Archive of Our Own ^beta

When I was five, I met a boy.

He was seven and we walked to school every day together, and we put our mats close together during nap time, and during play time we played tag and hide&seek, and laid in the grass pointing out clouds that looked like bunnies. I did at least, he enjoyed just trying to tickle me.

On Christmas, he came to my house in a lion onesie, bringing me a giraffe one. My mum made sugar cookies, which the boy and I stole dough from when she wasn’t looking.

He spent the night and the next morning we ran to the stockings hung by the fire, the whole house smelling like cinnamon and sugar. We opened presents by the tree, me getting a wind-up dinosaur toy, and him getting some tiny toy cars.

We had milk and cookies and played with our toys together.

~

When I was ten, people started to bully me.

I was more flamboyant than the other boys who wanted to play kickball, and football, and other sports.

As much as people made fun of me, the boy was always there. He stayed by my side. Though, people liked him more than me. He was good at football, while I couldn’t stand on my own two feet. He was also 12, so people knew him better.

People called me gay, but I didn’t know what that was, so they laughed at me more.

When Christmas Eve came, the boy and I played in the snow, throwing snowballs, and building snowmen. When I said we should make snow angels, he told me I was the only angel he needed, but we made them anyway.

When he told me I was an angel, it made me feel weird. It made me feel different. I had known we were best friends, so I always felt strongly about him, but it made me feel different towards him than I usually felt towards him.

I thought about it the entire night, even though I knew I needed to sleep for Christmas in the morning. Mum would have things for us to do, but I couldn’t make my brain shut up.

I turned to look at him and he was fast asleep. Understandable, since it was almost midnight. I sighed and turned to go to sleep myself, though I wished we could be closer somehow.

In the morning, we went downstairs, both of us excited. My mum sat with us while we opened presents and I knew she could tell something was off.

I turned to the boy, who I let open his present first. He looked like a mess in his monkey PJ’s, tearing at his gift. He got a stomp rocket, which made a weird rocket like thing blow into the air based on how hard he stomped on the pump.

The boy then looked over at me, excited for me to open my gift, which I assumed was from him. I just look at him confused before pulling out a scooby doo onesie. Of course.

I grinned at him and tackled him to the ground, hugging him tight. We laugh and just lay on the ground, tangled up in each other.

~

When I was 15, I fell for my best friend.

I wasn’t sure when I felt it the first time, but then I just knew.

The way I found out wasn’t the happiest way, though. There were two ways that I found out.

The first way is when he told me he was leaving. He was going to Uni after he graduated, and he was going to leave me. I knew it was going to happen, but now we were there and he was going to just leave. To say I started crying would be an understatement. I left up to my room, even though he protested, and I just cried.

The second way I found out, was when I walked in on him with a girl doing, well, adult things. Which he’s completely allowed to do. I had no reason to be mad at him, but I was. I felt like total shit. I don’t know what I hoped would happen. Maybe I thought he would be gay, or that he would have some interest in me, but then there he was.

I had come over to surprise him. I thought we could have a guys night, and cuddle and watch movies since his parents weren’t home, but then I walked in and there they were.

I knew the moment I walked in that he knew I was there. I walked in and his eyes flashed at me and… He felt bad. I could tell. He looked at me and I saw it in his eyes. The girl was mad and just wanted to continue. I nodded slowly at them and walked away, leaving.

It was a solid two days until I talked to him. That was the longest we had gone without talking since we met. Ten years of talking every day, and I couldn’t even look at him. He kept telling me that I had no reason to be mad and that he didn’t understand why I was angry.

When Christmas came around, we didn’t have Christmas together. He turned 18 and went drinking with his friends, leaving me, his boring 15-year-old friend. I was just a kid to him.

I didn’t properly talk to him until a week before he was leaving. I was 16, but he still saw me as a kid. His stupid kid friend.

We looked at each other and I cried. I don’t remember if he did, but he hugged me, so that’s ok.

And then he was gone.

And I was alone.

~

Now I’m 20, and I have a job, a life. He’s gone, and he’s never bothered to contact me.

He didn’t care about me, so I didn’t care about him. I stopped thinking about him when I graduated and started a job.

I got my dream job, and he doesn’t matter. I’m finally happy. I have everything I want. I’ve made friends, and I’ve made something out of myself.

It was Christmas Eve. His birthday. I stopped sending him birthday messages when I turned 17, and he never sent me one. So I just stopped trying.