Oh man. Finally the next chapter. Don't kill me, but I've actually had it done since the day after the first one was posted. Problem was, I had a lot of life problems, and so I was having a hard time finding the motivation to proof read. It's a difficult task for me because I am the master of autocorrecting, even when reading out loud. So yeahhhh. Here ya go!

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Fluoxetine. Prozac. That's the pill I popped this morning. I wasn't even slightly happy by the idea, but considering I was sitting at the breakfast table, feeling too… something to eat, with my mother expectantly staring at me, I took my glass of water and resigned myself to my fate.

School had gone by as it usually does: I stared blankly in class and scribbled down notes, holed myself up in the hallway during lunch and doodled away instead of eating, and trudged through the rest of my classes, only really half aware of what was going on around me. I just sort of had my head in the clouds all day. I didn't really feel any side effects from the medicine, other than a more intense loss of appetite than I have already, so to be honest, I was feeling pretty hopeful about the situation. That is, until I remembered that when it comes to me and medicine, I am one of those people who need to take it regularly for a few days before anything really starts happening. So, my fingers are constantly mentally crossed that this medicine will somehow find a way to only be helpful to me, rather than harmful.

I had taken the time earlier today when I got home from school to look up the medication online. It said that, typically, people who are being treated for OCD or depression start off on only 20mg a day. I'm taking 40mg. I'm pretty pissed off by this fact, considering that my mother probably found a way to talk my psychiatrist, or should I say, ex psychiatrist, into upping the dosage in order to keep at bay my 'problems'.

Needless to say, I'm feeling really alone and really shitty, and I don't really know what to do with myself. I'm restless and feeling trapped. I've finished my homework, and I have attempted to draw some more, but my heart's really not in it right now. I'm just lying down on my bed with my cell phone in my hand, sighing and struggling, chewing my lip and trying to figure out if I should text Luce.

It's a Friday night, and that's why I hesitate. It isn't like I'm not allowed to text Luce. He did tell me to text him, but that doesn't calm my worry that I wouldn't be managing to interrupt him somehow. He's in college with a lot of classes, homework, and long days. I can't blame him that he wants to unwind on the weekends and take advantage of the fact that he's twenty-one.

Still, I want…

I take out my phone; pull up his number and pause, staring at his name and the blank digital sheet beneath it before I start to type, slowly but surely:

Hey Luce. Did you have a good day?

It's lame and it's stupid and I feel kind of idiotic about sending that just now. I would think that because we've been together for a good chunk of time, I could actually learn to be more openly affectionate with him, but it's really strange with him sometimes, and I don't want to push my limits or seem overbearing. After all, I was having a really, really hard time holding out on texting him until now to be honest.

Oh, my phone vibrated.

Cnnie? Ya it wsa fine sorry u cant thype rite now.

I raised my brows at that one. Luce wasn't one to use text slang or be so careless with his spelling. He can't type right now? Shit, I really must be interrupting. Maybe he's in some late night Bio meeting. He has those sometimes and he could be typing under the table or from his pocket or something. I can't help but smile at that idea. Him being sneaky and being completely horrible about it considering that that text was a complete jumbled mess. I can't help but laugh to myself a little bit before I roll onto my stomach and realize that I'm suddenly feeling a lot better because that really was, well. Cute.

Just as I am beginning to text him back, my screen goes to that of an incoming call, his name sprawled across the front as his ringtone starts to play. Hm… he's calling but he can't type? Maybe he's driving or something.

"Luce?" I answer the phone, sounding pretty amused. "What are you doing?"

"Conniieee." He drawls out, sounding really amused as well, laughing for a moment.

"What are you doing, idiot?" I ask him with a laugh of my own, suddenly realizing how relieved I feel to hear his voice.

"Shit Connie I'm so drunk."

I'm silent.

My stomach plummets.

My mood is shot.

I feel out of place.

"You're drunk?"

"Yeaah. Fuckin' 'Mont invited all these chicks over." His words are well put together, but now I can hear the very definite slur, and the slight, unnecessary pauses that affirm what he just told me.

