Beside me | ONESHOTs

"If you want to complain about something, just say it. I'm starting to get annoyed, Jesse," Aaron sighed, unable to stand my intense stare on his back as he dried his hair.

"Hm? Why do I have to have something to complain about if I'm staring at you? It's just... your neck looks like you have a rash. Was it some kind of mosquito, or what?" I joked sarcastically. Honestly, I wanted to complain. I wanted to tell him to stop bringing his flings to our apartment. He doesn't live alone, so shouldn't he be more considerate? I've never brought anyone over. Not that I've ever had anyone to bring over. I don't understand what everyone sees in romance, love, physical intimacy. I'm a pure-blooded loner, what else is there to say? I hate making new connections. But more than that, I hate Aaron's endless string of one-night stands that he constantly brings here. As if I'm air, as if I don't have ears or emotions.

But I couldn't complain—not again, at least. I'd tried many times before and couldn't be bothered to keep it up when he's a lost cause. The guy's a nymphomaniac. That's just who he is.

It's ironic, actually—a nymphomaniac and a loner, stuck in cohabitation. All thanks to our parents. We've never really gotten along; we live in completely different worlds and hardly speak, even after years of knowing each other.

"What? Jealous?" he smirked, turning off the hair dryer. Aaron was pretty. Really pretty. He wasn't the rugged, muscular type but rather that slender, beautiful type who seemed to draw everyone's attention like a magnet. And he was bisexual. If he only brought home girls, maybe it would be easier to ignore, but no—he brought guys too. I'm gay. He doesn't know it; everyone assumes I'm asexual (my one small advantage). But hearing the sounds of gay sex is... arousing. It's like live porn, you know? Even through headphones, I can hear every moan.

If you're wondering—Aaron is always the top. He never bottoms.

If I were in a relationship, I wouldn't care as much. But if it was with someone as "experienced" as Aaron, I wouldn't even consider letting him top. I'm possessive. A lot. Actually, when I think about it, I'm set on being a top. Yeah. Definitely. Though maybe I'd switch—if it wasn't with a playboy like Aaron.

What am I even saying? I should focus on the conversation. I don't have enough brain cells to process more than one thought line at a time and still manage basic body functions like breathing. I'm not intelligent enough to get philosophical.

Then again, I bet I've got more brain cells than Aaron. Not that it means much.

"Jealous of what?" I raised an eyebrow, calmly flipping a page in my textbook while lying comfortably in bed. "Of not being horny as a rabbit in rut season? Sorry to disappoint you."

"Has anyone told you that you're a jerk?" he snorted in disgust, finally getting dressed. He'd been standing there in just his boxers.

I gulped. Shit.

His body was attractive as hell.

Not that I actually find him attractive as a person.

But who cares about personality if you don't plan to lay a finger on them?

"Maybe? I don't know. Nobody really talks to me in the first place." The cruel reality. Not that people don't want to talk to me—I'm young, clever, top of my class, handsome, from a rich family, tall, in great shape... maybe I just have too gloomy of an aura. Who wouldn't, if they had to listen to moaning strangers and a creaking bed every other night?

Yes, you should pity me. Thanks. That helps.

"True," he smirked.

Pretty, but annoying.

"But," I started, snapping my textbook shut with a loud clap as I got out of bed and stood in front of him. We were nearly the same height, but I had more muscle, so I looked a little more intimidating than him. "Maybe I do have something to complain about after all."

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms, trying to put up some mental barrier against my aura. I'm not someone who threatens others, but I can look kind of scary. Even my parents think so sometimes.

"Stop wandering around half-naked, especially when you're covered in marks that practically scream you had rough sex with someone else. And while you're at it, stop bringing guys over. I know it's pointless to ask you not to bring anyone, but at least not guys. Pretty please?" I flashed him a sharp smile.

His eyelashes fluttered as he took a small step back. Was he intimidated? Perfect.

"Why? Are you homophobic or something?" he shot back, trying to sound unfazed, trying to come out on top in this argument.

