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[sub][color=darkgray]Location:[/color] Homeroom
[color=darkgray]Interacting With:[/color] | [color=997fdb][b]He Who Shall Not Be Named[/b][/color] [@Silent Observer] | [color=15603a][b]Trixie[/b][/color] [@Lovely Complex][/sub][/center]


Anyone who’s ever had a crush on someone can tell you exactly how horrendous it is to get over said crush. Not the normal way, wherein the intense desire you once had for said person slowly fades away until you finally realize that they’re quite a bore, and actually have a weird set of eyes. No, the hard way is what comes about when you are forced to get over said crush as soon as possible, mainly because you’ve just found out they have a secret boyfriend or are a closeted racist. Jamie was currently going through the hard way.

Of course Josie chose today of all days to dance in fucking homeroom, and of course, Marshall felt the need to join her. And of course, he was very, very, [i]very[/i] fucking good at dancing. How the hell was that kinda shit even legal? Jamie was seated quietly, nose buried in a ratty old book, trying desperately to keep his eyes from drifting over to where Marshall and Josie were practicing. [color=31ba9f][i]Eyes on the book dumbass![/i][/color] he scolded himself, to no avail. 

Jamie wasn’t particularly used to romance, or really any crushes in general. He had liked boys from time to time, but never anything as consuming as this. And he wasn’t a stranger to relationships, hell, he’d dated a few girls back when he was still in the closet, but he’d never had anything extremely serious. He’d never even kissed a boy. And now, here he was, hopelessly swooning over some dude who maybe, probably, for sure had a boyfriend that he was keeping a secret from everyone. Because surely, there was no other explanation? Right? I mean, no one just sits in a random closet and talks.

At least the swooning had been a gradual thing, that much Jamie was grateful for. It would be embarrassing to just see someone and instantly fall in love. This wasn’t a Disney movie. Sure, Jamie had seen Marshall and thought, [color=31ba9f][i]Hey, he’s cute[/i][/color] but he didn’t fall head over heels. That came over time. Specifically, it came over a forty five minute period, an interview Marshall gave Jamie about the musical. He was confident, and charming and fuck. Jamie was still swooning.

Why hadn’t he done anything right then? Asked him out right after the interview? Because Jamie had somehow ended up with some deep seated fear of rejection. Sure, his parents had loved him, and raised him the best they could, but somehow along the way, he’d gotten a bit fucked up, and he wasn’t sure how to fix it. Maybe it came from years living in the closet, maybe it was a chemical imbalance in his brain, or maybe it was divine intervention. Whatever it was, it sucked.

Jamie was pulled from the solace and solitude of his thoughts by the sudden change in music, followed by Marshall...twerking. Literally throwing his ass back. His ass. The gay equivalent of just shoving your pelvis in someone’s face. Jamie’s cheeks burned and he turned away, but like any malevolent force, the universe wouldn’t give Jamie a break.

Marshall took the seat right next to Jamie, forcing a smorgasbord of emotions through the young journalist’s mind. Among them, anger, anxiety, and a strong sense of lust. Before Marshall could get a word out though, Trixie barged in between them, asking for a word with Jamie about what she said was club stuff, but clearly wasn’t club stuff. [color=31ba9f][i]This ought to be good[/i][/color]. Jamie gave a pointed look at Marshall, his face stone cold. [color=31ba9f][b]”Oh yeah, I can talk right now. It wasn’t what it looked like,”[/b][/color] Jamie said, turning to Trixie and grinning, despite the pang in his stomach, the unfamiliar pang of guilt.