"…Oh Yeah?"

"Yeah. They brought a buncha alcohol like fuck. It's so good."

"Oh… I'm glad for you." I don't know what to say, and my voice sounds strained because I'm trying to pretend this doesn't bother me, and that I'm still as amused as I was before when I had the innocent idea in my head that he was being studious and sneaky.

"Yeah. Oh Connie, I wanted ta tell ya – Haha! Stop it. Wha the hell are ya doing?" He doesn't sound angry and there's the definite high pitched whine of a girl laughing and talking to him in the background. My face goes expressionless. That only really happens when I'm so upset I don't know how to feel. I'm jealous, raging jealous and dammit, I hate that feeling so much, I feel really put out by this scenario. I would rather he not call at all. I would really have preferred to not know any of this was happening tonight.

"…I don't want to bother you Luce, you're busy. I'll let you go." My voice is stiff.

"Oh. 'Kay Connie, I'll see ya tomorrow okay? Yer comin' over. Bye." He obviously didn't notice my strain. I'm met with another girlish giggle and then the muted sound of a disconnected call. I hit the end button out of habit and roll over with a sigh. I want to tell myself I can trust him, and that he's behaving. I want to tell myself I'm happy he invited me over. That he still thinks of me and wants to see me, and that he sounded happy, and that should be good enough for me. His happiness should be my priority, and I suddenly feel like a complete ass for being angry. I hold my face and sigh and fight back the sting in my eyes because fuck, I am such a girl sometimes and I hate being so sensitive. But I miss him and I feel lonely…

I force myself to get under the covers and close my eyes, but my mind is going a million miles a minute, and I can't stop worrying. I can't.

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I'm standing in front of Luce's door, feeling really hesitant about knocking. I don't even want to know the state of their apartment. I've been there a couple of times after a party and have seen the mess they left alone, wanting to attend to it another time when they felt more stable. I'm worried that I'll come off as a complete asshole because I still feel really strange about that phone call. But my biggest fear is that I am here uninvited. I don't know how long Luce had planned on asking me over, and I don't know if he even wants me over anymore, or remembers telling me to come. But I've come to realize it's too late. I've already pulled strings to get out for the day, and it isn't like I have anywhere else to go. I just need to play it cool and trust Luce, and forget what happened, and get rid of this disgusting sinking feeling in my stomach, man up, and knock.

So I do.

I'm standing here and the seconds are ticking by like hours, and I'm feeling ready to run and pretend I was never here, but the sound of footsteps coming closer stops me from leaving. Well, more so paralyzes me. Because now I'm terrified and shy and awkward all over again. Luce is my priority. I want his happiness. This is just another visit, some more time I'm fortunate enough to spend with him, and that's what matters. I'm going to keep telling myself that.

The door opens, and it's Luce, and I'm smiling hopefully at him, praying to every God I've ever heard of that he remembers I'm supposed to be here, and isn't annoyed or confused by the visit.

"Connie."

"Hey."

He steps aside to let me in, not looking surprised or confused, thank God, and to my surprise, the dorm is not a mess. When I turn to watch him as he shuts the door, I realize he looks oddly pleasant in a less expressive sort of way, and I feel relieved. I feel ready to jump on this opportunity and impress him so he doesn't think I'm such jealous girly boy who can't handle Luce for who he is. Putting a smile on my face, I step closer and muster all my courage to grab at his hand and look at him in a warm fashion.

"Have fun last night?" He kind of looks surprised by my actions. I'm crossing my fingers that means he expected me to be mad but was proven otherwise, and I feel good when I realize he looks a little less tense, and his expression relaxes into an easy smirk and smile hybrid. It suddenly dawns on me that I don't care anymore how last night affected me. If I want his attention to be on me and keep it there, I need to give him reason to love me, right?

"Yeah, it was pretty fun." He's grabbing my other hand now and pulling me closer before his hands are on my hips and God. I forgive him. I forgive him for everything because he's touching me and I love being here, close to him.

