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Resolve, Part One

Reply to Maude M. or visit her website

Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list September 12, 2001

TITLE: Resolve
AUTHOR: Maude M.
FEEDBACK: Please :) maudelin@angelfire.com
WEBSITE: A New Plan and Zeno's Paradox can be found at my website http://www.popslash.net
DISTRIBUTION: List Archive. Others, I would be honored. Just let me know where.
PAIRING: Kyle/Max
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: The Departure
DISCLAIMER: Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, et al. They definitely aren't mine.
SUMMARY: Sequel to A New Plan/Zeno's Paradox. Kyle gets tired of hiding.
NOTES: Big-time thanks to Aunty Mib for the beta.



        We can't keep doing this. I've been thinking this for months now, but somehow whatever wiring it takes to get that thought from my brain to my mouth must be screwed up, because I certainly haven't been able to form the words. In fact, it seems that every time I find that I've gotten up the nerve to try and break things off, I find my mouth inexplicably busy tangling tongues with Max Evans.

        I'm not saying that these months haven't been great. They have been filled with trips out my bedroom window and into Max's car. They've been filled with countless breathless moments. They have been filled with a hundred thousand glances. The last 63 days have been unbelievable.

        But they've also been unbearable. I thought that nothing could be worse than not knowing how he felt, than not knowing if we'd ever be together, but believe me, this is worse. To sneak around with him, to feel so... much for him. I feel like I should be wearing a fucking rainbow shirt with a picture of him on the front, but I can't tell anyone. Not a single person.

        If Alex were here I could tell him. He would have been cool with it. I can just picture it. Him sitting on his bed with his guitar, picking out the tune to some song he'd been trying to learn for days. Me on the floor looking through some girly magazine (for irony's sake), and then I would have just busted out with. "Dude, Alex, I have been having this screwed-up secret relationship with Max Evans for two months now. Does that make me gay?"

        Then he'd hit a bad note, maybe a whole series of bad notes, look up from his guitar and laugh. "You're kidding, right?" He'd say.

        "Nope," I'd tell him. "We can't keep our hands off of each other."

        "Total weirdness, Valenti."

        I'd agree with that statement.

        Then he'd be mad at me. Because of Liz. He'd say, "You can't mess around with Liz' boyfriend. If it's not serious you need to step back, and if it is, he needs to tell her. And now."

        I'd sigh. It would be a manly sigh! And I'd agree. And then, in a complete mumble, I'd say, "It's serious."

        He'd raise an eyebrow at me. "How serious?"

        "Real serious."

        Then he'd give me some sort of understanding look, and I'd feel a little bit better, just to know that there was another person out there who knew, and even though he wouldn't understand, he'd know.

        But that's not going to happen. He's gone. Who else could I tell? My jock friends? Ha. They think Buddhism is on the gay side. Maria? She'd skin me alive for hurting Liz. My dad? Oh crap. That would really give him something to worry about. His possibly gay son involved with a trouble-attracting alien. Isabel? Michael? I can't even guess what they'd do to me. They can't even wrap their minds around Max and Liz. They'd probably manipulate my DNA into chocolate pudding or something.

        So, at the very least, I need to talk to Max about all of this, but we have this whole, weird talking problem, in that we don't. At all. It's really hard to talk with someone permanently attached to your tongue. Believe me, I know how this sounds; physical, tawdry even. But the mental connection is there. Whereas most people might connect by talking for endless hours, we say everything that needs to be said in a matter of seconds. These amazing moments of clarity and understanding might as well be 4-D, living illustrations of everything that is significant about Max Evans and Kyle Valenti. I know things about Max that words don't describe. That inexplicable fear of the dark when he was six. There are no words for it, but I understand. Why they can't get enough of the sweet and spicy. I get it.

