So, over the past few months, it seems as though I've forgotten how to write stories. Please excuse my rusty skills – you might just get tetanus.

Anyways, I just wanted to write something molivery for a couple of reasons. One, I feel as though I haven't contributed to our "loss" at all. Two, I wanted to shake off the rust and start writing again, on account of the suckish canon on the suckish show that is called Hannah Montana (I'm taking reality and substituting my own). And lastly, three… I'm procrastinating for a bunch of other stuff.

So yeah, sorry in advance if this blows as much as loliver.

Keep the moliver spirit alive, and don't let those crackheads called the "Hannah Montana writers" bring you down. Oh, and tune to Disney Channel July 14 for a Moliver centric episode entitled "Miley Hurt the Feelings of a Radio Star". It may just be a friendship episode, but whatevs. LET'S BOOST THOSE RATINGS THROUGH THE ROOF AND SHOW THEM HOW MUCH WE LOVE THIS SHIP AND HOW HORRIBLY WRONG THEY WERE/ARE FOR CHOOSING LOLIVER.

Spread the word!

Okay, pimping done.

You may now read this terribly written, poorly edited thing of writing.

Blindsided

"Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top."

- Virginia Woolf

She places a hand under her chin as she watches him, elbow firmly set on the kitchen table. Her eyebrows rise as she watches him open her freezer door, a chipper expression on his face as he pulls out a box of cookies and cream ice cream. As if he's in his own kitchen, he begins to raid the drawers, opening and closing them, in search of something.

She feels some surprise as she watches him. He's never around the house anymore – watching him raid her kitchen is different now.

He's cussing in low tones now, mumbling to himself. She hears this and snaps out of her daze.

"The drawer closest to the fridge, Oliver."

His head swings up from the drawer he's currently in and he looks at her blankly before he makes his way over to the designated drawer and whips the ice cream scooper out.

"Thanks," he smiles widely, teeth and all.

She nods with an almost sarcastic smile and rises from her seat to stand by the island. She watches him, awkwardly pulls at the lid of the box with all his might – well, it's a new box, so the ice cream is stuck to the lid. Either that or he's just scrawny – which he's not.

When he finally pulls it open, he plows the ice cream scooper into the still quite frozen dessert, barely breaking the surface. The corners of her lips quirk upwards into a grin.

"Woulda thought you'd've checked the drawer closest to the fridge."

"Yeah, well, you know me," he says, brows knit in concentration as he continues plow out some ice cream. "Jeez this ice cream is hard…"

"Hah, yeah. Maybe you should let it thaw a little more. It'll be easier to scoop it out."

"But I'm hungry now."

She sighs again as he finally breaks off a scoop. She watches in silence, so very tempted to make a remark about his lack of muscle mass – a false accusation, by the way, as she knew full and well just how bulky and hard his arms had become. But she can't bring herself to speak, because she's entranced, and she doesn't know why, but she's smiling.

Her fingers drum against the granite top as he continues to load the bowl up past capacity, and when he looks about done, she speaks before thinking.

"I'm gonna be honest with you. Never saw you and Lilly coming."

"Yeah, she's running late – but we told you we were coming today," he says, licking some ice cream off of thumb.

"No, I mean… in general."

A small grin washes across his face and he looks at her as he pushes the ice cream lid back onto the box.

"This is random."

"Yeah. But seriously though."

"I don't think I did either. It just…" he walks back over to the freezer and shoves the ice cream box back inside, "… kinda happened."

"Yeah, see, that's interesting, 'cuz, I thought…" she stares at him as he picks his bowl up and shoves too much ice cream into his mouth. "… Lilly had better taste."

"Thash hold."

"Huh?"

"Bainfreesh…"

He squeezes his eyes shut.

"Case in point," Miley laughs. "Yeah… she had much higher standards. Told me her dream guy was a dirty blonde beach god with bright blue eyes who knew how to surf well."

"Well that's one out of three," he says, rubbing his temples as he swallows down the last of the ice cream in his mouth.

"Your eyes are brown, Oliver."

He glares at her and continues to shovel ice cream into his mouth.

"It's just so odd," she says, resting her chin on her hand again. "She never had anything nice to say about you… well nothing flattering. Nothing that would've lead to the idea that she liked you… like that."

He continues to listen.

"… you guys were always arguing and stuff. Reminded me a lot of myself and Jackson… never thought I'd see you guys make out or anything like that. That's like thinking about me and Jackson making out."

"Oh, but people did think about that. When you guys were 'dating'," he grins. She crinkles her nose in disgust.

"Gross. But that was all a lie, obviously."

"I'd hope so."

She ignores his comment.

"Well… I didn't think you guys were right for each other."

"And what do you think now?" he asks nonchalantly.

She stares at him intensely as he continues to casually eat. Before she can control her tongue, the words slip out.

"I still don't think you guys are right for each other."

He looks up from his bowl and raises a brow at her.

"I don't like this. I don't like it at all," she continues quietly.

