#implied rayvin

It's 3 a.m. You should be asleep. 

You should not be sitting on your couch, locking and unlocking your phone. Every time the screen lights up you read his name, and you wonder if it would be such a terrible idea to call. You think it might not be. Wasn't he supposed to be in love with you? Since when do feelings just disappear?

(They certainly don't appear over night. Except for you, right? At least, that's what you tell yourself.)

Lock. Unlock.

Gavin.

No. You won't call him. You refuse. He made his fucking decision and you don't even care anyway. I'm sorry. Yeah, right. If he was so fucking sorry he wouldn't have spent the night at Ray's. They would have talked about their feelings, sure. And they probably would have done those stupid little half kisses that don't count for anything but affection.

(You hate those and you hate him and most of all you hate how you used to smile when he did that.)

But he wouldn't have spent the fucking night there. If it's so damn hard to choose how could he think about sleeping with Ray when he's not supposed to know where he wants to be? He's not sorry. He chose Ray over you. Never in a thousand years did you think he would.

(To be fair, you're the one who gave him the goddamn ultimatum. Without it you could call him now and not feel guilty.)

(But you can't.)

He was supposed to love you. He was never supposed to say it, never think that it could be returned. You're supposed to be able to call him up and bring him home and let everything feel good for awhile. He's supposed to be your safety net for small jumps, and your air mattress for the bigger ones. You're supposed to be able to count on him.

He's supposed to care.

(You weren't supposed to. Guess nobody really fulfilled their roles.)

It's 3:30 a.m. You should be asleep.

You should not be laying in your bed, tossing and turning. You should not be thinking that maybe you'd be able to sleep if Gavin were there beside you. He's never actually slept in your bed and tonight you wish he had. It'd be something.

You try not to think about the fact that if you had a fucking heart to be begin with, he probably would have. And of course, it would have been good. Its only your fault that it never happened that way.

(It's all always been your fucking fault)

You still have your phone. Lock. Unlock. Send. One ring, two.

"Hello?"

"Gavin. I fucked up. I didn't- I just- Gavin."

"Michael. Yeah, you did."

Rustling, the phone being handed off. Or forcibly taken, same difference. Ray's voice this time. "Goodnight, Michael."

Beep. Call ended. Fuck.

You think about calling back, but how pathetic are you trying to be tonight? It shouldn't even matter. You don't care. You never did. Gavin was just a thing that happened. You weren't prepared when it stopped. Not out of any feelings, just because it was sudden. That's all.

(You're a terrible liar.)

It's 4 a.m. You are asleep. You didn't fall asleep in the fetal position. You were not staring at your phone, willing it to ring. You don't dream that the whole thing never happened. You don't dream that Gavin was with you instead of Ray. You don't dream that you told him the fucking truth.

 You don't wake up three hours later, roll over, and are not surprised when you're alone. You've always woken up alone. It shouldn't be a big deal.

But it is.

Fuck.