        That's what makes talking to him so difficult. Sometimes things need to be said. Physically. Maybe it's an earth-thing, I don't know. But even if he knows, I need to say it. And that's why, in between Calculus and Lit, we are crammed into this stupid closet, stumbling around buckets and bottles and mops, and I'm trying to make my lips form coherent words. Recognizable words. Words that aren't those tiny moaning sounds that I keep making, because he's got me by the hair and is kissing me as if life on this planet depends on it.

        I manage to break away, and it feels like I've stepped into a vacuum. His lips leave mine with a slurp, and all my breath is gone, and the room is silent. He's grinning at me; I love it when he does that. It's this grin comprised of shy eyes peeking out from too-long bangs, and this crooked smile: kind of one of those, "you are so busted" smiles. Of course, this just makes me want to shove him back up against the wall and lick him until he begs me to stop, but today I am resolved.

        Oh, yes. I have made up my mind. Having ducked out early from our last class, we have a full 17 minutes before next period, and damn it; we are going to use our vocal chords to communicate. "Wait, wait..." I breathe, knowing that he'll be coming back for more in mere seconds.

        "What? Why?" He's cupping my face with one hand, smoothing the hair out of my eyes with the other.

        "No, we can't keep doing this," I say, steadying myself by grabbing hold of his hips.

        "You don't want to?"

        "No, no, it's not that it's just..."

        "I know," he whispers.

        I shake my head. "Listen to me. I know you know. I know you know a lot of things, but it's not right for us to just keep lying to them. To everyone."

        He takes a step back, runs a hand through his hair and let's out a long breath. "What are we going to do?"

        "I have no idea. I think you have to tell Liz." God, integrity is a bitch.

        "I know, but I don't want to hurt her. She's been through hell for me. I do love her," he says, his voice barely audible.

        This closet, which seemed so intimate only moments ago is now stifling. I wish that it was twelve times as big and I could pace nervously to the other side of the room. Instead, I turn around sharply.

        I know he loves her. I don't doubt that for a minute. Privacy is the one thing that you don't have with complete access to someone's mind. And it's not like I love him or anything... really. I have feelings, crazy, mixed-up feelings for him that keep me coming back, that keep my mouth shut. I don't know if I could love another guy, but somehow, there's this wave of jealousy that hits me like a blast of cold air.

        I know that he'll always pick her.

        I know this, and yet here I am in the freaking supply closet. Jesus Kyle. He's still against the wall, waiting for... what? An answer? What do I say to that? "I know. I know you do," I say this with my back turned to him.

        I feel his hands on my shoulders. They are just resting there, and he seems like he wants to say something else, but can't. But I can't just leave things alone, not when there is still no resolution, and today I am Resolution Boy, and maybe if I just push a little harder, then I can make something happen.

        "Or we can just go ahead and call it quits, Evans. Then you don't have to tell anybody anything. We just walk out of this closet and leave it all behind."

        "You know that's not what I want."

        "Do you have any idea what you do want?" I sound like a girl. What am I expecting here, a promise ring? Good going, Kyle.

        I expect some evasive reply. What I get is a very definite, "Yes."

        That makes me raise my eyebrows and turns me back around. Resolution Boy *likes* definite answers. "Yes?"

        "Yes," he says, burying his face into my neck and pressing his hand against the small of my back. "I want to kiss you until we have to get to class. And then, I want to spend the whole class thinking about you, and then, as soon as I can get away tonight, I want to grope you mercilessly."

        Well, shit. That sounds good too, but it is so not the definite answer I need. "No, Evans. We can't keep doing this. Not like this. You either have to tell her, or we have to stop."

        He shuts his eyes and folds his arms. "I can't tell her."

        I let out a long, long breath, and clench my jaw. "Well. I guess this is it then."

        He doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. I know what he's thinking. I understand, and I'm trying to be cool. After all... I don't even know what this is. I certainly can't act the pained.... I don't know what.

        I turn and let myself out of the closet. There it was. Resolution.

Continue to Part Two

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