Page 17 of Crybaby
“You know, your Russian jokes are getting old.”
“Youold.”
Jason snorted, shaking his head, before shovelling some of the food into his face. “Urgh, this is good.”
“I know,” Sasha replied. Jason rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but smile.
Jason wondered if it was weird that it wasn’t weirder between them. There was a part of his mind that was screaming ‘What the fuck?’ very, very loudly, but it was disturbingly easy to ignore. It was as if his body knew Sasha too well to react any other way. Still, his conscience wouldn’t stop nagging him about the way he’d reacted to Sasha’s tear-stained face. Had he somehow engineered Sasha’s first time with a guy to fulfil Jason’s own fantasies? Because that would be beyond fucked up.
“Uh…so…about last night,” Jason started.
Sasha rolled his eyes. “Of course, talking,” he muttered.
Jason ignored him. “Sorry if I got a little carried away.”
Sasha looked at him strangely. “Good sex get carried away. What, first time have good sex?”
Now it was Jason’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, sure, buddy. Whatever makes you feel better.”
Sasha snorted, shaking his head. There was a pause as they finished their food, but Jason just had to keep poking at the wound.
“I didn’t know you wanted…that…from me. I mean, was it, like, a spur-of-the-moment thing, or…?”
For the first time that morning, Sasha actually looked awkward, eyes flitting away. “You friend…thought, you know. Trust you.”
Something warm and painful tightened his chest. “I’m glad. I mean, I totally get that. I mean, if you ever wanted to do it again, we could, you know. Until you find your feet or whatever.”Wait, what?What the fuck had he just said? Had he seriously propositioned a fuck-buddies relationship with his best friend whom he was in love with?
Fuck his whole entire life.
Sasha looked at him, eyebrows raised. “You help?”
“I mean, it’s not like the first time was a hardship,” his stupid mouth said. If there had been a little cartoon man in his brain, he’d have thrown his papers in the air and sat down in defeat.
Sasha, oblivious to Jason’s internal freak-out, smirked. “Last night, good for you?”
“Stop fishing for compliments.”
Sasha shook his head. “This is why you not have boyfriend. Not romantic at all.”
“Sure, buddy. Next time, I’ll write a poem about your dick when we’re done.”
“Yes, perfect.”
Jason had thought they’d done all the talking for the day, and he’d be able to blissfully forget the mess he had gotten himself into until the next time they had sex—if that indeed happened—but Sasha, Mr. I-Don’t-Need-to-Talk-About-Anything, brought it up again as they sat side by side on the couch, controllers in hand, killing things messily on the TV screen.
“So, what you like, then?” Sasha asked.
“What? Don’t distract me.”
“You love talk, now you can’t talk?”
“What are you even talking about, like about what? The game?”
“No, in bed. What you like?”
“Urgh, can we not…you’re just trying to distract—fuck.” His side of the screen splattered with blood, the annoying ‘You Died’ scribbled in the mess. “See? Fuck you, I was actually doing well this time.”
“No, you suck like always.”