"What don't you like?"

"…you guys together."

"Why?"

"Because it's weird! It's just so weird watching you guys make out or be lovey dovey when the three of us are supposed to be hanging out."

"So you just want us to sacrifice our happiness for you?"

He says it so casually and conversationally that her eyes have to widen. He stares at her expectantly, and she sighs and closes her eyes.

What are you supposed to say to that?

"No. No, I'd never want you guys to do that... That's why I haven't told you. That's why I haven't really talked about how I feel about this whole thing."

"Until now."

"Yeah, until now."

"Why?"

"Because… oh, I don't know. Because I don't want Lilly to be upset."

"But what about me?" he puts the ice cream bowl down.

"Huh?"

"How about my feelings? Maybe I'm upset."

"You… don't sound it."

"Maybe I'm just good at hiding my true feelings."

He crosses his arms.

"Now tell me, honestly," he continues, "why you decided to bring this up now."

She stares at him for a while and shakes her head slightly.

"I… don't know."

"Maybe you're mad."

"I'm not crazy."

"No, like angry."

"I'm not angry," she says, brow furrowing. "Why would I be angry?"

"Because you lost your chance."

She shakes her head again, confusion crossing her face as he looks at her smugly.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"With me. You lost your chance with me."

She doesn't know exactly how to react to that – she's completely caught off guard again. Her eyes widen and she snorts, as it's all she can muster.

"You're funny."

Weak reply – and she knows it, but he doesn't care. He just keeps on making her eyes widen.

"I liked you a while ago... and you knew it. I forgave you all the times I shouldn't have. I did the craziest things for you, and hung on your every word, and followed your every command – did things that "just a friend" wouldn't do for the other. I've been with you through thick and thin, and you're realizing now just how great I am, and how good I could've been for you. But now I'm with your best friend and you're too late. You made a mistake, and it's driving you crazy inside."

She stares at him, dumbstruck, unable to move.

"Th – that's ridiculous. I could never like you like that," she snorts again, though she feels a heat rising in her cheeks.

"See, it's because of that attitude that you lost your chance with me. The thought of actually liking me, mister helmet-hair dorky-dork locker man, scares you, because it's just so uncool, and unusual. Face it Miles… you're shallow, and you're in denial."

Insults and psychoanalyzation. Was this seriously Oliver?

"I don't like you like that, Oliver," she says firmly, her hands balling into fists, because she doesn't know what else to do.

"Then why do you hate the idea of me and Lilly being together?"

"I told you already!"

"Because you're jealous."

"Maybe of what you have with her, but not of her for you. I mean – ugh," she rubs her temples. "I just – I don't like you that way, alright? Trust me."

"You're jealous. Why can't you just admit it?"

"There's nothing to admit!"

He's walking around the island, stepping closer and closer to her. Her blush intensifies as she takes a few steps back.

"You're jealous," he says in a low whisper, and she stares at him, perplexed.

'What the fruitcake is going on?!'

He steps closer to her and finally grabs her wrist. She tries to pull away but his grip is strong.

"What the hell are you doing?!" she exclaims, shrugging back – but her back hits the wall.

'Since when was there a wall there?!'

"Just admit it…" he whispers. Closer… he's leaning in closer. She feels his warm breath on her lips, and oddly enough it doesn't have the foul smell dairy usually leaves behind; it smells like wintermint, and it's hypnotizing. Her eyelids are suddenly heavy and she can't form a coherent sentence.

Her face is red and hot as his nose brushes hers, and she's completely paralyzed.

"You're jealous…" he whispers, every word spoken a soft, hot waft of minty breath on her mouth.

He's so close… her heart is pounding in her chest and her mind is racing – his lips are just there, just right above hers, and he's teasing her, just staying there, just speaking, just breathing on her, and she's starting to shake with yearning, and for the first time she wishes he'd just touch her to stop this, because it's driving her completely insane.

"I'm…"

She shudders out, lips nearly brushing his as she tries to speak. She winces against the wall at the sensation, and her breath catches in her throat as she watches his lips curve into a mischievous smile. She sputters more.

"N-not… j–"

CLUNK

"–jeea –!"

Before she can fully scream into the dark emptiness of her room, she claps her hands over her own mouth as she sits up in bed. She looks around confusedly, in search of what ripped her from her awkward dream. She stares into her bathroom, and sees her blow-dryer on the floor, fallen from the shelf it's supposed to be on. Its less-than-ginger crash against the bathroom tiles must've been what tore her from the dream.

She sighs in relief, and calms herself. It just now occurs to her that she's soaked in sweat, so she sucks in a deep breath and cools down, falling backward into her mattress. As soon as her back hits the cushion, her eyes fall shut again.

What a silly, silly dream – thinking about it, she laughs nervously to herself, eyes still closed.

'Ha ha ha… thank God for that wake-up call… hahahaha…ha…'

She's not really thankful because she's suddenly got a grudge against that damn blow-dryer.