"You sounded like such an idiot." I laugh a little. "Did you have a hangover?"

"You have no fuckin' idea." He rolls his eyes a little before he changes subjects back to what I had said before, "An idiot? Liar. You thought it was cute."

I scrunch my nose a bit, but I feel grateful. I'm a really shitty flirt, and I feel embarrassed as hell when I try to, but I'm grateful for when he helps me along with it by prompting me. I swallow my shyness and nod a little, forcing myself to make eye contact. "Yes. Cute."

"That's what I thought." He's smirking smugly now, and I know he probably actually does agree with me, and it's not all teasing, but whatever. I think if I looked as good as Luce, I would think I was cute too. I mean, he is.

"Shut uppp." I warn him, but it's hardly threatening. Probably the equivalent of a kitten trying to take on a shark. "Where's Lamont?"

"That fuck?" Luce scoffs and shakes his head, and though he's acting annoyed, I can tell by the slight quirk in his lips and the look in his eyes, that he finds it funny. "He's passed out like the fuck he is on his floor in his room. I had to help his fat ass in there last night, so I just left him there. No way I was dragging his sorry ass into bed and tucking him in like some sort of faggot."

"It was that bad? Is he okay…?"

"Oh yeah, he's fine. He woke up this morning long enough to bitch about his head before he fell asleep like some fuckin' princess. I can't wait 'til he looks in the mirror though. We all took some serious advantage of him last night. Well, the girls did."

Oh… I really wish he wouldn't have brought the girls up. It's one thing to be jealous of another guy. That makes me feel terrible. But I feel like absolute shit when I feel like I'm competing with girls because, well, if he prefers girls, there's nothing I could ever do to even stand a chance.

"How many girls were over here anyway?" I ask it, even though I don't want to, and force myself to be casual about it. I want to know more, but I don't want to seem suspicious.

"Fuck. Five or somethin'? That stupid ass was trying to get in all their pants. They weren't stupid, they knew. So I jus' made them coffee or whatever and told them to go the fuck home so I could sleep."

So he could sleep. God, I feel so relieved I could cry. But I also feel like a complete and utter asshole for having doubted him in the first place. I don't know why I have to be so controlling and paranoid and suspicious. Jesus, day by day I'm starting to think my mother's right. In the middle of my self hating trip mixed with relief I can't help but smile and smile and smile at him, and he looks at me like I'm strange for acting so giddy all of a sudden, but for once, I don't care, I'm not self conscious. Today's going to be a good day, and I am going to force myself to be as open as possible and get in all the nice Luce time I can. So, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest and give a small squeeze, pulling back before I'm entirely ready, but he seems to have appreciated the hug.

"That was nice of you. Kicking a bunch of helpless drunk girls out."

"Hey! I was responsible. I got their fuckin' numbers from 'Mont to make sure they got home safe. They did. See, I'm a gentleman."

"Right." I raise my brow at him before taking him by the hand yet again and drag him over to the couch. I do this very rarely, simply because I know Luce likes to initiate things, but I can feel in my heart now is the right time to suck it up and make the moves first. I sit myself down on the couch and gesture to my lap, noting with joy that he knows exactly what I'm aiming for. He slides onto the couch and unfurls his long and thin (and gorgeous) body, slender legs up over one arm of the chair as he sets his head into my lap and sighs.

He only really does this with me when he's feeling sick, so I can tell the hangover's not completely gone. I thread my fingers through his hair and he groans and closes his eyes, moving his head to the side, showing me where he'd like me to touch. So I massage his scalp and temples, and even lift his head a bit to massage the nape of his neck for a little while, just feeling warm and good that I can be affectionate with him today, and that I can feel like he's mine without so much guilt. Why I feel guilty about everything I do, I don't really know.

I'm sort of lost in my thoughts, I guess, but when I look back down to watch my hands, I see that his eyes are open and he's looking at me. I can feel my brows furrow a little, and I know I'm appearing more reclusive and shy yet again, but I try to control my voice to sound more confident. "What?"