I tilted my head, squinting. "I'm gay," I said in a perfectly neutral tone, as if discussing the weather instead of, well, coming out for the first time. "So unless you're trying to turn a gay guy homophobic or want to invite me to join you, go on." Not that I'd actually join him, honestly. I'm not about to lose my virginity in a threesome. Or suddenly become homophobic. I'm just trying different approaches to getting him to stop bringing over his "visitors."

He blinked, trying to process what I'd just said. "You... are gay? What the fuck, really?" His voice rose in disbelief, eyes wide like little round suns. "But wait." He paused, then smirked as if a funny idea had just crossed his mind. "Does that mean you're into listening to other people's sex lives? Aren't you a pervert, then?"

It was my turn to be speechless. Just for a second, though. I quickly picked up my composure and smirked, cornering him against the kitchen table until he had nowhere left to go. His back hit the edge, and he had to sit on it, gulping nervously.

In gay panic? Did I look like I was about to pounce on him?

Let him think that.

"Aren't you the bigger perv? Do you like it when someone you've known your whole life listens to you screwing around and hears you swearing, 'Ah, fuck, I'm cumming! You're so wet and tight—aren't you my little slut, babe?'" I whispered in his ear, imitating his breathless voice. "You like treating people like that? Aren't you the bigger bitch here? Every week, bringing someone new, starving for release. How would you like it if someone fucked you roughly from behind, pulling your hair and calling you a loose little whore?"

Well, now I'm officially screwed. I mean, I don't usually talk like that, but Aaron just knows how to get under my skin. So maybe I'd gone too far. His completely frozen expression told me I should probably apologize.

I cleared my throat awkwardly and took a step back. "Uh... sorry. I crossed a line there. I guess I'm just pissed because I want to live in peace, at least in this apartment, until we go our separate ways after college. So... yeah, sorry." I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I'd never spoken so crudely before, and I was embarrassed.

Aaron stared at me, still frozen, his expression somewhere between shock and... something else I couldn't quite place. Then he blinked, a slow smirk curling on his lips as he leaned back on the table, crossing his arms.

"So," he said, his voice low, "all that... you just came up with that out of nowhere, huh? Just a little fantasy of yours?"

I paused. "...not exactly," I muttered, looking away. Great. Now I'm the one in panic mode.

"Oh, but it sounded like you put a lot of thought into it." He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "What was it again? 'Roughly from behind, pulling my hair, calling me a little whore?'" He let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Sounds like someone's been keeping secrets."

Was there even a way to win this without looking like an idiot? If I brushed it off, I'd basically be admitting he was right.

"What secrets?" I shot back, holding his gaze. "If I wanted to do something with you, I'd just do it. But I'm not that shameless, and besides—I don't want to sleep with you." I paused, catching the flicker of doubt in his eyes, and pushed further. "Honestly? It's getting a little old, you being top every single time. Ever thought about trying it the other way around? Might give you some perspective. Maybe then you'd stop treating people like they're just playthings."

The words slipped out before I could think, but I wanted to see his face, wanted him to regret his lifestyle just for a second.

For me, it's sad to see someone treat their own body—and others'—like nothing more than an outlet. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe bodies deserve respect, and that intimacy should be shared with someone we truly trust and care about.

But who am I to judge? It's not my life to meddle in.

Aaron's smirk faded, replaced by something more thoughtful, maybe even a little wary. "Perspective, huh?" he murmured, his voice low, eyes scanning my face as if searching for some hidden meaning.

"Yeah," I replied evenly, refusing to back down. "Or is that too much for the great Aaron to handle?"

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "You're a piece of work, you know that?" He pushed off the table, brushing past me. "You talk a big game, Jesse, but for a guy who thinks he's above all this, you sure know an awful lot about me."

He walked a few steps, stopping at the doorway to glance back. "Look, maybe you're right. Maybe I don't always take this stuff seriously. But trust me, I'm not the only one here with 'secrets.'"

Before I could respond, he turned and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts and an unsettling feeling that maybe—just maybe—he had a point.