2007/12/27 - 936 words

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Chew.

This is what I watch my best friend do across the table. The In N Out burger down the street from our neighborhood is greasy and poorly lit, yet somehow still comforting.

I comment on how he should chew with his mouth closed. I don’t like “see food.” Haha.

In reply he sticks out his tongue and shows me everything he’s been shoving in. I throw a fry at him; he dodges it.

Its better, today, than yesterday. Last night I wrote for hours. Spencer IMed me, apologizing for the way he’d been acting. As always, we forgave each other. Nothing overblown or soul bearing or worthy of tears. Just…back to normal or close to normal anyway.

Now we’re talking about the last couple of days. I tell him about my encounter with Him, and he laughs, tells me He’s just a friendly kid by nature.

For some reason this makes me kind of angry. I wonder what I’d have wanted instead- a hopeless recluse? A shy freak? Position filled, thanks.

I want to explain it to Spencer. I think of something stereotypical- magnets, opposites. All that made-for-TV attraction crap- but I can’t bring myself to say it.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, and it’s still a little louder than it used to be. I watch him eating again, this time with nostalgia- we’ve come here so often, at the counter they know us by name. Spencer gets the same thing every time. I smile; he catches me and suddenly we’re both grinning. The greasy joint feels a little more like home again.

Then the door swings open and my smile fall off and smashes on the floor like a porcelain mask.

It’s Him. Floating in like a celebrity, entourage in tow. I can feel Spencer’s eyes glued to him, judging him. I grimace, shut my eyes, hear his laughter bubbling through the suddenly stifling air.

He’s ordering, throwing in random Spanish words to confuse the underage Assistant Manager.

Is he drunk? My eyes are glued to his back as he orders, striking a pose, laughing. No- he’s not staggering or slurring. Just entertaining.

I want to look away. I take one of Spencer’s soggy fried and cram it in, just for something to do, but my eyes drift.

Now he’s stretched out, slung across a booth, still talking a mile a minute.

His eyes…I feel sick.

His friends are getting up, collectively shuffling towards the door. He waves them on.

He’s… oh, god. He’s looking at me.

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

My stomach feels like a fucking tempest.

I’m blushing, shaking, staring down- and Spencer’s getting up to leave.

I say Spencer’s name trying to tell him with my eyes, begging him not to go. To keep me afloat.

He’s smiling, and it’s a sad smile, like he knows he’s not part of this, that he’ll never be. He looks at me, telling me this is mine, and mine alone to deal with. And he’s gone.

It’s me and Him, separated by a sea of empty plastic chairs.

I look down at the table. I can’t look at him. Maybe if I don’t look at him, he won’t look at me. I stare at the table, realizing that Spencer left his fries.

He can’t stay with me, but he will leave me his fries? I mentally curse him, leaving a noting to take some revenge later.

I take up a fry and observe it, looking at the slight green color, the greasy crispiness.

I try not to count the footsteps I hear getting closer.

I feel the table move slightly as he lowers his body in to the seat across from me. I hear him greet me and all I can do is blush in response.

We sit there in silence for what feels like an eternity.

Then he asks what’s up with me.

I smile, trying to give myself courage to lift my head and look at him in the face. I fail. I can only continue to stare at the fried, cut potato in my hand.

Suddenly there is a third hand in my line of sight. My face scrunches in confusion as the hand takes my fry. Then it dawns that it’s His hand that is brushing over mine, taking away my distraction.

He begins to ask me what I find so intriguing about that particular fry. I shrug in response, not knowing what to say, or if I even have the voice to say it.

Out of the blue, I feel something under my chin, pulling my face upwards. I realize that it’s his hand, his arm extended over the table to hold my face, my face. My eyes meet his for the first time today and I’m lost in them. Staring into those eyes, I hear his voice ring through my ears, loud and clear. It’s as if his eyes some how make things crystal clear, magnify his voice.

“You don’t talk much do you?”

I stare at him, falling into the chocolate pools, drowning.

I blink and choke out a negative response.

Then I vaguely hear his name off in the distance and the connection is broken, the moment gone.

I notice his hand is still holding my face towards his. His thumbs brushes along my jaw, light as a butterfly.

And with that he leaves me-again.
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