"Com'mere."

I raise a brow in confusion, bending over a little. "I am here. You're in my lap."

"I know that, princess." He says that in a snarky and sarcastic tone, but I know it's his way of calling me by a pet name and being nice.

"Then how would you like me to go about this?"

He rolls his eyes at me, mumbling about how I make everything so difficult before he sits up and repositions himself beside me, draping an arm around me before one hand came to grab at my chin, forcing me to look up at him. And the look in his eyes are intense and I'm seriously choking up, and I feel like I'm hypnotized because I can't look away.

"Hmmm?" I murmur out to fill the silence, attempting to be coy about the situation, but he ignores my sound and leans down, kissing me so amazingly I really don't think I can breathe.

It's pretty slow and passionate for a typical Luce kiss. I get the feeling he's reserved about open affection that isn't strictly sexual. I wonder sometimes if being sexual is a sort of shield for him so that he doesn't feel so vulnerable. But he's allowing himself to be vulnerable right now, and that means more to me than I could ever express.

My negative thoughts go out the window, and I waste no time in sliding my fingers through his hair and kissing him back with equal emotion, my eyes closed and body slowly scooting closer until my leg is flush against his, and our torsos are turned, chests touching. And he's cupping my face and kissing me in a way that tilts my head back a little, and I feel like I'm suffocating and being eaten alive in the most amazing of ways. It's just a show of dominance, and I'm happy to submit and shrink beneath him so he can feel more in control, his tongue sliding between my lips to lap slowly and confidently against my own, and I feel a thrill at even the simplest action of him tilting his head the opposite way before resuming, our noses brushing.

I feel like it's been so long since we spent time kissing one another for more than twenty seconds at most. I really have lost all sense of time, but if I had to guess, I would say we've been at it for a good five minutes now, and I'm breathless and tingling all over, and my touches are getting more frantic, sliding up and down his back and over his shoulders and into his hair all over again in some sort of slow and needy cycle. He doesn't seem to mind though, because he keeps kissing me and sliding his tongue deeper, his hands now on my hips, fingers kneading and trying to find a way to pull me closer.

The kiss is starting to slow and my senses are returning bit by bit, his tongue now absent from my mouth, and I think I might be brave enough to admit here and now that I miss it. We're pulling back now, but we mutually keep leaning in for a few more pecks before we settle back from one another. I know I look like an idiot, but I'm too light headed and gooey feeling to care. I feel good, and consumed, and whole and just so, so.

"You're such a girl." He laughs at me after a good long look at my expression, but I shrug and push his shoulder lightly, shaking my head as if to deny his accusation.

"Just admit it. You're acting like a girl."

"Am not." I try to resist some more, frowning a bit dramatically, though I'm really not that offended. I agree I'm acting feminine and gazing at him a little too long. But you would stare at him too if you were this close and he was kissing you like that.

"Iss cute." He smirks at me, brows raised and eyes tilted to the side so he can see me as he speaks all muffled around a cigarette, beginning to light it. I flush and smile all goofy again because I really cherish the times he compliments me.

He takes a long drag before plucking the cigarette from his lips with a small wet yet airy sound that I've come to enjoy hearing as he exhales and settles back, sprawled out a bit as if to relax. I wonder if something's wrong with me sometimes in the sense that I am very attentive to and fond of, small things. Like that sound. It reminds me of our late night calls when he's relaxing before sleep, or the soft exhale of smoke that's dramatized when I can tell he's thinking.

My chest is feeling tight and hot, and I can't help myself, so I reach over and tug lightly on his ear as if to tease him before moving my fingers to smooth delicately through his hair once. He looks at me again, and smiles genuinely. Teeth and all. It's rare to see a toothy smile from him. I perk up immediately at the sight and smile wider before he closes his lips and shakes his head.

"How come you don't smile like that more often?" I suddenly ask, moving closer to him. I am good at getting vibes from him, and I have come to learn fast when close time is okay, and when he just wants some space. All day has been a good one though, so I don't feel so nervous when I tilt my head to rest it lightly on his shoulder, enjoying the small shifting feeling of him raising his hand to his lips and back down every once in a while.

