The problem with most tall straight girls who were cute was that they were most likely already taken by guys who watched football and played video games. Amelia was one of those girls. She had cheeks that rosed over when she got too cold, and her quirky hair was soft enough to run your hands through when she was asleep on your shoulder. We were best friends, her and I, to the point where we slept in the same bed during sleepovers. I loved watching her eyelashes when she laughed, and her curves when she wore jeans. It took every ounce of willpower for me not to wrap my arms around her and kiss her when she sang out of tune to her favorite song. I was in love with my best friend Amelia Jones, but all she looked up on the internet was semi-muscular guys and 30 year old actors with beards.

It almost seemed that Arthur was completely against anything having to do with a football player like me. He wore studded leather jackets, had his ears stretched and wore heavy boots that girl's wouldn't even wear. Last year he dyed his hair green after a girl with lip gloss asked if it was natural, and he also stopped talking to people after being called a fag by my friend in the boys locker room. Two days after that I tried to wave at him on my way to English, but a girl with a short skirt waved back instead and Arthur kept his head straight. Another time I purposefully sat next to him in science, just so we could be lab partners, but the teacher scolded me and pointed at my original seat. I had once even ignored the overcrowded lunch table of the jocks and prep girls just to sit across from him, but he had glared at me and left me to sit alone. I'm not sure why I cared so much, but I honestly thought he hated me. Seeing me as just another annoying jock. But as I walked by the janitor's closet that day, he quickly pulled me in, handing me a box of oreos. It was pitch black except for the light on my phone, and we could only hear muffled chatter from outside in the hallways. "You're Alfred Jones right?" He pulled out a carton of cigarettes and I nodded. I could see the dark outline of him smiling at this, and I remember asking myself how we are going to get out of this fucking closet without getting caught.

Arthur and I were at some house party where they were playing some Green Day song on the stereo speakers. I had promised the football team I'd show up, but it was my first house party and I didn't want to go alone, so I convinced Arthur (Which involved me doing his math homework for the next two months) to tag along with me. As soon as we walked in my football friends crowded around us, too drunk already to remind themselves that they normally hated Arthur. We followed them downstairs to the basement passing by two girls making out and a guy sleeping with a bottle of vodka (I think?) in his hand. We had stayed down there for a while, they were drinking as we played fooseball which Arthur was pretty good at. Aftee an hour or so Arthur started getting bad, but this happened to him normally. He gets these heart palpitations and paces around too much, so as soon as I noticed I grabbed his hand and took him upstairs to the bathroom. I locked the door and we sat across from each other in the tub. I don't know why, but bathrooms seemed to help calm him when he got like this. I leaned my head against the cold, still wet tile and played with his shoelaces. "You feel better?" I asked looking at his shoes. "A little." He rubbed his right arm. "It's been getting worse lately though, ever since my dad left." I didn't reply, and after a few minutes we started talking up again; this time getting into a argument about how much maple syrup to put on a waffle. My first house party was my freshman year, and I didn't even get drunk. All I did was sit in a cold bathtub with my best friend Arthur while listening to punk ska music from the living room and glasses breaking. I wasn't in love with him at the time, but I knew then that I wouldn't fall asleep in someone's bathroom with anyone else but him.

I had grown far too familiar with airports far too fast. It wasn't until I was 15 that I first went on a plane, that time my family was going to Canada to visit my cousin and his new girlfriend who was surprisingly pretty and put up with Matthew's hockey player attitude. I was 16 the second time I sat in those uncomfortable airport seats when I met my best friend Arthur face to face. We had been shy friends on tumblr at first, and then had grown to having extremely loud debates about cereal packaging on skype at 2 am. When he first told me he bought a ticket to New York, I couldn't stop smiling. That was also the first time I willingly cleaned my room, and payed for my own haircut. Arthur tapped on my shoulder at the airport and smirked, and I crushed him into a loving and painful hug. It was really only the start of sleeping in the car on the way home and reassuring goodbyes, and not to mention also those crazy stories about having the security check point taking our apple juices or getting stuck there for 4 hours because of yet another New York snowstorm.

That's pretty much most of the random drabbles I have so far. I'm working on maybe actually writing a fic, so hopefully I'll be able to do that! Thanks for reading!