One AM read the digital clock as Gabe tilted from the desk; his eyes squinted in unison inside the dark without glasses to confirm the time. Tonight, as hard as he had tried, he still couldn't sleep. He had a feeling it was because of his finals coming up, but his feelings had begged to differ. When he woke, he had an achy feeling within his chest; a feeling roused with curiosity. However, his stomach offered its hunger and as usual, he was tempted to get his usual midnight snack of cereal.

He lifted himself out of bed, throwing a band shirt over his head from what was lying on the floor nearby. He felt too lazy to slide back into his pajama pants, even though he still felt self conscious when Alex could be up at this hour. She was a night owl as one could be, though it was time spent mostly on the computer playing her online games with music blaring into those bass boosted headphones which made it near impossible for him to communicate with her when he would ask her to get something they needed from the store, or to clean up a mess she had made from cooking earlier.

Gabe silently opened the door and peered down the hall toward her room. All was quiet; nothing but the sound of a nearby clock tick remained, and Gabe breathed a sigh. For once it had felt like he was living all on his own - something he himself couldn't even afford to do. But he was sure of Alex had wanted to; she could whatever she had pleased. After all, she was a "daddy's girl" with disposable income. Though he knew she wasn't like any other girl that she had schooled with, much less hung out with, she didn't come home with piles of new clothes from Barney's or Ina Nolita; or with a closet littered with shoes old and new that have yet to be even worn. Yet, she came home with her favorite books, plushies, a new game for one of her many systems, or even a new messenger bag for a collection that lined at the entrance way meant for jackets and hats. It bothered him at first that she had automatically claimed that area as her museum de messenger bag, though, he wound up finding it cute, wondering what bag she would use for the next day or what she would eventually add next to the collection. They ranged from large to small, either containing logos of her favorite bands, anime, or their mere appearance in general.

Gabe had then stopped in the middle of the hall, realizing she had occupied his mind for those very few minutes. As if attempting to stop them, he brushed back at his mid-length hair, rubbing his face. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he stopped to think; to think hard about how this had began to irritate him.

This girl, his 'fiancée'�, still did not attain his attraction. She was not remotely close to his type, they hardly ever got along, and she was only a nuisance when she was around him; with her obnoxious stories of her girlfriends and boyfriends and of what they did the other day, what she thought of a new movie (she saw movies nearly every night!), how he should read this comic and what, or even how she would constantly suggest to him getting her a plush for Valentine's Day, and how playfully she would demand seeing rose petals littering the halls toward her bedroom when she would come home. It was even worse when she would announce how obvious it was when he would blush at the most random moments, and it drove him even more crazy when she would practically force him to join her to get something to eat, or to a movie that he would hate for all eternity (including herself for making him watch it; he didn't think he could handle another chick flick with her sobbing like a five-year old and soaking his fresh cleaned shirts.) However, it was then he realized something he never, ever wanted to find out about this girl.

He found himself smiling.

Gabe felt his heart drop in his sudden sense of denial, as he felt himself stop in mid-step as he had turned the corner to realize she had ventured into the kitchen again. It was one of those nights where he would see she would be awake, rummaging through the kitchen's cub bards and fridge. Typically, he would escape back into his room until he waited silently, making sure she had locked herself back into her room. Tonight, he would ignore his insecurities and ignore this intolerable feeling that knotted in his chest.

But the site that held in his eyes had kept him frozen, seeing her sitting at the end of the kitchen table, dining herself into a bowl of cereal that was his.

"That's my fucking bowl of cereal!" he exclaimed.

She was silently crunching away at her cereal, totally ignoring his irritation. Gabe bit his lip in attempt to refrain from saying something horrid. She was always digging into his purchased foods, with her constantly disregarding his food marked with his name in black Sharpie.

"That's starting to get annoying," He aimed a thumb at the open box of Oreo O's on the counter with the container of milk nearby. 'Next time, I'll make you buy the damn things, and then I'll eat them all!" What she didn't realize was that the best kind of cereals were a bit more expensive than the regular kind and though they were pretty much living off the income of their parents, he used his paychecks from the bookstore for his own groceries and material things. One of those groceries happened to be the cereal, which was normally an even five dollars (and a pain in the ass to buy when he ran out, especially when most of it was thanks to Alex.)

All feeling had then drained from his face when he heard the sudden whimpers coming from her direction, which eventually turned into the chocking of keeping the tears back, then into sobs. Though he could vaguely see her face, he knew she was in tears, crying into the bowl of Oreos she was eating.

"Alex-" he took a step forward, feeling his voice drop. Before he could continue, she only cried more.

"Do you hate me, Gabe?" she asked weakly.

Gabe's eyes widened, balling the hand that was just about to reach for her into a weak fist.

"Hate you? How could I? I think - I feel - I could be falling in love with you..."

These words not only kept for himself, but had also surprised him. Lips sewn shut, he remained silent. His eyes aimed downcast to the dimly lit tiles at his feet as he kept himself tortured by sighs and whimpers of her cries. What hurt most of her pain was the fact that he was the cause of it.

"Why do you hate me?" she asked her eyes now meeting his lowered lost stare. The only sound that remained between them was her cries. Her sobs had grown desperate, her whimpers aching for his attention.

"I don't hate you..." he trailed off, speaking from the heart to the best of his ability without announcing his affections. Alex lifted her self from the stool, the sound of her feet slapping against the tiles toward him etched them both into silence as her palms lifted his head, causing his blue eyes to gaze reluctantly into hers. He could see the details within her face; biting the lower of her lip, the bags below her eyes and the red rings around them from the crying - the shine of her face from the tears. All he could see now wasn't this old Alex. Not the obnoxious attention whore Alex, or spoiled Alex. This was a side of her he had felt no one had ever witnessed but he him self. And somehow, this had struck a cord within the bowels of his silent heart. So much that he didn't even notice the warmth of her self against him, her arms wrapping tightly around his body... and his heart.

From this sudden impact, his arms had felt so heavy, that he had to forcefully lift his arms around her head. After releasing from what seemed she had kept buried for so long, she seemed calmer. Her grip loosened, turning into a sensual feel against his back. Was she okay, now? Did he hurt her? Was she feeling worse or better? He didn't know what to do, he had nothing to say, no questions to ask.

What he could feel himself doing was lifting her into his arms, her body fitting snug against his size. Not once did he feel an objection, or whimper, or a Alex stupid remark. As gently as he could, he carried her to her room through a door she had left open. He immediately lowered her into a bed she had probably not made since they first moved into this apartment. She immediately curled into a fetal position as he drew the comforter over her shoulders, her eyes closed without ever so much of a glance to him as he squatted at the edge of her bed. All he found himself doing was staring at her current state.

Would she forget all this had happened tomorrow? Would she move on as if she never felt as she did tonight? Or would she open up to him like this again?Her nose nuzzled against the back of his palm as it drifted solemnly over her wet face. His lips parted as he watched her silently cry her self to sleep, as he noticed a tear or two still drip lazily across her face. He could only mouth the words he felt he could never say; that he could never have wanted to admit.

All he could tell her he was sorry.

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