"Eh…" he seems resistant, but I feel as though it's okay to push, so I do, but in a light and supportive tone.

"Tell me."

"…Don't like my teeth." I'm a bit surprised by this and glance up at him from my perch against him, raising a brow in question.

"Why? I like them."

"Yeah, well. They're crooked." He shifts a little bit, looking really uncomfortable about revealing an insecurity to me, even such a small one, so I jump on the opportunity immediately to quell his worries. "So? It's not like they're super crooked or anything, Luce. I think it makes you unique. I don't notice it. I think they're cute."

What I said was entirely true and honest to my opinion, but deep down I feel a sick sort of relief about the state of his teeth. I feel better that his teeth are crooked and average rather than perfectly straight and blinding white like some stupid Crest toothpaste ad because it makes me feel like he's more human. That small imperfection makes me feel like I have more of a chance and that he's not so God like. It's just… A weird, unexplainable comfort. Not that I want to be mean enough to tell him he's never allowed to correct them to maintain that comforting thought.

"Yeah?"

"Mm. Would you ever want to fix them?"

"Nah. No way in fuck I'm getting' braces, and that see through corrective retainer shit is annoying."

Figures. He's probably been popular his whole life. So when braces were suggested to him, he probably denied it vehemently in order to avoid any teasing. I don't blame him. I had braces, but only for a short while, thank God for that. I still wear my retainer at night… But he doesn't need to know that.

Suddenly the cigarette is in front of my face, and I give him a strange look as if to ask what he's doing before he tilts his head in an expectant way that tells me what he's offering is obvious. "Smoke."

"Wh-what?" I raise my brows at this. Though I don't mind he smokes, I never considered smoking myself. I don't know why he was asking me to do such a thing. Maybe he gets some sick and twisted pleasure from corrupting people. I pout a little as I consider what he's asking me before I realize one drag isn't going to kill me, and I am curious. So I pluck it from his fingers and place it between my lips. I know I lack the coordination of a typical smoker, so I can hear him chuckle as I suck the smoke into my mouth and then struggle for a moment, inhaling sharply with my lips parted. I realize immediately this is a mistake, as, I begin choking out the smoke, disliking the thick burning feeling that resides in my throat, slamming my hand over my mouth as I finish out the rest of my short coughing fit. As I look up I can see his face mocking me, and hear him laughing loudly, shaking his head and patting his knee slightly as he runs out the course of his own fit.

"Prick." I accuse, but I'm smiling as he takes the cigarette back. Maybe him offering it to me was less for sick enjoyment and more of him just sharing with me who he is in a convoluted and vague way, but regardless, I feel as though this visit has already been a success, and relieving considering my previous state of mind. He's, at the very least, revealed to me something he doesn't like about himself, the first time he's done such a thing, and I feel a little more confident in whatever we have between us, because he's trusting me, and being more and more human every time I see him.

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A/N: Here's a bit of fluff for you. I gift this to you because things are gonna get pretty dark again, sorry. ;3; I thought I would give you all a nice, happy gift before the sucky reality of life settles in. I want to make this as realistic as possible, so I have a strong need to balance the good with bad as well. A lot of what I am writing is true to how I have felt in many situations that have a strong connection to the ones I am writing, though it is nowhere near exactly like what I've gone through, if that makes sense. But what I am getting at here is that, though this is realistic emotion and thought to myself, I know it may not be how some of you readers may have felt. But remember, little Connie is going to be going through some tough shit thanks to his mother, and medicine. I'm all about deeper meaning and actions being metaphors, so I try to explain them a bit so my points get across, but I don't think you guys are stupid by any means, so I do keep a lot discrete. But I try not to do it too much because, afterall, this is a fanfiction, and not some book you read in English, so I don't want you to have to sit there and analyze to truly understand. I am sure you guys have to do that enough, I know I do. Anyway, long author's note is long, so, sorry!